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diff --git a/old/mhday10.txt b/old/mhday10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cb5eb38 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mhday10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6758 @@ +A Project Gutenberg Etext of A Story of To-day, by Margret Howth + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. 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If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association / Illinois + Benedictine College" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Illinois Benedictine College". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + +Scanned by Charles Keller with +OmniPage Professional OCR software +donated by Caere Corporation, 1-800-535-7226. +Contact Mike Lough <Mikel@caere.com> + + + + +MARGRET HOWTH. + +A STORY OF TO-DAY + +"My matter hath no voice to alien ears." + + +TO MY MOTHER. + + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Let me tell you a story of To-Day,--very homely and narrow in its +scope and aim. Not of the To-Day whose significance in the +history of humanity only those shall read who will live when you +and I are dead. We can bear the pain in silence, if our hearts +are strong enough, while the nations of the earth stand afar off. +I have no word of this To-Day to speak. I write from the border +of the battlefield, and I find in it no theme for shallow +argument or flimsy rhymes. The shadow of death has fallen on us; +it chills the very heaven. No child laughs in my face as I pass +down the street. Men have forgotten to hope, forgotten to pray; +only in the bitterness of endurance, they say "in the morning, +`Would God it were even!' and in the evening, `Would God it were +morning!'" Neither I nor you have the prophet's vision to see +the age as its meaning stands written before God. Those who +shall live when we are dead may tell their children, perhaps, +how, out of anguish and darkness such as the world seldom has +borne, the enduring morning evolved of the true world and the +true man. It is not clear to us. Hands wet with a brother's +blood for the Right, a slavery of intolerance, the hackneyed cant +of men, or the blood-thirstiness of women, utter no prophecy to +us of the great To-Morrow of content and right that holds the +world. Yet the To-Morrow is there; if God lives, it is there. +The voice of the meek Nazarene, which we have deafened down as +ill-timed, unfit to teach the watchword of the hour, renews the +quiet promise of its coming in simple, humble things. Let us go +down and look for it. There is no need that we should feebly +vaunt and madden ourselves over our self-seen rights, whatever +they may be, forgetting what broken shadows they are of eternal +truths in that calm where He sits and with His quiet hand +controls us. + +Patriotism and Chivalry are powers in the tranquil, unlimited +lives to come, as well as here, I know; but there are less +partial truths, higher hierarchies who serve the God-man, that do +not speak to us in bayonets and victories,-- Mercy and Love. Let +us not quite neglect them, unpopular angels though they be. Very +humble their voices are, just now: yet not altogether dead, I +think. Why, the very low glow of the fire upon the hearth tells +me something of recompense coming in the hereafter,-- +Christmas-days, and heartsome warmth; in these bare hills +trampled down by armed men, the yellow clay is quick with pulsing +fibres, hints of the great heart of life and love throbbing +within; slanted sunlight would show me, in these sullen +smoke-clouds from the camp, walls of amethyst and jasper, outer +ramparts of the Promised Land. Do not call us traitors, then, +who choose to be cool and silent through the fever of the +hour,--who choose to search in common things for auguries of the +hopeful, helpful calm to come, finding even in these poor +sweet-peas, thrusting their tendrils through the brown mould; a +deeper, more healthful lesson for the eye and soul than warring +truths. Do not call me a traitor, if I dare weakly to hint that +there are yet other characters besides that of Patriot in which a +man may appear creditably in the great masquerade, and not blush +when it is over; or if I tell you a story of To-Day, in which +there shall be no bloody glare,--only those homelier, subtiler +lights which we have overlooked. If it prove to you that the sun +of old times still shines, and the God of old times still lives, +is not that enough? + + +My story is very crude and homely, as I said,--only a rough +sketch of one or two of those people whom you see every day, and +call "dregs," sometimes,--a dull, plain bit of prose, such as you +might pick for yourself out of any of these warehouses or +back-streets. I expect you to call it stale and plebeian, for I +know the glimpses of life it pleases you best to find; idyls +delicately tinted; passion-veined hearts, cut bare for curious +eyes; prophetic utterances, concrete and clear; or some word of +pathos or fun from the old friends who have endenizened +themselves in everybody's home. You want something, in fact, to +lift you out of this crowded, tobacco-stained commonplace, to +kindle and chafe and glow in you. I want you to dig into this +commonplace, this vulgar American life, and see what is in it. +Sometimes I think it has a new and awful significance that we do +not see. + +Your ears are openest to the war-trumpet now. Ha! that is +spirit-stirring!--that wakes up the old Revolutionary blood! +Your manlier nature had been smothered under drudgery, the poor +daily necessity for bread and butter. I want you to go down into +this common, every-day drudgery, and consider if there might not +be in it also a great warfare. Not a serfish war; not altogether +ignoble, though even its only end may appear to be your daily +food. A great warfare, I think, with a history as old as the +world, and not without its pathos. It has its slain. Men and +women, lean-jawed, crippled in the slow, silent battle, are in +your alleys, sit beside you at your table; its martyrs sleep +under every green hill-side. + +You must fight in it; money will buy you no discharge from that +war. There is room in it, believe me, whether your post be on a +judge's bench, or over a wash-tub, for heroism, for knightly +honour, for purer triumph than his who falls foremost in the +breach. Your enemy, Self, goes with you from the cradle to the +coffin; it is a hand-to-hand struggle all the sad, slow way, +fought in solitude,--a battle that began with the first +heart-beat, and whose victory will come only when the drops ooze +out, and sudden halt in the veins,--a victory, if you can gain +it, that will drift you not a little way upon the coasts of the +wider, stronger range of being, beyond death. + +Let me roughly outline for you one or two lives that I have +known, and how they conquered or were worsted in the fight. Very +common lives, I know,--such as are swarming in yonder +market-place; yet I dare to call them voices of God,--all! + +My reason for choosing this story to tell you is simple enough. + +An old book, which I happened to find to-day, recalled it. It +was a ledger, iron-bound, with the name of the firm on the +outside,--Knowles & Co. You may have heard of the firm: they +were large woollen manufacturers: supplied the home market in +Indiana for several years. This ledger, you see by the writing, +has been kept by a woman. That is not unusual in Western trading +towns, especially in factories where the operatives are chiefly +women. In such establishments, they can fill every post +successfully, but that of overseer: they are too hard with the +hands for that. + +The writing here is curious: concise, square, not flowing,--very +legible, however, exactly suited to its purpose. People who +profess to read character in chirography would decipher but +little from these cramped, quiet lines. Only this, probably: +that the woman, whoever she was, had not the usual fancy of her +sex for dramatizing her soul in her writing, her dress, her +face,--kept it locked up instead, intact; that her words and +looks, like her writing, were most likely simple, mere absorbents +by which she drew what she needed of the outer world to her, not +flaunting helps to fling herself, or the tragedy or comedy that +lay within, before careless passers-by. The first page has the +date, in red letters, October 2, 1860, largely and clearly +written. I am sure the woman's hand trembled a little when she +took up the pen; but there is no sign of it here; for it was a +new, desperate adventure to her, and she was young, with no faith +in herself. She did not look desperate, at all,--a quiet, dark +girl, coarsely dressed in brown. + +There was not much light in the office where she sat; for the +factory was in one of the close by-streets of the town, and the +office they gave her was only a small square closet in the +seventh story. It had but one window, which overlooked a +back-yard full of dyeing vats. The sunlight that did contrive to +struggle in obliquely through the dusty panes and cobwebs of the +window, had a sleepy odour of copperas latent in it. You smelt +it when you stirred. The manager, Pike, who brought her up, had +laid the day-books and this ledger open on the desk for her. As +soon as he was gone, she shut the door, listening until his heavy +boots had thumped creaking down the rickety ladder leading to the +frame-rooms. Then she climbed up on the high office-stool +(climbed, I said, for she was a little, lithe thing) and went to +work, opening the books, and copying from one to the other as +steadily, monotonously, as if she had been used to it all her +life. Here are the first pages: see how sharp the angles are of +the blue and black lines, how even the long columns: one would +not think, that, as the steel pen traced them out, it seemed to +be lining out her life, narrow and black. If any such morbid +fancy were in the girl's head, there was no tear to betray it. +The sordid, hard figures seemed to her types of the years coming, +but she wrote them down unflinchingly: perhaps life had nothing +better for her, so she did not care. She finished soon: they had +given her only an hour or two's work for the first day. She +closed the books, wiped the pens in a quaint, mechanical fashion, +then got down and examined her new home. + +It was soon understood. There were the walls with their broken +plaster, showing the laths underneath, with here and there, over +them, sketches with burnt coal, showing that her predecessor had +been an artist in his way,--his name, P. Teagarden, emblazoned on +the ceiling with the smoke of a candle; heaps of hanks of yarn in +the dusty corners; a half-used broom; other heaps of yarn on the +old toppling desk covered with dust; a raisin-box, with P. +Teagarden done on the lid in bas-relief, half full of ends of +cigars, a pack of cards, and a rotten apple. That was all, +except an impalpable sense of dust and worn-outness pervading the +whole. One thing more, odd enough there: a wire cage, hung on +the wall, and in it a miserable pecking chicken, peering +dolefully with suspicious eyes out at her, and then down at the +mouldy bit of bread on the floor of his cage,--left there, I +suppose, by the departed Teagarden. That was all, inside. She +looked out of the window. In it, as if set in a square black +frame, was the dead brick wall, and the opposite roof, with a cat +sitting on the scuttle. Going closer, two or three feet of sky +appeared. It looked as if it smelt of copperas, and she drew +suddenly back. + +She sat down, waiting until it was time to go; quietly taking the +dull picture into her slow, unrevealing eyes; a sluggish, +hackneyed weariness creeping into her brain; a curious feeling, +that all her life before had been a silly dream, and this dust, +these desks and ledgers, were real,--all that was real. It was +her birthday; she was twenty. As she happened to remember that, +another fancy floated up before her, oddly life-like: of the old +seat she made under the currant-bushes at home when she was a +child, and the plans she laid for herself, when she should be a +woman, sitting there,--how she would dig down into the middle of +the world, and find the kingdom of the griffins, or would go +after Mercy and Christiana in their pilgrimage. It was only a +little while ago since these things were more alive to her than +anything else in the world. The seat was under the +currant-bushes still. Very little time ago; but she was a woman +now,--and, look here! A chance ray of sunlight slanted in, +falling barely on the dust, the hot heaps of wool, waking a +stronger smell of copperas; the chicken saw it, and began to +chirp a weak, dismal joy, more sorrowful than tears. She went to +the cage, and put her finger in for it to peck at. Standing +there, if the vacant life coming rose up before her in that hard +blare of sunlight, she looked at it with the same still, waiting +eyes, that told nothing. + +The door opened at last, and a man came in,--Dr. Knowles, the +principal owner of the factory. He nodded shortly to her, and, +going to the desk, turned over the books, peering suspiciously at +her work. An old man, overgrown, looking like a huge misshapen +mass of flesh, as he stood erect, facing her. + +"You can go now," he said, gruffly. "Tomorrow you must wait for +the bell to ring, and go--with the rest of the hands." + +A curious smile flickered over her face like a shadow; but she +said nothing. He waited a moment. + +"So!" he growled, "the Howth blood does not blush to go down into +the slime of the gutter? is sufficient to itself?" + +A cool, attentive motion,--that was all. Then she stooped to tie +her sandals. The old man watched her, irritated. She had been +used to the keen scrutiny of his eyes since she was a baby, so +was cool under it always. The face watching her was one that +repelled most men: dominant, restless, flushing into red gusts of +passion, a small, intolerant eye, half hidden in folds of yellow +fat,--the eye of a man who would give to his master (whether God +or Satan) the last drop of his own blood, and exact the same of +other men. + +She had tied her bonnet and fastened her shawl, and stood ready to go. + +"Is that all you want?" he demanded. "Are you waiting to hear +that your work is well done? Women go through life as babies +learn to walk,--a mouthful of pap every step, only they take it +in praise or love. Pap is better. Which do you want? Praise, I fancy." + +"Neither," she said, quietly brushing her shawl. "The work is +well done, I know." + +The old man's eye glittered for an instant, satisfied; then he +turned to the books. He thought she had gone, but, hearing a +slight clicking sound, turned round. She was taking the chicken +out of the cage. + +"Let it alone!" he broke out, sharply. "Where are you going with it?" + +"Home," she said, with a queer, quizzical face. "Let it smell +the green fields, Doctor. Ledgers and copperas are not good food +for a chicken's soul, or body either." + +"Let it alone!" he growled. "You take it for a type of yourself, eh? +It has another work to do than to grow fat and sleep about the barnyard." + +She opened the cage. + +"I think I will take it." + +"No," he said, quietly. "It has a master here. Not P. Teagarden. +Why, Margret," pushing his stubby finger between the tin bars +"do you think the God you believe in would have sent it here +without a work to do?" + +She looked up; there was a curious tremour in his flabby face, a +shadow in his rough voice. + +"If it dies here, its life won't have been lost. Nothing is lost. +Let it alone." + +"Not lost?" she said, slowly, refastening the cage. "Only I think"---- + +"What, child?" + +She glanced furtively at him. + +"It's a hard, scraping world where such a thing as that has work to do!" + +He vouchsafed no answer. She waited to see his lip curl +bitterly, and then, amused, went down the stairs. She had paid +him for his sneer. + +The steps were but a long ladder set in the wall, not the great +staircase used by the hands: that was on the other side of the +factory. It was a huge, unwieldy building, such as crowd the +suburbs of trading towns. This one went round the four sides of +a square, with the yard for the vats in the middle. The ladders +and passages she passed down were on the inside, narrow and dimly +lighted: she had to grope her way sometimes. The floors shook +constantly with the incessant thud of the great looms that filled +each story, like heavy, monotonous thunder. It deafened her, +made her dizzy, as she went down slowly. It was no short walk to +reach the lower hall, but she was down at last. Doors opened +from it into the ground-floor ware-rooms; glancing in, she saw +vast, dingy recesses of boxes piled up to the dark ceilings. +There was a crowd of porters and draymen cracking their whips, +and lounging on the trucks by the door, waiting for loads, +talking politics, and smoking. The smell of tobacco, copperas, +and burning logwood was heavy to clamminess here. She stopped, +uncertain. One of the porters, a short, sickly man, who stood +aloof from the rest, pushed open a door for her with his staff. +Margret had a quick memory for faces; she thought she had seen +this one before as she passed,--a dark face, sullen, +heavy-lipped, the hair cut convict-fashion, close to the head. +She thought too, one of the men muttered "jail-bird," jeering him +for his forwardness. "Load for Clinton! Western Railroad!" sung +out a sharp voice behind her, and, as she went into the street, a +train of cars rushed into the hall to be loaded, and men swarmed +out of every corner,--red-faced and pale, whiskey-bloated and +heavy-brained, Irish, Dutch, black, with souls half asleep +somewhere, and the destiny of a nation in their grasp,--hands, +like herself, going through the slow, heavy work, for, as Pike +the manager would have told you, "three dollars a week,--good +wages these tight times." For nothing more? Some other meaning +may have fallen from their faces into this girl's subtile +intuition in the instant's glance,--cheerfuller, remoter aims, +hidden in the most sensual face,--homeliest home-scenes, low +climbing ambitions, some delirium of pleasure to come,--whiskey, +if nothing better: aims in life like yours differing in degree. +Needing only to make them the same----did you say what? + +She had reached the street now,--a back-street, a crooked sort of +lane rather, running between endless piles of warehouses. She +hurried down it to gain the suburbs, for she lived out in the +country. It was a long, tiresome walk through the outskirts of +the town, where the dwelling-houses were,--long rows of two-story +bricks drabbled with soot-stains. It was two years since she had +been in the town. Remembering this, and the reason why she had +shunned it, she quickened her pace, her face growing stiller than +before. One might have fancied her a slave putting on a mask, +fearing to meet her master. The town, being unfamiliar to her, +struck her newly. She saw the expression on its face better. It +was a large trading city, compactly built, shut in by hills. It +had an anxious, harassed look, like a speculator concluding a +keen bargain; the very dwelling-houses smelt of trade, having +shops in the lower stories; in the outskirts, where there are +cottages in other cities, there were mills here; the trees, which +some deluded dreamer had planted on the flat pavements, had all +grown up into abrupt Lombardy poplars, knowing their best policy +was to keep out of the way; the boys, playing marbles under them, +played sharply "for keeps;" the bony old dray-horses, plodding +through the dusty crowds, had speculative eyes, that measured +their oats at night with a "you-don't-cheat-me" look. Even the +churches had not the grave repose of the old brown house yonder +in the hills, where the few field-people--Arians, Calvinists, +Churchmen-- gathered every Sunday, and air and sunshine and +God's charity made the day holy. These churches lifted their +hard stone faces insolently, registering their yearly alms in the +morning journals. To be sure the back-seats were free for the +poor; but the emblazoned crimson of the windows, the carving of +the arches, the very purity of the preacher's style, said plainly +that it was easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle +than for a man in a red wamus to enter the kingdom of heaven +through that gate. + +Nature itself had turned her back on the town: the river turned +aside, and but half a river crept reluctantly by; the hills were +but bare banks of yellow clay. There was a cinder-road leading +through these. Margret climbed it slowly. The low town-hills, +as I said, were bare, covered at their bases with dingy stubble- +fields. In the sides bordering the road gaped the black mouths +of the coal-pits that burrowed under the hills, under the town. +Trade everywhere,--on the earth and under it. No wonder the girl +called it a hard, scraping world. But when the road had crept +through these hills, it suddenly shook off the cinders, and +turned into the brown mould of the meadows,--turned its back on +trade and the smoky town, and speedily left it out of sight +contemptuously, never looking back once. This was the country +now in earnest. + +Margret slackened her step, drawing long breaths of the fresh +cold air. Far behind her, panting and puffing along, came a +black, burly figure, Dr. Knowles. She had seen him behind her +all the way, but they did not speak. Between the two there lay +that repellent resemblance which made them like close +relations,--closer when they were silent. You know such people? +When you speak to them, the little sharp points clash. Yet they +are the few whom you surely know you will meet in the life beyond +death, "saved" or not. The Doctor came slowly along the quiet +country-road, watching the woman's figure going as slowly before +him. He had a curious interest in the girl,--a secret reason for +the interest, which as yet he kept darkly to himself. For this +reason he tried to fancy how her new life would seem to her. It +should be hard enough, her work,--he was determined on that; her +strength and endurance must be tested to the uttermost. He must +know what stuff was in the weapon before he used it. He had been +reading the slow, cold thing for years,--had not got into its +secret yet. But there was power there, and it was the power he +wanted. Her history was simple enough: she was going into the +mill to support a helpless father and mother; it was a common +story; she had given up much for them;--other women did the same. +He gave her scanty praise. Two years ago (he had keen, watchful +eyes, this man) he had fancied that the homely girl had a dream, +as most women have, of love and marriage: she had put it aside, +he thought, forever; it was too expensive a luxury; she had to +begin the life-long battle for bread and butter. Her dream had +been real and pure, perhaps; for she accepted no sham love in its +place: if it had left an empty hunger in her heart, she had not +tried to fill it. Well, well, it was the old story. Yet he +looked after her kindly as he thought of it; as some people look +sorrowfully at children, going back to their own childhood. For +a moment he half relented in his purpose, thinking, perhaps, her +work for life was hard enough. But no: this woman had been +planned and kept by God for higher uses than daughter or wife or +mother. It was his part to put her work into her hands. + +The road was creeping drowsily now between high grass-banks, out +through the hills. A sleepy, quiet road. The restless dust of +the town never had been heard of out there. It went wandering +lazily through the corn-fields, down by the river, into the very +depths of the woods,--the low October sunshine slanting warmly +down it all the way, touching the grass-banks and the corn-fields +with patches of russet gold. Nobody in such a road could be in a +hurry. The quiet was so deep, the free air, the heavy trees, the +sunshine, all so full and certain and fixed, one could be sure of +finding them the same a hundred years from now. Nobody ever was +in a hurry. The brown bees came along there, when their work was +over, and hummed into the great purple thistles on the road-side +in a voluptuous stupor of delight. The cows sauntered through +the clover by the fences, until they wound up by lying down in it +and sleeping outright. The country-people, jogging along to the +mill, walked their fat old nags through the stillness and warmth +so slowly that even Margret left them far behind. As the road +went deeper into the hills, the quiet grew even more penetrating +and certain,--so certain in these grand old mountains that one +called it eternal, and, looking up to the peaks fixed in the +clear blue, grew surer of a world beyond this where there is +neither change nor death. + +It was growing late; the evening air more motionless and cool; +the russet gold of the sunshine mottled only the hill-tops now; +in the valleys there was a duskier brown, deepening every moment. +Margret turned from the road, and went down the fields. One did +not wonder, feeling the silence of these hills and broad sweeps +of meadow, that this woman, coming down from among them, should +be strangely still, with dark questioning eyes dumb to their own +secrets. + +Looking into her face now, you could be sure of one thing: that +she had left the town, the factory, the dust far away, shaken the +thought of them off her brain. No miles could measure the +distance between her home and them. At a stile across the field +an old man sat waiting. She hurried now, her cheek colouring. +Dr. Knowles could see them going to the house beyond, talking +earnestly. He sat down in the darkening twilight on the stile, +and waited half an hour. He did not care to hear the story of +Margret's first day at the mill, knowing how her father and +mother would writhe under it, soften it as she would. It was +nothing to her, he knew. So he waited. After a while he heard +the old man's laugh, like that of a pleased child, and then went +in and took her place beside him. She went out, but came back +presently, every grain of dust gone, in her clear dress of pearl +gray. The neutral tint suited her well. As she stood by the +window, listening gravely to them, the homely face and waiting +figure came into full relief. Nature had made the woman in a +freak of rare sincerity. There were no reflected lights about +her; no gloss on her skin, no glitter in her eyes, no varnish on +her soul. Simple and dark and pure, there she was, for God and +her master to conquer and understand. Her flesh was cold and +colourless,--there were no surface tints on it,--it warmed +sometimes slowly from far within; her voice, quiet,--out of her +heart; her hair, the only beauty of the woman, was lustreless +brown, lay in unpolished folds of dark shadow. I saw such hair +once, only once. It had been cut from the head of a man, who, +unconscious, simple as a child, lived out the law of his nature, +and set the world at defiance,--Bysshe Shelley. + +The Doctor, talking to her father, watched the girl furtively, +took in every point, as one might critically survey a Damascus +blade which he was going to carry into battle. There was neither +love nor scorn in his look,--a mere fixedness of purpose to make +use of her some day. He talked, meanwhile, glancing at her now +and then, as if the subject they discussed were indirectly linked +with his plan for her. If it were, she was unconscious of it. +She sat on the wooden step of the porch, looking out on the +melancholy sweep of meadow and hill range growing cool and dimmer +in the dun twilight, not hearing what they said, until the +sharpened, earnest tones roused her. + +"You will fail, Knowles." + +It was her father who spoke. + +"Nothing can save such a scheme from failure. Neither the French +nor German Socialists attempted to base their systems on the +lowest class, as you design." + +"I know," said Knowles. "That accounts for their partial +success." + +"Let me understand your plan practically," eagerly demanded her +father. + +She thought Knowles evaded the question,--wished to leave the +subject. Perhaps he did not regard the poor old school-master as +a practical judge of practical matters. All his life he had +called him thriftless and unready. + +"It never will do, Knowles," he went on in his slow way. "Any +plan, Phalanstery or Community, call it what you please, founded +on self government, is based on a sham, the tawdriest of shams." + +The old school-master shook his head as one who knows, and tried +to push the thin gray hairs out of his eyes in a groping way. +Margret lifted them back, so quietly that he did not feel her. + +"You'll call the Republic a sham next!" said the Doctor, coolly +aggravating. + +"The Republic!" The old man quickened his tone, like a war-horse +scenting the battle near at hand. "There never was a thinner- +crusted Devil's egg in the world than democracy. I think I've +told you that before?" + +"I think you have," said the other, dryly. + +"You always were a Tory, Mr. Howth," said his wife, in her +placid, creamy way. "It is in the blood, I think, Doctor. The +Howths fought under Cornwallis, you know." + +The school-master waited until his wife had ended. + +"Very true, Mrs. Howth," he said, with a grave smile. Then his +thin face grew hot again. + +"No, Dr. Knowles. Your scheme is but a sign of the mad age we +live in. Since the thirteenth century, when the anarchic element +sprang full-grown into the history of humanity, that history has +been chaos. And this republic is the culmination of chaos." + +"Out of chaos came the new-born earth," suggested the Doctor. + +"But its foundations were granite," rejoined the old man with +nervous eagerness,--"granite, not the slime of yesterday. When +you found empires, go to work as God worked." + +The Doctor did not answer; sat looking, instead, out into the +dark indifferently, as if the heresies which the old man hurled +at him were some old worn-out song. Seeing, however, that the +school-master's flush of enthusiasm seemed on the point of dying +out, he roused himself to gibe it into life. + +"Well, Mr. Howth, what will you have? If the trodden rights of +the human soul are the slime of yesterday, how shall we found our +empire to last? On despotism? Civil or theocratic?" + +"Any despotism is better than that of newly enfranchised serfs," +replied the school-master. + +The Doctor laughed. + +"What a successful politician you would have made? You would +have had such a winning way to the hearts of the great unwashed!" + +Mrs. Howth laid down her knitting. + +"My dear," she said, timidly, "I think that is treason." + +The angry heat died out of his face instantly, as he turned to +her, without the glimmer of a covert smile at her simplicity. +She was a woman; and when he spoke to the Doctor, it was in a +tone less sharp. + +"What is it the boys used to declaim, their Yankee hearts +throbbing under their round-aborts? `Happy, proud America!' +Somehow in that way. `Cursed, abased America!' better if they +had said. Look at her, in the warm vigour of her youth, most +vigorous in decay! Look at the germs and dregs of nations, +creeds, religions, fermenting together! As for the theory of +self-government, it will muddle down here, as in the three great +archetypes of the experiment, into a paling, miserable failure!" + +The Doctor did not hear. Some sharper shadow seemed to haunt him +than the downfall of the Republic. What help did he seek in this +girl? His keen, deep eyes never left her unconscious face. + +"No," Mr. Howth went on, having the field to himself,--"we left +Order back there in the ages you call dark, and Progress will +trumpet the world into the ditch." + +"Comte!" growled the Doctor. + +The school-master's cane beat an angry tattoo on the hearth. + +"You sneer at Comte? Because, having the clearest eye, the +widest sweeping eye ever given to man, he had no more? It was to +show how far flesh can go alone. Could he help it, if God +refused the prophet's vision?" + +"I'm sure, Samuel," interrupted his wife with a sorrowful +earnestness, "your own eyes were as strong as a man's could be. +It was ten years after I wore spectacles that you began. Only +for that miserable fever, you could read shorthand now." + +Her own blue eyes filled with tears. There was a sudden silence. +Margret shivered, as if some pain stung her. Holding her +father's bony hand in hers, she patted it on her knee. The hand +trembled a little. Knowles's sharp eyes darted from one to the +other; then, with a smothered growl, he shook himself, and rushed +headlong into the old battle which he and the school-master had +been waging now, off and on, some six years. That was a fight, I +can tell you! None of your shallow, polite clashing of modern +theories,--no talk of your Jeffersonian Democracy, your high-bred +Federalism! They took hold of the matter by the roots, clear at +the beginning. + +Mrs. Howth's breath fairly left her, they went into the soul of +the matter in such a dangerous way. What if Joel should hear? +No doubt he would report that his master was an infidel,-- that +would be the next thing they would hear. He was in the kitchen +now: he finished his wood-chopping an hour ago. Asleep, +doubtless; that was one comfort. Well, if he were awake, he +could not understand. That class of people----And Mrs. Howth +(into whose kindly brain just enough of her husband's creed had +glimmered to make her say, "that class of people," in the tone +with which Abraham would NOT have spoken of Dives over the gulf) +went tranquilly back to her knitting, wondering why Dr. Knowles +should come ten times now where he used to come once, to provoke +Samuel into these wearisome arguments. Ever since their +misfortune came on them, he had been there every night, always at +it. She should think he might be a little more considerate. Mr. +Howth surely had enough to think of, what with his--his +misfortune, and the starvation waiting for them, and poor +Margret's degradation, (she sighed here,) without bothering his +head about the theocratic principle, or the Battle of Armageddon. +She had hinted as much to Dr. Knowles one day, and he had +muttered out something about its being "the life of the dog, +Ma'am." She wondered what he meant by that! She looked over at +his bearish figure, snuff-drabbled waistcoat, and shock of black +hair. Well, poor man, he could not help it, if he were coarse, +and an Abolitionist, and a Fourierite, and----She was getting a +little muddy now, she was conscious, so turned her mind back to +the repose of her stocking. Margret took it very quietly, seeing +her father flaming so. But Margret never had any opinions to +express. She was not like the Parnells: they were noted for +their clear judgment. Mrs. Howth was a Parnell. + + "The combat deepens,--on, ye brave!" + +The Doctor's fat, leathery face was quite red now, and his +sentences were hurled out in a sarcastic bass, enough to wither +the marrow of a weak man. But the school-master was no weak man. +His foot was entirely on his native heath, I assure you. He knew +every inch of the ground, from the domination of the absolute +faith in the ages of Fetichism, to its pseudo-presentment in the +tenth century, and its actual subversion in the nineteenth. +Every step. Our politicians might have picked up an idea or two +there, I should think! Then he was so cool about it, so skilful! +He fairly rubbed his hands with glee, enjoying the combat. And +he was so sure that the Doctor was savagely in earnest: why, any +one with half an ear could hear that! He did not see how, in the +very heat of the fray, his eyes would wander off listlessly. But +Mr. Howth did not wander; there was nothing careless or two-sided +in the making of this man,--no sham about him, or borrowing. +They came down gradually, or out,--for, as I told you, they dug +into the very heart of the matter at first,--they came out +gradually to modern times. Things began to assume a more +familiar aspect. Spinoza, Fichte, Saint Simon,--one heard about +them now. If you could but have heard the school-master deal +with these his enemies! With what tender charity for the man, +what relentless vengeance for the belief, he pounced on them, +dragging the soul out of their systems, holding it up for slow +slaughter! As for Humanity, (how Knowles lingered on that word, +with a tenderness curious in so uncouth a mass of flesh!)--as for +Humanity, it was a study to see it stripped and flouted and +thrown out of doors like a filthy rag by this poor old Howth, a +man too child-hearted to kill a spider. It was pleasanter to +hear him when he defended the great Past in which his ideal truth +had been faintly shadowed. How he caught the salient tints of +the feudal life! How the fine womanly nature of the man rose +exulting in the free picturesque glow of the day of crusader and +heroic deed! How he crowded in traits of perfected manhood in +the conqueror, simple trust in the serf, to colour and weaken his +argument, not seeing that he weakened it! How, when he thought +he had cornered the Doctor, he would colour and laugh like a boy, +then suddenly check himself, lest he might wound him! A curious +laugh, genial, cheery,--bubbling out of his weak voice in a way +that put you in mind of some old and rare wine. When he would +check himself in one of these triumphant glows, he would turn to +the Doctor with a deprecatory gravity, and for a few moments be +almost submissive in his reply. So earnest and worn it looked +then, the poor old face, in the dim light! The black clothes he +wore were so threadbare and shining at the knees and elbows, the +coarse leather shoes brought to so fine a polish! The Doctor +idly wondered who had blacked them, glancing at Margret's +fingers. + +There was a flower stuck in the button-hole of the +school-master's coat, a pale tea-rose. If Dr. Knowles had been a +man of fine instincts, (which his opaque shining eyes would seem +to deny,) he might have thought it was not unapt or ill-placed +even in the shabby, scuffed coat. A scholar, a gentleman, though +in patched shoes and trousers a world too short. Old and gaunt, +hunger-bitten even it may be, with loose-jointed, bony limbs, and +yellow face; clinging, loyal and brave, to the quaint, delicate +fancies of his youth, that were dust and ashes to other men. In +the very haggard face you could find the quiet purity of the +child he had been, and the old child's smile, fresh and +credulous, on the mouth. + +The Doctor had not spoken for a moment. It might be that he was +careless of the poetic lights with which Mr. Howth tenderly +decorated his old faith, or it might be, that even he, with the +terrible intentness of a real life-purpose in his brain, was +touched by the picture of the far old chivalry, dead long ago. +The master's voice grew low and lingering now. It was a labour +of love, this. Oh, it is so easy to go back out of the broil of +dust and meanness and barter into the clear shadow of that old +life where love and bravery stand eternal verities,--never to be +bought and sold in that dusty town yonder! To go back? To dream +back, rather. To drag out of our own hearts, as the hungry old +master did, whatever is truest and highest there, and clothe it +with name and deed in the dim days of chivalry. Make a poem of +it,--so much easier than to make a life! + +Knowles shuffled uneasily, watching the girl keenly, to know how +the picture touched her. Was, then, she thought, this grand, +dead Past so shallow to him? These knights, pure, unstained, +searching until death for the Holy Grail, could he understand the +life-long agony, the triumph of their conflict over Self? These +women, content to live in solitude forever because they once had +loved, could any man understand that? Or the dead queen, dead +that the man she loved might be free and happy,--why, this WAS +life,--this death! But did pain, and martyrdom, and victory lie +back in the days of Galahad and Arthur alone? The homely face +grew stiller than before, looking out into the dun sweep of +moorland,--cold, unrevealing. It baffled the man that looked at +it. He shuffled, chewed tobacco vehemently, tilted his chair on +two legs, broke out in a thunder-gust at last. + +"Dead days for dead men! The world hears a bugle-call to-day +more noble than any of your piping troubadours. We have +something better to fight for than a vacant tomb." + +The old man drew himself up haughtily. + +"I know what you would say,--Liberty for the low and vile. It is +a good word. That was a better which they hid in their hearts in +the old time,--Honour!" + +Honour! I think, Calvinist though he was, that word was his +religion. Men have had worse. Perhaps the Doctor thought this; +for he rose abruptly, and, leaning on the old man's chair, said, +gently,-- + +"It is better, even here. Yet you poison this child's mind. You +make her despise To-Day; make honour live for her now." + +"It does not," the school-master said, bitterly. "The world's a +failure. All the great old dreams are dead. Your own phantom, +your Republic, your experiment to prove that all men are born +free and equal,--what is it to-day?" + +Knowles lifted his head, looking out into the brown twilight. +Some word of pregnant meaning flashed in his eye and trembled on +his lip; but he kept it back. His face glowed, though, and the +glow and strength gave to the huge misshapen features a grand +repose. + +"You talk of To-Day," the old man continued, querulously. "I am +tired of it. Here is its type and history," touching a county +newspaper,--"a fair type, with its cant, and bigotry, and weight +of uncomprehended fact. Bargain and sale,--it taints our +religion, our brains, our flags,--yours and mine, Knowles, with +the rest. Did you never hear of those abject spirits who entered +neither heaven nor hell, who were neither faithful to God nor +rebellious, caring only for themselves?" + +He paused, fairly out of breath. Margret looked up. Knowles was +silent. There was a smothered look of pain on the coarse face; +the school-master's words were sinking deeper than he knew. + +"No, father," said Margret, hastily ending his quotation, " `io +non averei creduto, che [vita] tanta n' avesse disfatta.' " + +Skilful Margret! The broil must have been turbid in the old +man's brain which the grand, slow-stepping music of the +Florentine could not calm. She had learned that long ago, and +used it as a nurse does some old song to quiet her pettish +infant. His face brightened instantly. + +"Do not believe, then, child," he said, after a pause. "It is a +noble doubt, in Dante or in you." + +The Doctor had turned away; she could not see his face. The +angry scorn was gone from the old master's countenance; it was +bent with its usual wistful eagerness on the floor. A moment +after he looked up with a flickering smile. + +" `Onorate l' altissmo poeta!' " he said, gently lifting his +finger to his forehead in a military fashion. "Where is my cane, +Margret? The Doctor and I will go and walk on the porch before +it grows dark." + +The sun had gone down long before, and the stars were out; but no +one spoke of this. Knowles lighted the school-master's pipe and +his own cigar, and then moved the chairs out of their way, +stepping softly that the old man might not hear him. Margret, in +the room, watched them as they went, seeing how gentle the rough, +burly man was with her father, and how, every time they passed +the sweet-brier, he bent the branches aside, that they might not +touch his face. Slow, childish tears came into her eyes as she +saw it; for the school-master was blind. This had been their +regular walk every evening, since it grew too cold for them to go +down under the lindens. The Doctor had not missed a night since +her father gave up the school, a month ago: at first, under +pretence of attending to his eyes; but since the day he had told +them there was no hope of cure, he had never spoken of it again. +Only, since then, he had grown doubly quarrelsome,--standing +ready armed to dispute with the old man every inch of every +subject in earth or air, keeping the old man in a state of boyish +excitement during the long, idle days, looking forward to this +nightly battle. + +It was very still; for the house, with its half-dozen acres, lay +in an angle of the hills, looking out on the river, which shut +out all distant noises. Only the men's footsteps broke the +silence, passing and repassing the window. Without, the October +starlight lay white and frosty on the moors, the old barn, the +sharp, dark hills, and the river, which was half hidden by the +orchard. One could hear it, like some huge giant moaning in his +sleep, at times, and see broad patches of steel blue glittering +through the thick apple-trees and the bushes. Her mother had +fallen into a doze. Margret looked at her, thinking how sallow +the plump, fair face had grown, and how faded the kindly blue +eyes were now. Dim with crying,--she knew that, though she never +saw her shed a tear. Always cheery, going placidly about the +house in her gray dress and Quaker cap, as if there were no such +things in the world as debt or blindness. But Margret knew, +though she said nothing. When her mother came in from those +wonderful foraging expeditions in search of late pease or corn, +she could see the swollen circle round the eyes, and hear her +breath like that of a child which has sobbed itself tired. Then, +one night, when she had gone into her mother's room, after she +was in bed, the blue eyes were set in a wild, hopeless way, as if +staring down into years of starvation and misery. The fire on +the hearth burned low and clear; the old worn furniture stood out +cheerfully in the red glow, and threw a maze of twisted shadow on +the floor. But the glow was all that was cheerful. To-morrow, +when the hard daylight should jeer away the screening shadows, it +would unbare a desolate, shabby home. She knew; struck with the +white leprosy of poverty; the blank walls, the faded hangings, +the old stone house itself, looking vacantly out on the fields +with a pitiful significance of loss. Upon the mantel-shelf there +was a small marble figure, one of the Dancing Graces: the other +two were gone, gone in pledge. This one was left, twirling her +foot, and stretching out her hands in a dreary sort of ecstasy, +with no one to respond. For a moment, so empty and bitter seemed +her home and her life, that she thought the lonely dancer with +her flaunting joy mocked her,--taunted them with the slow, gray +desolation that had been creeping on them for years. Only for a +moment the morbid fancy hurt her. + +The red glow was healthier, suited her temperament better. She +chose to fancy the house as it had been once,--should be again, +please God. She chose to see the old comfort and the old beauty +which the poor school-master had gathered about their home. Gone +now. But it should return. It was well, perhaps, that he was +blind, he knew so little of what had come on them. There, where +the black marks were on the wall, there had hung two pictures. +Margret and her father religiously believed them to be a Tintoret +and Copley. Well, they were gone now. He had been used to dust +them with a light brush every morning, himself, but now he said +always,-- + +"You can clean the pictures to-day, Margret. Be careful, my +child." + +And Margret would remember the greasy Irishman who had tucked +them under his arm, and flung them into a cart, her blood growing +hotter in her veins. + +It was the same through all the house; there was not a niche in +the bare rooms that did not recall a something gone,--something +that should return. She willed that, that evening, standing by +the dim fire. What women will, whose eyes are slow, attentive, +still, as this Margret's, usually comes to pass. + +The red fire-glow suited her; another glow, warming her floating +fancy, mingled with it, giving her every-day purpose the trait of +heroism. The old spirit of the dead chivalry, of succour to the +weak, life-long self-denial,--did it need the sand waste of +Palestine or a tournament to call it into life? Down in that +trading town, in the thick of its mills and drays, it could live, +she thought. That very night, perhaps, in some of those fetid +cellars or sunken shanties, there were vigils kept of purpose as +unselfish, prayer as heaven-commanding, as that of the old +aspirants for knighthood. She, too,--her quiet face stirred with +a simple, childish smile, like her father's. + +"Why, mother!" she said, stroking down the gray hair under the +cap, "shall you sleep here all night?" laughing. + +A cheery, tender laugh, this woman's was,-- seldom heard,--not +far from tears. + +Mrs. Howth roused herself. Just then, a broad, high-shouldered +man, in a gray flannel shirt, and shoes redolent of the stable, +appeared at the door. Margret looked at him as if he were an +accusing spirit,--coming down, as woman must, from heights of +self-renunciation or bold resolve, to an undarned stocking or an +uncooked meal. + +"Kittle's b'ilin'," he announced, flinging in the information as +a general gratuity. + +"That will do, Joel," said Mrs. Howth. + +The tone of stately blandness which Mrs. Howth erected as a +shield between herself and "that class of people" was a study: a +success; the resume of her experience in the combat that had +devoured half her life, like that of other American +house-keepers. "Be gentle, but let them know their place, my +dear!" The class having its type and exponent in Joel, stopped +at the door, and hitched up its suspenders. + +"That will DO, Joel," with a stern suavity. + +Some idea was in Joel's head under the brush of red +hair,--probably the "anarchic element." + +"Uh was wishin' toh read the G'zette." Whereupon he advanced into +the teeth of the enemy and bore off the newspaper, going before +Margret, as she went to the kitchen, and seating himself beside a +flaring tallow-candle on the table. + +Reading, with Joel, was not the idle pastime that more trivial +minds find it; a thing, on the contrary, to be gone into with +slow spelling, and face knitted up into savage sternness, +especially now, when, as he gravely explained to Margret, "in HIS +opinion the crissis was jest at hand, and ev'ry man must be +seein' ef the gover'ment was carryin' out the views of the +people." + +With which intent, Joel, in company with five thousand other +sovereigns, consulted, as definitive oracle, "The Daily Gazette" +of Towbridge. The school-master need not have grumbled for the +old time: feodality in the days of Warwick and of "The Daily +Gazette" was not so widely different as he and Joel thought. + +Now and then, partly as an escape-valve for his overcharged +conviction, partly in compassion to the ignorance of women in +political economics, he threw off to Margret divers commentaries +on the text, as she passed in and out. + +If she had risen to the full level of Joel's views, she might +have considered these views tinctured with radicalism, as they +consisted in the propriety of the immediate "impinging of the +President." Besides, (Joel was a good-natured man, too, merciful +to his beast,) Nero-like, he wished, with the tiger drop of blood +that lies hid in everybody's heart, that the few millions who +differed with himself and the "Gazette" had but one neck for +their more convenient hanging, "It's all that'll save the +kentry," he said, and believed it, too. + +If Margret fell suddenly from the peak of outlook on life to the +homely labor of cooking supper, some of the healthy heroic flush +of the knightly days and the hearth-fire went down with her, I +think. It brightened and reddened the square kitchen with its +cracked stove and meagre array of tins; she bustled about in her +quaint way, as if it had been filled up and running over with +comforts. It brightened and reddened her face when she came in +to put the last dish on the table,--a cosy, snug table, set +for four. Heroic dreams with poets, I suppose, make them unfit +for food other than some feast such as Eve set for the angel. +But then Margret was no poet. So, with the kindling of her hope, +its healthful light struck out, and warmed and glorified these +common things. Such common things! Only a coarse white cloth, +redeemed by neither silver nor china, the amber coffee, (some +that Knowles had brought out to her father--"thrown on his hands; +he couldn't use it,--product of slave-labour!--never, Sir!") the +delicate brown fish that Joel had caught, the bread her mother +had made, the golden butter,--all of them touched her nerves with +a quick sense of beauty and pleasure. And more, the gaunt face +of the blind old man, his bony hand trembling as he raised the +cup to his lips, her mother and the Doctor managing silently to +place everything he liked best near his plate. Wasn't it all +part of the fresh, hopeful glow burning in her consciousness? It +brightened and deepened. It blotted out the hard, dusty path of +the future, and showed warm and clear the success at the end. +Not much to show, you think. Only the old home as it once was, +full of quiet laughter and content; only her mother's eyes clear +shining again; only that gaunt old head raised proudly, owing no +man anything but courtesy. The glow deepened, as she thought of +it. It was strange, too, that, with the deep, slow-moving nature +of this girl, she should have striven so eagerly to throw this +light over the future. Commoner natures have done more and hoped +less. It was a poor gift, you think, this of the labour of a +life for so plain a duty; hardly heroic. She knew it. Yet, if +there lay in this coming labour any pain, any wearing effort, she +clung to it desperately, as if this should banish, it might be, +worse loss. She tried desperately, I say, to clutch the far, +uncertain hope at the end, to make happiness out of it, to give +it to her silent gnawing heart to feed on. She thrust out of +sight all possible life that might have called her true self into +being, and clung to this present shallow duty and shallow reward. +Pitiful and vain so to cling! It is the way of women. As if any +human soul could bury that which might have been, in that which +is! + +The Doctor, peering into her thought with sharp, suspicious eyes, +heeded the transient flush of enthusiasm but little. Even the +pleasant cheery talk that pleased her father so was but +surface-deep, he knew. The woman he must conquer for his great +end lay beneath, dark and cold. It was only for that end he +cared for her. Through what cold depths of solitude her soul +breathed faintly mattered little. Yet an idle fancy touched +him, what a triumph the man had gained, whoever he might be, who +had held the master-key to a nature so rare as this, who had the +kingly power in his hand to break its silence into electric +shivers of laughter and tears,--terrible subtile pain, or joy as +terrible. Did he hold the power still? He wondered. Meanwhile +she sat there, unread. + + + +CHAPTER II. + + +The evening came on, slow and cold. Life itself, the Doctor +thought, impatiently, was cool and tardy here among the hills. +Even he fell into the tranquil tone, and chafed under it. +Nowhere else did the evening gray and sombre into the mysterious +night impalpably as here. The quiet, wide and deep, folded him +in, forced his trivial heat into silence and thought. The world +seemed to think there. Quiet in the dead seas of fog, that +filled the valleys like restless vapour curdled into silence; +quiet in the listening air, stretching gray up to the stars,--in +the solemn mountains, that stood motionless, like hoary-headed +prophets, waiting with uplifted hands, day and night, to hear the +Voice, silent now for centuries; the very air, heavy with the +breath of the sleeping pine-forests, moved slowly and cold, like +some human voice weary with preaching to unbelieving hearts of a +peace on earth. This man's heart was unbelieving; he chafed in +the oppressive quiet; it was unfeeling mockery to a sick and +hungry world,--a dead torpor of indifference. Years of hot and +turbid pain had dulled his eyes to the eternal secret of the +night; his soul was too sore with stumbling, stung, inflamed with +the needs and suffering of the countless lives that hemmed him +in, to accept the great prophetic calm. He was blind to the +prophecy written on the earth since the day God first bade it +tell thwarted man of the great To-Morrow. + +He turned from the night in-doors. Human hearts were his proper +study. The old house, he thought, slept with the rest. One did +not wonder that the pendulum of the clock swung long and slow. +The frantic, nervous haste of town-clocks chorded better with the +pulse of human life. Yet life in the veins of these people +flowed slow and cool; their sorrows and joys were few and +life-long. The enduring air suited this woman, Margret Howth. +Her blood could never ebb or flow with sudden gusts of passion, +like his own, throbbing, heating continually: one current, +absorbing, deep, would carry its tide from one eternity to the +other, one love or one hate. Whatever power was in the tide +should be his, in its entirety. It was his right. Was not his +aim high, the highest? It was his right. + +Margret, looking up, saw the man's eye fixed on her. She met it +coolly. All her short life, this strange man, so tender to the +weak, had watched her with a sort of savage scorn, sneering at +her childish, dreamy apathy, driving her from effort to effort +with a scourge of contempt. What did he want now with her? Her +duty was light; she took it up,--she was glad to take it up; what +more would he have? She put the whole matter away from her. + +It grew late. She sat down by the lamp and began to read to her +father, as usual. Her mother put away her knitting; Joel came in +half-asleep; the Doctor put out his everlasting cigar, and +listened, as he did everything else, intently. It was an old +story that she read,-- the story of a man who walked the fields +and crowded streets of Galilee eighteen hundred years ago. +Knowles, with his heated brain, fancied that the silence without +in the night grew deeper, that the slow-moving air stopped in its +course to listen. Perhaps the simple story carried a deeper +meaning to these brooding mountains and solemn sky than to the +purblind hearts within. It was a far-off story to them,--very +far off. The old school-master heard it with a lowered head, +with the proud obedience with which a cavalier would receive his +leader's orders. Was not the leader a knights the knight of +truest courage? All that was high, chivalric in the old man +sprang up to own him Lord. That he not only preached to, but ate +and drank with publicans and sinners, was a requirement of his +mission; nowadays----. Joel heard the "good word" with a +bewildered consciousness of certain rules of honesty to be +observed next day, and a maze of crowns and harps shining +somewhere beyond. As for any immediate connection between the +teachings of this book and "The Daily Gazette," it was pure +blasphemy to think of it. The Lord held those old Jews in His +hand, of course; but as for the election next month, that was +quite another thing. If Joel thrust the history out of the touch +of common life, the Doctor brought it down, and held it there on +trial. To him it was the story of a Reformer who, eighteen +centuries ago, had served his day. Could he serve this day? +Could he? The need was desperate. Was there anything in this +Christianity, freed from bigotry, to work out the awful problem +which the ages had left for America to solve? He doubted it. +People called this old Knowles an infidel, said his brain was as +unnatural and distorted as his body. God, looking down into his +heart that night, saw the savage wrestling there, and judged him +with other eyes than theirs. + +The story stood alive in his throbbing brain demanding hearing. +All things were real to this man, this uncouth mass of flesh that +his companions sneered at; most real of all, the unhelped pain of +life, the great seething mire of dumb wretchedness in streets and +alleys, the cry for aid from the starved souls of the world. You +and I have other work to do than to listen,--pleasanter. But he, +coming out of the mire, his veins thick with the blood of a +despised race, had carried up their pain and hunger with him: it +was the most real thing on earth to him,--more real than his own +share in the unseen heaven or hell. By the reality, the peril of +the world's instant need, he tried the offered help from Calvary. +It was the work of years, not of this night. Perhaps, if they +who preach Christ crucified had doubted him as this man did, +their work in the coming heaven might be higher,--and ours, who +hear them. When the girl had finished reading, she went out into +the cool air. The Doctor passed her without notice. He went, in +his lumbering way, down the hill into the city; glad to go; the +trustful, waiting quiet oppressed, taunted him. It sent him back +more mad against Destiny, his heart more bitter in its great +pity. Let him go to the great city, with its stifling +gambling-hells, its negro-pens, its foul cellars;--his place and +work. If he stumble blindly against unconquerable ills, and die, +others have so stumbled and so died. Do you think their work is +lost? + +Margret stood looking down at the sloping moors and fog. She, +too, had her place and work. She thought that night she saw it +clearly, and kept her eyes fixed on it, as I said. They plodded +steadily down the wide years opening before her. Whatever slow, +unending toil lay in them, whatever hungry loneliness, or +coarseness of deed, she saw it all, shrinking from nothing. She +looked at the big blue-corded veins in her wrist, full of +untainted blood,--gauged herself coolly, her lease of life, her +power of endurance,--measured it out against the work waiting for +her. No short task, she knew that. She would be old before it +was finished, quite an old woman, hard, mechanical, worn out. +But the day would be so bright, when it came, it would atone for +all: the day would be bright, the home warm again; it would hold +all that life had promised her of good. + +All? Oh, Margret, Margret! Was there no sullen doubt in the +brave resolve? Was there no shadow just then, dark, ironical, +blotting out father and mother and home, creeping nearer, less +alien to your soul than these, than even your God? + +If any such cold, masterful shadow rose out of years gone, and +clutched at the truest life of her heart, she stifled it, and +thrust it down. And yet, leaning on the gate, and thinking +vacantly, she remembered a time when through that shadow, she +believed more in a God than she did now. When, by the help of +that very dead hope, He of whom she read to-night stood close, an +infinitely tender Helper, that with the differing human loves she +knew, had loved His mother and Mary. Therefore, a Helper. Now, +struggle as she would for warmth or healthy hopes, the world was +gray and silent. Her defeated woman's nature called it so, +bitterly. Christ was a dim, ideal power, heaven far-off. She +doubted if it held anything as real as that which she had lost. + +As if to bring back the old times more vividly to her, there +happened one of those curious little coincidences with which +Fate, we think, has nothing to do. She heard a quick step along +the clay road, and a muddy little terrier jumped up, barking, +beside her. She stopped with a suddenness strange in her slow +movements. "TIGER!" she said, stroking its head with passionate +eagerness. The dog licked her hand, smelt her clothes to know if +she were the same: it was two years since he had seen her. She +sat there, softly stroking him. Presently there was a sound of +wheels jogging down the road, and a voice singing snatches of +some song, one of those cheery street-songs that the boys +whistle. It was a low, weak voice, but very pleasant. Margret +heard it through the dark: she kissed the dog with a strange +paleness on her face, and stood up, quiet, attentive as before. +Tiger still kept licking her hand, as it hung by her side: it was +cold, and trembled as he touched it. She waited a moment, then +pushed him from her, as if his touch, even, caused her to break +some vow. He whined, but she hurried away, not waiting to know +how he came, or with whom. Perhaps, if Dr. Knowles had seen her +face as she looked back at him, he would have thought there were +depths in her nature which his probing eyes had never reached. + +The wheels came close, and directly a cart stopped at the gate. +It was one of those little wagons that hucksters drive; only this +seemed to be a home-made affair, patched up with wicker-work and +bits of board. It was piled up with baskets of vegetables, eggs, +and chickens, and on a broken bench in the middle sat the driver, +a woman. You could not help laughing, when you looked at the +whole turn-out, it had such a make-shift look altogether. The +reins were twisted rope, the wheels uneven. It went jolting +along in such a careless, jolly way, as if it would not care in +the least, should it go to pieces any minute just there in the +road. The donkey that drew it was bony and blind of one eye; but +he winked the other knowingly at you, to ask if you saw the joke +of the thing. Even the voice of the owner of the establishment, +chirruping some idle song, as I told you, was one of the +cheeriest sounds you ever heard. Joel, up at the barn, forgot +his dignity to salute it with a prolonged "Hillo!" and presently +appeared at the gate. + +"I'm late, Joel," said the weak voice. It sounded like a +child's, near at hand. + +"We can trade in the dark, Lois, both bein' honest," he +responded, graciously, hoisting a basket of tomatoes into the +cart, and taking out a jug of vinegar. + +"Is that Lois?" said Mrs. Howth, coming to the gate. "Sit still, +child. Don't get down." + +But the child, as she called her, had scrambled off the cart, and +stood beside her, leaning on the wheel, for she was helplessly +crippled. + +"I thought you would be down to-night. I put some coffee on the +stove. Bring it out, Joel." + +Mrs. Howth never put up the shield between herself and this +member of "the class,"-- because, perhaps, she was so wretchedly +low in the social scale. However, I suppose she never gave a +reason for it even to herself. Nobody could help being kind to +Lois, even if he tried. Joel brought the coffee with more +readiness than he would have waited on Mrs. Howth. + +"Barney will be jealous," he said, patting the bare ribs of the +old donkey, and glancing wistfully at his mistress. + +"Give him his supper, surely," she said, taking the hint. + +It was a real treat to see how Lois enjoyed her supper, sipping +and tasting the warm coffee, her face in a glow, like an epicure +over some rare Falernian. You would be sure, from just that +little thing, that no sparkle of warmth or pleasure in the world +slipped by her which she did not catch and enjoy and be thankful +for to the uttermost. You would think, perhaps, pitifully, that +not much pleasure or warmth would ever go down so low, within her +reach. Now that she stood on the ground, she scarcely came up to +the level of the wheel; some deformity of her legs made her walk +with a curious rolling jerk, very comical to see. She laughed at +it, when other people did; if it vexed her at all, she never +showed it. She had turned back her calico sun-bonnet, and stood +looking up at Mrs. Howth and Joel, laughing as they talked with +her. The face would have startled you on so old and stunted a +body. It was a child's face, quick, eager, with that pitiful +beauty you always see in deformed people. Her eyes, I think, +were the kindliest, the hopefullest I ever saw. Nothing but the +livid thickness of her skin betrayed the fact that set Lois apart +from even the poorest poor,--the taint in her veins of black +blood. + +"Whoy! be n't this Tiger?" said Joel, as the dog ran yelping +about him. "How comed yoh with him, Lois?" + +"Tiger an' his master's good friends o' mine,--you remember they +allus was. An' he's back now, Mr. Holmes,--been back for a +month." + +Margret, walking in the porch with her father, stopped. + +"Are you tired, father? It is late." + +"And you are worn out, poor child! It was selfish in me to +forget. Good-night, dear!" + +Margret kissed him, laughing cheerfully, as she led him to his +room-door. He lingered, holding her dress. + +"Perhaps it will be easier for you to-morrow than it was to-day?" +hesitating. + +"I am sure it will. To-morrow will be sure to be better than +to-day." + +She left him, and went away with a step that did not echo the +promise of her words. + +Joel, meanwhile, consulted apart with his mistress. + +"Of course," she said, emphatically.--"You must stay until +morning, Lois. It is too late. Joel will toss you up a bed in +the loft." + +The queer little body hesitated. + +"I can stay," she said, at last. "It's his watch at the mill +to-night." + +"Whose watch?" demanded Joel. + +Her face brightened. + +"Father's. He's back, mum." + +Joel caught himself in a whistle. + +"He's very stiddy, Joel,--as stiddy as yoh." + +"I am very glad he has come back, Lois," said Mrs. Howth, +gravely. + +At every place where Lois had been that day she had told her bit +of good news, and at every place it had been met with the same +kindly smile and "I'm glad he's back, Lois." + +Yet Joe Yare, fresh from two years in the penitentiary, was not +exactly the person whom society usually welcomes with open arms. +Lois had a vague suspicion of this, perhaps; for, as she hobbled +along the path, she added to her own assurance of his +"stiddiness" earnest explanations to Joel of how he had a place +in the Croft Street woollen-mills, and how Dr. Knowles had said +he was as ready a stoker as any in the furnace-rooms. + +The sound of her weak, eager voice was silent presently, and +nothing broke the solitary cold of the night. + + + +CHAPTER III. + + +The morning, when it came long after, came quiet and cool,--the +warm red dawn helplessly smothered under great waves of gray +cloud. Margret, looking out into the thick fog, lay down wearily +again, closing her eyes. What was the day to her? + +Very slowly the night was driven back. An hour after, when she +lifted her head again, the stars were still glittering through +the foggy arch, like sparks of brassy blue, and hills and valleys +were one drifting, slow-heaving mass of ashy damp. Off in the +east a stifled red film groped through. It was another day +coming; she might as well get up, and live the rest of her life +out;--what else had she to do? + +Whatever this night had been to the girl, it left one thought +sharp, alive, in the exhausted quiet of her brain: a cowardly +dread of the trial of the day, when she would see him again. Was +the old struggle of years before coming back? Was it all to go +over again? She was worn out. She had been quiet in these two +years: what had gone before she never looked back upon; but it +made her thankful for even this stupid quiet. And now, when she +had planned her life, busy, useful, contented, why need God have +sent the old thought to taunt her? A wild, sickening sense of +what might have been struggled up: she thrust it down,-- she had +kept it down all night; the old pain should not come back,--it +should not. She did not think of the love she had given up as a +dream, as verse-makers or sham people do; she knew it to be the +quick seed of her soul. She cried for it even now, with all the +fierce strength of her nature; it was the best she knew; through +it she came nearest to God. Thinking of the day when she had +given it up, she remembered it with a vague consciousness of +having fought a deadly struggle with her fate, and that she had +been conquered,--never had lived again. Let it be; she could not +bear the struggle again. + +She went on dressing herself in a dreary, mechanical way. Once, +a bitter laugh came on her face, as she looked into the glass, +and saw the dead, dull eyes, and the wrinkle on her forehead. +Was that the face to be crowned with delicate caresses and love? +She scorned herself for the moment, grew sick of herself, balked, +thwarted in her true life as she was. Other women whom God has +loved enough to probe to the depths of their nature have done the +same,--saw themselves as others saw them: their strength drying +up within them, jeered at, utterly alone. It is a trial we laugh +at. I think the quick fagots at the stake were fitter subjects +for laughter than the slow gnawing hunger in the heart of many a +slighted woman or a selfish man. They come out of the trial as +out of martyrdom, according to their faith: you see its marks +sometimes in a frivolous old age going down with tawdry hopes and +starved eyes to the grave; you see its victory in the freshest, +fullest lives in the earth. This woman had accepted her trial, +but she took it up as an inflexible fate which she did not +understand; it was new to her; its solitude, its hopeless thirst +were freshly bitter. She loathed herself as one whom God had +thought unworthy of every woman's right,--to love and be loved. + +She went to the window, looking blankly out into the gray cold. +Any one with keen analytic eye, noting the thin muscles of this +woman, the protruding brain, the eyes deep, concealing, would +have foretold that she would conquer in the fight; force her soul +down,-- but that the forcing down would leave the weak, flaccid +body spent and dead. One thing was certain: no curious eyes +would see the struggle; the body might be nerveless or sickly, +but it had the great power of reticence; the calm with which she +faced the closest gaze was natural to her,--no mask. When she +left her room and went down, the same unaltered quiet that had +baffled Knowles steadied her step and cooled her eyes. + +After you have made a sacrifice of yourself for others, did you +ever notice how apt you were to doubt, as soon as the deed was +irrevocable, whether, after all, it were worth while to have done +it? How mean seems the good gained! How new and unimagined the +agony of empty hands and stifled wish! Very slow the angels are, +sometimes, that are sent to minister! + +Margret, going down the stairs that morning, found none of the +chivalric unselfish glow of the night before in her home. It was +an old, bare house in the midst of dreary stubble fields, in +which her life was slowly to be worn out: working for those who +did not comprehend her; thanked her little,--that was all. It +did not matter; life was short: she could thank God for that at +least. + +She opened the house-door. A draught of cold morning air struck +her face, sweeping from the west; it had driven the fog in great +gray banks upon the hills, or in shimmering swamps into the cleft +hollows: a vague twilight filled the space left bare. Tiger, +asleep in the hall, rushed out into the meadow, barking, wild +with the freshness and cold, then back again to tear round her +for a noisy good-morning. The touch of the dog seemed to bring +her closer to his master; she put him away; she dared not suffer +even that treachery to her purpose: the very circumstances that +had forced her to give him up made it weak cowardice to turn +again. It was a simple story, yet one which she dared not tell +to herself; for it was not altogether for her father's sake she +had made the sacrifice. She knew, that, though she might be near +to this man Holmes as his own soul, she was a clog on him,--stood +in his way,--kept him back. So she had quietly stood aside, +taken up her own solitary burden, and left him with his clear +self-reliant life,--with his Self, dearer to him than she had +ever been. Why should it not be dearer? She +thought,--remembering the man as he was, a master among men: fit +to be a master. She,--what was she compared to him? He was back +again; she must see him. So she stood there with this persistent +dread running through her brain. + +Suddenly, in the lane by the house, she heard a voice talking to +Joel,--the huckster-girl. What a weak, cheery sound it was in +the cold and fog! It touched her curiously: broke through her +morbid thought as anything true and healthy should have done. +"Poor Lois!" she thought, with an eager pity, forgetting her own +intolerable future for the moment, as she gathered up some +breakfast and went with it down the lane. Morning had come; +great heavy bars of light fell from behind the hills athwart the +banks of gray and black fog; there was shifting, uneasy, +obstinate tumult among the shadows; they did not mean to yield to +the coming dawn. The hills, the massed woods, the mist opposed +their immovable front, scornfully. Margret did not notice the +silent contest until she reached the lane. The girl Lois, +sitting in her cart, was looking, attentive, at the slow surge of +the shadows, and the slower lifting of the slanted rays. + +"T' mornin' comes grand here, Miss Marg'et!" she said, lowering +her voice. + +Margret said nothing in reply; the morning, she thought, was gray +and cold, like her own life. She stood leaning on the low cart; +some strange sympathy drew her to this poor wretch, dwarfed, +alone in the world,--some tie of equality, which the odd childish +face, nor the quaint air of content about the creature, did not +lessen. Even when Lois shook down the patched skirt of her +flannel frock straight, and settled the heaps of corn and +tomatoes about her, preparatory for a start, Margret kept her +hand on the side of the cart, and walked slowly by it down the +road. Once, looking at the girl, she thought with a half smile +how oddly clean she was. The flannel skirt she arranged so +complacently had been washed until the colours had run madly into +each other in sheer desperation; her hair was knotted with +relentless tightness into a comb such as old women wear. The +very cart, patched as it was, had a snug, cosy look; the masses +of vegetables, green and crimson and scarlet, were heaped with a +certain reference to the glow of colour, Margret noticed, +wondering if it were accidental. Looking up, she saw the girl's +brown eyes fixed on her face. They were singularly soft, +brooding brown. + +"Ye 'r' goin' to th' mill, Miss Marg'et?" she asked, in a half +whisper. + +"Yes. You never go there now, Lois?" + +"No, 'm." + +The girl shuddered, and then tried to hide it in a laugh. +Margret walked on beside her, her hand on the cart's edge. +Somehow this creature, that Nature had thrown impatiently aside +as a failure, so marred, imperfect, that even the dogs were kind +to her, came strangely near to her, claimed recognition by some +subtile instinct. + +Partly for this, and partly striving to forget herself, she +glanced furtively at the childish face of the distorted little +body, wondering what impression the shifting dawn made on the +unfinished soul that was looking out so intently through the +brown eyes. What artist sense had she,--what could she know--the +ignorant huckster--of the eternal laws of beauty or grandeur? +Nothing. Yet something in the girl's face made her think that +these hills, this air and sky, were in fact alive to her,--real; +that her soul, being lower, it might be, than ours, lay closer to +Nature, knew the language of the changing day, of these +earnest-faced hills, of the very worms crawling through the brown +mould. It was an idle fancy; Margret laughed at herself for it, +and turned to watch the slow morning-struggle which Lois followed +with such eager eyes. + +The light was conquering. Up the gray arch the soft, dewy blue +crept gently, deepening, broadening; below it, the level bars of +light struck full on the sullen black of the west, and worked +there undaunted, tinging it with crimson and imperial purple. +Two or three coy mist-clouds, soon converted to the new +allegiance, drifted giddily about, mere flakes of rosy blushes. +The victory of the day came slowly, but sure, and then the full +morning flushed out, fresh with moisture and light and delicate +perfume. The bars of sunlight fell on the lower earth from the +steep hills like pointed swords; the foggy swamp of wet vapour +trembled and broke, so touched, rose at last, leaving patches of +damp brilliance on the fields, and floated majestically up in +radiant victor clouds, led by the conquering wind. Victory: it +was in the cold, pure ether filling the heavens, in the solemn +gladness of the hills. The great forests thrilling in the soft +light, the very sleepy river wakening under the mist, chorded +with a grave bass in the rising anthem of welcome to the new life +which God had freshly given to the world. From the sun himself, +come forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, to the flickering +raindrops on the road-side mullein, the world seemed to rejoice, +exultant in victory. Homely, cheerier sounds broke the outlined +grandeur of the morning, on which Margret looked wearily. Lois +lost none of them; no morbid shadow of her own balked life kept +their meaning from her. + +The light played on the heaped vegetables in the old cart; the +bony legs of the donkey trotted on with fresh vigour. There was +not a lowing cow in the distant barns, nor a chirping swallow on +the fence-bushes, that did not seem to include the eager face of +the little huckster in their morning greetings. Not a golden +dandelion on the road-side, not a gurgle of the plashing brown +water from the well-troughs, which did not give a quicker +pleasure to the glowing face. Its curious content stung the +woman walking by her side. What secret of recompense had the +poor wretch found? + +"Your father is here, Lois," she said carelessly, to break the +silence. "I saw him at the mill yesterday." + +Her face kindled instantly. + +"He's home, Miss Marg'et,--yes. An' it's all right wid him. +Things allus do come right, some time," she added, in a +reflective tone, brushing a fly off Barney's ear. + +Margret smiled. + +"Always? Who brings them right for you, Lois?" + +"The Master," she said, turning with an answering smile. + +Margret was touched. The owner of the mill was not a more real +verity to this girl than the Master of whom she spoke with such +quiet knowledge. + +"Are things right in the mill?" she said, testing her. + +A shadow came on her face; her eyes wandered uncertainly, as if +her weak brain were confused,--only for a moment. + + +"They'll come right!" she said, bravely "The Master'll see to +it!" + +But the light was gone from her eyes; some old pain seemed to be +surging through her narrow thought; and when she began to talk, +it was in a bewildered, doubtful way. + +"It's a black place, th' mill," she said, in a low voice. "It +was a good while I was there: frum seven year old till sixteen. +'T seemed longer t' me 'n 't was. 'T seemed as if I'd been there +allus,--jes' forever, yoh know. 'Fore I went in, I had the +rickets, they say: that's what ails me. 'T hurt my head, they've +told me,-- made me different frum other folks." + +She stopped a moment, with a dumb, hungry look in her eyes. +After a while she looked at Margret furtively, with a pitiful +eagerness. + +"Miss Marg'et, I think there BE something wrong in my head. Did +YOH ever notice it?" + +Margret put her hand kindly on the broad, misshapen forehead. + +"Something is wrong everywhere, Lois," she said, absently. + +She did not see the slow sigh with which the girl smothered down +whatever hope had risen just then, listened half-attentive as the +huckster maundered on. + +"It was th' mill," she said at last. "I kind o' grew into that +place in them years: seemed to me like as I was part o' th' +engines, somehow. Th' air used to be thick in my mouth, black +wi' smoke 'n' wool 'n' smells. + +"In them years I got dazed in my head, I think. 'T was th' air +'n' th' work. I was weak allus. 'T got so that th' noise o' th' +looms went on in my head night 'n' day,--allus thud, thud. 'N' +hot days, when th' hands was chaffin' 'n' singin', th' black +wheels 'n' rollers was alive, starin' down at me, 'n' th' +shadders o' th' looms was like snakes creepin',--creepin' anear +all th' time. They was very good to me, th' hands was,--very +good. Ther' 's lots o' th' Master's people down there, though +they never heard His name: preachers don't go there. But He'll +see to 't. He'll not min' their cursin' o' Him, seein' they +don't know His face, 'n' thinkin' He belongs to th' gentry. I +knew it wud come right wi' me, when times was th' most bad. I +knew"---- + +The girl's hands were working together, her eyes set, all the +slow years of ruin that had eaten into her brain rising before +her, all the tainted blood in her veins of centuries of slavery +and heathenism struggling to drag her down. But above all, the +Hope rose clear, simple: the trust in the Master: and shone in +her scarred face,-- through her marred senses. + +"I knew it wud come right, allus. I was alone then: mother was +dead, and father was gone, 'n' th' Lord thought 't was time to +see to me,--special as th' overseer was gettin' me an enter to +th' poor-house. So He sent Mr. Holmes along. Then it come +right!" + +Margret did not speak. Even this mill-girl could talk of him, +pray for him; but she never must take his name on her lips! + +"He got th' cart fur me, 'n' this blessed old donkey, 'n' my +room. Did yoh ever see my room, Miss Marg'et?" + +Her face lighted suddenly with its peculiar childlike smile. + +"No? Yoh'll come some day, surely? It's a pore place, yoh'll +think; but it's got th' air,--th' air." + +She stopped to breathe the cold morning wind, as if she thought +to find in its fierce freshness the life and brains she had lost. + +"Ther' 's places in them alleys 'n' dark holes, Miss Marg'et, +like th' openin's to hell, with th' thick smells 'n' th' sights +yoh'd see." + +She went back with a terrible clinging pity to the Gehenna from +which she had escaped. The ill of life was real enough to +her,--a hungry devil down in those alleys and dens. Margret +listened, waked reluctantly to the sense of a different pain in +the world from her own,--lower deeps from which women like +herself draw delicately back, lifting their gauzy dresses. + +"Miss Marg'et!" + +Her face flashed. + +"Well, Lois?" + +"Th' Master has His people 'mong them very lowest, that's not for +such as yoh to speak to. He knows 'em: men 'n' women starved 'n' +drunk into jails 'n' work-houses, that 'd scorn to be cowardly or +mean,--that shows God's kindness, through th' whiskey 'n' +thievin', to th' orphints or--such as me. Ther' 's things th' +Master likes in them, 'n' it'll come right, it'll come right at +last; they'll have a chance--somewhere." + +Margret did not speak; let the poor girl sob herself into quiet. +What had she to do with this gulf of pain and wrong? Her own +higher life was starved, thwarted. Could it be that the blood of +these her brothers called against HER from the ground? No wonder +that the huckster-girl sobbed, she thought, or talked heresy. It +was not an easy thing to see a mother drink herself into the +grave. And yet--was she to blame? Her Virginian blood was cool, +high-bred; she had learned conservatism in her cradle. Her life +in the West had not yet quickened her pulse. So she put aside +whatever social mystery or wrong faced her in this girl, just as +you or I would have done. She had her own pain to bear. Was she +her brother's keeper? It was true, there was wrong; this woman's +soul lay shattered by it; it was the fault of her blood, of her +birth, and Society had finished the work. Where was the help? +She was free,-- and liberty, Dr. Knowles said, was the cure for +all the soul's diseases, and---- + +Well, Lois was quiet now,--ready to be drawn into a dissertation +on Barney's vices and virtues, or her room, where "th' air was so +strong, 'n' the fruit 'n' vegetables allus stayed fresh,-- best +in THIS town," she said, with a bustling pride. + +They went on down the road, through the corn-fields sometimes, or +on the river-bank, or sometimes skirting the orchards or +barn-yards of the farms. The fences were well built, she +noticed,--the barns wide and snug-looking: for this county in +Indiana is settled by New England people, as a general thing, or +Pennsylvanians. They both leave their mark on barns or fields, I +can tell you! The two women were talking all the way. In all +his life Dr. Knowles had never heard from this silent girl words +as open and eager as she gave to the huckster about paltry, +common things,--partly, as I said, from a hope to forget herself, +and partly from a vague curiosity to know the strange world which +opened before her in this disjointed talk. There were no morbid +shadows in this Lois's life, she saw. Her pains and pleasures +were intensely real, like those of her class. If there were +latent powers in her distorted brain, smothered by hereditary +vice of blood, or foul air and life, she knew nothing of it. She +never probed her own soul with fierce self-scorn, as this quiet +woman by her side did;--accepted, instead, the passing moment, +with keen enjoyment. For the rest, childishly trusted "the +Master." + +This very drive, now, for instance,--although she and the cart +and Barney went through the same routine every day, you would +have thought it was a new treat for a special holiday, if you had +seen the perfect abandon with which they all threw themselves +into the fun of the thing. Not only did the very heaps of ruby +tomatoes, and corn in delicate green casings, tremble and shine +as though they enjoyed the fresh light and dew, but the old +donkey cocked his ears, and curved his scraggy neck, and tried to +look as like a high-spirited charger as he could. Then everybody +along the road knew Lois, and she knew everybody, and there was a +mutual liking and perpetual joking, not very refined, perhaps, +but hearty and kind. It was a new side of life for Margret. She +had no time for thoughts of self-sacrifice, or chivalry, ancient +or modern, watching it. It was a very busy ride,-- something to +do at every farm-house: a basket of eggs to be taken in, or some +egg-plants, maybe, which Lois laid side by side, Margret +noticed,--the pearly white balls close to the heap of royal +purple. No matter how small the basket was that she stopped for, +it brought out two or three to put it in; for Lois and her cart +were the event of the day for the lonely farm-houses. The wife +would come out, her face ablaze from the oven, with an anxious +charge about that butter; the old man would hail her from the +barn to know "ef she'd thought toh look in th' mail yes'rday;" +and one or the other was sure to add, "Jes' time for breakfast, +Lois." If she had no baskets to stop for, she had "a bit o' +business," which turned out to be a paper she had brought for the +grandfather, or some fresh mint for the baby, or "jes' to inquire +fur th' fam'ly." + +As to the amount that cart carried, it was a perpetual mystery to +Lois. Every day since she and the cart went into partnership, +she had gone into town with a dead certainty in the minds of +lookers-on that it would break down in five minutes, and a +triumphant faith in hers in its unlimited endurance. "This cart +'ll be right side up fur years to come," she would assert, +shaking her head. "It 's got no more notion o' givin' up than me +nor Barney,--not a bit." Margret had her doubts,--and so would +you, if you had heard how it creaked under the load,--how they +piled in great straw panniers of apples: black apples with yellow +hearts, scarlet veined,--golden pippin apples, that held the +warmth and light longest,--russet apples with a hot blush on +their rough brown skins,--plums shining coldly in their delicate +purple bloom,--peaches with the crimson velvet of their cheeks +aglow with the prisoned heat of a hundred summer days. + +I wish with all my heart somebody would paint me Lois and her +cart! Mr. Kitts, the artist in the city then, used to see it +going past his room out by the coal-pits every day, and thought +about it seriously. But he had his grand battle-piece on hand +then,--and after that he went the way of all geniuses, and died +down into colourer for a photographer. He met them, that day, +out by the stone quarry, and touched his hat as he returned +Lois's "Good-morning," and took a couple of great pawpaws from +her. She was a woman, you see, and he had some of the +school-master's old-fashioned notions about women. He was a +sickly-looking soul. One day Lois had heard him say that there +were pawpaws on his mother's place in Ohio; so after that she +always brought him some every day. She was one of those people +who must give, if it is nothing better than a Kentucky banana. + +After they passed the stone quarry, they left the country behind +them, going down the stubble-covered hills that fenced in the +town. Even in the narrow streets, and through the warehouses, +the strong, dewy air had quite blown down and off the fog and +dust. Morning (town morning, to be sure, but still morning) was +shining in the red window-panes, in the tossing smoke up in the +frosty air, in the very glowing faces of people hurrying from +market with their noses nipped blue and their eyes watering with +cold. Lois and her cart, fresh with country breath hanging about +them, were not so out of place, after all. House-maids left the +steps half-scrubbed, and helped her measure out the corn and +beans, gossiping eagerly; the newsboys "Hi-d!" at her in a +friendly, patronizing way; women in rusty black, with sharp, pale +faces, hoisted their baskets, in which usually lay a scraggy bit +of flitch, on to the wheel, their whispered bargaining ending +oftenest in a low "Thank ye, Lois!"--for she sold cheaper to some +people than they did in the market. + +Lois was Lois in town or country. Some subtile power lay in the +coarse, distorted body, in the pleading child's face, to rouse, +wherever they went, the same curious, kindly smile. Not, I +think, that dumb, pathetic eye, common to deformity, that cries, +"Have mercy upon me, O my friend, for the hand of God hath +touched me!"--a deeper, mightier charm, rather: a trust down in +the fouled fragments of her brain, even in the bitterest hour of +her bare life,--a faith faith in God, faith in her fellow-man, +faith in herself. No human soul refused to answer its summons. +Down in the dark alleys, in the very vilest of the black and +white wretches that crowded sometimes about her cart, there was +an undefined sense of pride in protecting this wretch whose +portion of life was more meagre and low than theirs. Something +in them struggled up to meet the trust in the pitiful +eyes,--something which scorned to betray the trust,--some +Christ-like power in their souls, smothered, dying, under the +filth of their life and the terror of hell. A something in them +never to be lost. If the Great Spirit of love and trust lives, +not lost! + +Even in the cold and quiet of the woman walking by her side the +homely power of the poor huckster was wholesome to strengthen. +Margret left her, turning into the crowded street leading to the +part of the town where the factories lay. The throng of +anxious-faced men and women jostled and pushed, but she passed +through them with a different heart from yesterday's. Somehow, +the morbid fancies were gone: she was keenly alive; the coarse +real life of this huckster fired her, touched her blood with a +more vital stimulus than any tale of crusader. As she went down +the crooked maze of dingy lanes, she could hear Lois's little +cracked bell far off: it sounded like a Christmas song to her. +She half smiled, remembering how sometimes in her distempered +brain the world had seemed a gray, dismal Dance of Death. How +actual it was to-day,--hearty, vigorous, alive with honest work +and tears and pleasure! A broad, good world to live and work in, +to suffer or die, if God so willed it,--God, the good! + + + +CHAPTER IV. + + +She entered the vast, dingy factory; the woollen dust, the clammy +air of copperas were easier to breathe in; the cramped, sordid +office, the work, mere trifles to laugh at; and she bent over the +ledger with its hard lines in earnest good-will, through the slow +creeping hours of the long day. She noticed that the unfortunate +chicken was making its heart glad over a piece of fresh earth +covered with damp moss. Dr. Knowles stopped to look at it when +he came, passing her with a surly nod. + +"So your master's not forgotten you," he snarled, while the blind +old hen cocked her one eye up at him. + +Pike, the manager, had brought in some bills. + +"Who's its master?" he said, curiously, stopping by the door. + +"Holmes,--he feeds it every morning." + +The Doctor drawled out the words with a covert sneer, watching +the cold face bending over the desk, meantime. + +Pike laughed. + +"Bah! it's the first thing he ever fed, then, besides himself. +Chickens must lie nearer his heart than men." + +Knowles scowled at him; he had no fancy for Pike's scurrilous +gossip. + +The quiet face was unmoved. When he heard the manager's foot on +the ladder without, he tested it again. He had a vague suspicion +which he was determined to verify. + +"Holmes," he said, carelessly, "has an affinity for animals. No +wonder. Adam must have been some such man as he, when the Lord +gave him `dominion over the fish of the sea, and over the fowl of +the air.' " + +The hand paused courteously a moment, then resumed its quick, +cool movement over the page. He was not baffled. + +"If there were such a reality as mastership, that man was born to +rule. Pike will find him harder to cheat than me, when he takes +possession here." + +She looked up now. + +"He came here to take my place in the mills,--buy me +out,--articles will be signed in a day or two. I know what you +think,--no,--not worth a dollar. Only brains and a soul, and he +'s sold them at a high figure,--threw his heart in,--the +purchaser being a lady. It was light, I fancy,--starved out, +long ago." + +The old man's words were spurted out in the bitterness of scorn. +The girl listened with a cool incredulity in her eyes, and went +back to her work. + +"Miss Herne is the lady,--my partner's daughter. Herne and +Holmes they'll call the firm. He is here every, day, counting +future profit." + +Nothing could be read on the face; so he left her, cursing, as he +went, men who put themselves up at auction,--worse than Orleans +slaves. Margret laughed to herself at his passion; as for the +story he hinted, it was absurd. She forgot it in a moment. + +Two or three gentlemen down in one of the counting-rooms, just +then, looked at the story from another point of view. They were +talking low, out of hearing from the clerks. + +"It's a good thing for Holmes," said one, a burly, farmer-like +man, who was choosing specimens of wool. + +"Cheap. And long credit. Just half the concern he takes." + +"There is a lady in the case?" suggested a young doctor, who, by +virtue of having spent six months in the South, dropped his r-s, +and talked of "niggahs" in a way to make a Georgian's hair stand +on end. + +"A lady in the case?" + +"Of course. Only child of Herne's. HE comes down with the dust +as dowry. Good thing for Holmes. 'Stonishin' how he's made his +way up. If money 's what he wants in this world, he's making a +long stride now to 't." + +The young doctor lighted his cigar, asserting that-- + +"Ba George, some low people did get on, re-markably! Mary Herne, +now, was best catch in town." + +"Do you think money is what he wants?" said a quiet little man, +sitting lazily on a barrel,--a clergyman, Vandyke; whom his +clerical brothers shook their heads when they named, but never +argued with, and bowed to with uncommon deference. + +The wool-buyer hesitated with a puzzled look. + +"No," he said, slowly; "Stephen Holmes is not miserly. I've +knowed him since a boy. To buy place, power, perhaps, eh? Yet +not that, neither," he added, hastily. "We think a sight of him +out our way, (self-made, you see,) and would have had him the +best office in the State before this, only he was so cursedly +indifferent." + +"Indifferent, yes. No man cares much for stepping-stones in +themselves," said Vandyke, half to himself. + +"Great fault of American society, especially in the West," said +the young aristocrat. "Stepping-stones lie low, as my reverend +friend suggests; impudence ascends; merit and refinement scorn +such dirty paths,"--with a mournful remembrance of the last dime +in his waistcoat-pocket. + +"But do you," exclaimed the farmer, with sudden solemnity, "do +you understand this scheme of Knowles's? Every dollar he owns is +in this mill, and every dollar of it is going into some castle in +the air that no sane man can comprehend." + +"Mad as a March hare," contemptuously muttered the doctor. + +His reverend friend gave him a look,--after which he was silent. + +"I wish to the Lord some one would persuade him out of it," +persisted the wool-man, earnestly looking at the attentive face +of his listener. "We can't spare old Knowles's brain or heart +while he ruins himself. It's something of a Communist +fraternity: I don't know the name, but I know the thing." + +Very hard common-sense shone out of his eyes just then at the +clergyman, whom he suspected of being one of Knowles's abettors. + +"There's two ways for 'em to end. If they're made out of the top +of society, they get so refined, so idealized, that every +particle flies off on its own special path to the sun, and the +Community 's broke; and if they're made of the lower mud, they +keep going down, down together,--they live to drink and eat, and +make themselves as near the brutes as they can. It isn't easy to +believe, Sir, but it's true. I have seen it. I've seen every +one of them the United States can produce. It's FACTS, Sir; and +facts, as Lord Bacon says, `are the basis of every sound +speculation.' " + +The last sentence was slowly brought out, as quotations were not +exactly his forte, but, as he said afterwards,--"You see, that +nailed the parson." + +The parson nodded gravely. + +"You'll find no such experiment in the Bible," threw in the young +doctor, alluding to "serious things" as a peace-offering to his +reverend friend. + +"One, I believe," dryly. + +"Well," broke in the farmer, folding up his wool, "that's neither +here nor there. This experiment of Knowles's is like nothing +known since the Creation. Plan of his own. He spends his days +now hunting out the gallows-birds out of the dens in town here, +and they're all to be transported into the country to start a new +Arcadia. A few men and women like himself, but the bulk is from +the dens, I tell you. All start fair, level ground, perpetual +celibacy, mutual trust, honour, rise according to the stuff +that's in them,--pah! it makes me sick!" + +"Knowles's inclination to that sort of people is easily +explained," spitefully lisped the doctor. "Blood, Sir. His +mother was a half-breed Creek, with all the propensities of the +redskins to fire-water and 'itching palms.' Blood will out." + +"Here he is," maliciously whispered the woolman. "No, it's +Holmes," he added, after the doctor had started into a more +respectful posture, and glanced around frightened. + +He, the doctor, rose to meet Holmes's coming footstep,--"a low +fellah, but always sure to be the upper dog in the fight, goin' +to marry the best catch," etc., etc. The others, on the +contrary, put on their hats and sauntered away into the street. + +The day broadened hotly; the shadows of the Lombardy poplars +curdling up into a sluggish pool of black at their roots along +the dry gutters. The old school-master in the shade of the great +horse-chestnuts (brought from the homestead in the Piedmont +country, every one) husked corn for his wife, composing, +meanwhile, a page of his essay on the "Sirventes de Bertrand de +Born." Joel, up in the barn by himself, worked through the long +day in the old fashion,--pondering gravely (being of a religious +turn) upon a sermon by the Reverend Mr. Clinche, reported in the +"Gazette;" wherein that disciple of the meek Teacher invoked, as +he did once a week, the curses of the law upon slaveholders, +praying the Lord to sweep them immediately from the face of the +earth. Which rendering of Christian doctrine was so much +relished by Joel, and the other leading members of Mr. Clinche's +church, that they hinted to him it might be as well to continue +choosing his texts from Moses and the Prophets until the +excitement of the day was over. The New Testament +was,--well,--hardly suited for the-- emergency; did not, somehow, +chime in with the lesson of the hour. I may remark, in passing, +that this course of conduct so disgusted the High Church rector +of the parish, that he not only ignored all new devils, (as Mr. +Carlyle might have called them,) but talked as if the millennium +were un fait accompli, and he had leisure to go and hammer at the +poor dead old troubles of Luther's time. One thing, though, +about Joel: while he was joining in Mr. Clinche's petition for +the "wiping out" of some few thousands, he was using up all the +fragments of the hot day in fixing a stall for a half-dead old +horse he had found by the road-side. + +Perhaps, even if the listening angel did not grant the prayer, he +marked down the stall at least, as a something done for eternity. + +Margret, through the stifling air, worked steadily alone in the +dusty office, her face bent over the books, never changing but +once. It was a trifle then; yet, when she looked back +afterwards, the trifle was all that gave the day a name. The +room shook, as I said, with the thunderous, incessant sound of +the engines and the looms; she scarcely heard it, being used to +it. Once, however, another sound came between,-- an iron tread, +passing through the long wooden corridor,--so firm and measured +that it sounded like the monotonous beatings of a clock. She +heard it through the noise in the far distance; it came slowly +nearer, up to the door without,--passed it, going down the +echoing plank walk. The girl sat quietly, looking out at the +dead brick wall. The slow step fell on her brain like the +sceptre of her master; if Knowles had looked in her face then, he +would have seen bared the secret of her life. Holmes had gone +by, unconscious of who was within the door. She had not seen +him; it was nothing but a step she heard. Yet a power, the power +of the girl's life, shook off all outward masks, all surface +cloudy fancies, and stood up in her with a terrible passion at +the sound; her blood burned fiercely; her soul looked out, her +soul as it was, as God knew it,--God and this man. No longer a +cold, clear face; you would have thought, looking at it, what a +strong spirit the soul of this woman would be, if set free in +heaven or in hell. The man who held it in his grasp went on +carelessly, not knowing that the mere sound of his step had +raised it as from the dead. She, and her right, and her pain, +were nothing to him now, she remembered, staring out at the +taunting hot sky. Yet so vacant was the sudden life opened +before her when he was gone, that, in the desperation of her +weakness, her mad longing to see him but once again, she would +have thrown herself at his feet, and let the cold, heavy step +crush her life out,--as he would have done, she thought, choking +down the icy smother in her throat, if it had served his purpose, +though it cost his own heart's life to do it. He would trample +her down, if she kept him back from his end; but be false to her, +false to himself, that he would never be! + +The red bricks, the dusty desk covered with wool, the miserable +chicken peering out, grew sharper and more real. Life was no +morbid nightmare now; her weak woman's heart found it near, +cruel. There was not a pain nor a want, from the dumb question +in the dog's eyes that passed her on the street, to her father's +hopeless fancies, that did not touch her sharply through her own +loss, with a keen pity, a wild wish to help to do something to +save others with this poor life left in her hands. + +So the day wore on in the town and country; the old sun glaring +down like some fierce old judge, intolerant of weakness or +shams,--baking the hard earth in the streets harder for the +horses' feet, drying up the bits of grass that grew between the +boulders of the gutter, scaling off the paint from the brazen +faces of the interminable brick houses. He looked down in that +city as in every American town, as in these where you and I live, +on the same countless maze of human faces going day by day +through the same monotonous routine. Knowles, passing through +the restless crowds, read with keen eye among them strange +meanings by this common light of the sun,--meanings such as you +and I might read, if our eyes were clear as his,--or morbid, it +may be, you think? A commonplace crowd like this in the street +without: women with cold, fastidious faces, heavy-brained, +bilious men, dapper 'prentices, draymen, prize- fighters, +negroes. Knowles looked about him as into a seething caldron, in +which the people I tell you of were atoms, where the blood of +uncounted races was fused, but not mingled,-- where creeds, +philosophies, centuries old, grappled hand to hand in their +death-struggle,-- where innumerable aims and beliefs and powers +of intellect, smothered rights and triumphant wrongs, warred +together, struggling for victory. + +Vulgar American life? He thought it a life more potent, more +tragic in its history and prophecy, than any that has gone +before. People called him a fanatic. It may be that he was one: +yet the uncouth old man, sick in soul from some pain that I dare +not tell you of; in his own life, looked into the depths of human +loss with a mad desire to set it right. On the very faces of +those who sneered at him he found some trace of failure, +something that his heart carried up to God with a loud and +exceeding bitter cry. The voice of the world, he thought, went +up to heaven a discord, unintelligible, hopeless,--the great +blind world, astray since the first ages! Was there no hope, no +help? + +The sun shone down, as it had done for six thousand years; it +shone on open problems in the lives of these men and women, of +these dogs and horses who walked the streets, problems whose end +and beginning no eye could read. There were places where it did +not shine: down in the fetid cellars, in the slimy cells of the +prison yonder: what riddles of life lay there he dared not think +of. God knows how the man groped for the light,--for any voice +to make earth and heaven clear to him. + +There was another light by which the world was seen that day, +rarer than the sunshine, and purer. It fell on the dense +crowds,--upon the just and the unjust. It went into the fogs of +the fetid dens from which the coarser light was barred, into the +deepest mires of body where a soul could wallow, and made them +clear. It lighted the depths of the hearts whose outer pain and +passion men were keen to read in the unpitying sunshine, and +bared in those depths the feeble gropings for the right, the +loving hope, the unuttered prayer. No kind thought, no pure +desire, no weakest faith in a God and heaven somewhere, could be +so smothered under guilt that this subtile light did not search +it out, glow about it, shine under it, hold it up in full view of +God and the angels,--lighting the world other than the sun had +done for six thousand years. I have no name for the light: it +has a name,--yonder. Not many eyes were clear to see +its--shining that day; and if they did, it was as through a +glass, darkly. Yet it belonged to us also, in the old time, the +time when men could "hear the voice of the Lord God in the garden +in the cool of the day." It is God's light now alone. + +Yet Lois caught faint glimpses, I think, sometimes, of its +heavenly clearness. I think it was this light that made the +burning of Christmas fires warmer for her than for others, that +showed her all the love and outspoken honesty and hearty frolic +which her eyes saw perpetually in the old warm-hearted world. +That evening, as she sat on the step of her frame-shanty, +knitting at a great blue stocking, her scarred face and misshapen +body very pitiful to the passers-by, it was this that gave to her +face its homely, cheery smile. It made her eyes quick to know +the message in the depths of colour in the evening sky, or even +the flickering tints of the green creeper on the wall with its +crimson cornucopias filled with hot shining. She liked clear, +vital colours, this girl,--the crimsons and blues. They answered +her, somehow. They could speak. There were things in the world +that like herself were marred,--did not understand,--were hungry +to know: the gray sky, the mud streets, the tawny lichens. She +cried sometimes, looking at them, hardly knowing why: she could +not help it, with a vague sense of loss. It seemed at those +times so dreary for them to be alive,--or for her. Other things +her eyes were quicker to see than ours: delicate or grand lines, +which she perpetually sought for unconsciously,--in the homeliest +things, the very soft curling of the woollen yarn in her fingers, +as in the eternal sculpture of the mountains. Was it the disease +of her injured brain that made all things alive to her,--that +made her watch, in her ignorant way, the grave hills, the +flashing, victorious rivers, look pitifully into the face of some +starved hound, or dingy mushroom trodden in the mud before it +scarce had lived, just as we should look into human faces to know +what they would say to us? Was it weakness and ignorance that +made everything she saw or touched nearer, more human to her than +to you or me? She never got used to living as other people do; +these sights and sounds did not come to her common, hackneyed. +Why, sometimes, out in the hills, in the torrid quiet of summer +noons, she had knelt by the shaded pools, and buried her hands in +the great slumberous beds of water-lilies, her blood curdling in +a feverish languor, a passioned trance, from which she roused +herself, weak and tired. + +She had no self-poised artist sense, this Lois,--knew nothing of +Nature's laws, as you do. Yet sometimes, watching the dun sea of +the prairie rise and fall in the crimson light of early morning, +or, in the farms, breathing the blue air trembling up to heaven +exultant with the life of bird and forest, she forgot the poor +vile thing she was, some coarse weight fell off, and something +within, not the sickly Lois of the mill, went out, free, like an +exile dreaming of home. + +You tell me, that, doubtless, in the wreck of the creature's +brain, there were fragments of some artistic insight that made +her thus rise above the level of her daily life, drunk with the +mere beauty of form and colour. I do not know,--not knowing how +sham or real a thing you mean by artistic insight. But I do know +that the clear light I told you of shone for this girl dimly +through this beauty of form and colour; alive. The Life, rather; +and ignorant, with no words for her thoughts, she believed in it +as the Highest that she knew. I think it came to her thus in +imperfect language, (not an outward show of tints and lines, as +to artists,)--a language, the same that Moses heard when he stood +alone, with nothing between his naked soul and God, but the +desert and the mountain and the bush that burned with fire. I +think the weak soul of the girl staggered from its dungeon, and +groped through these heavy-browed hills, these colour-dreams, +through the faces of dog or man upon the street, to find the God +that lay behind. So she saw the world, and its beauty and warmth +being divine as near to her, the warmth and beauty became real in +her, found their homely reflection in her daily life. So she +knew, too, the Master in whom she believed, saw Him in +everything that lived, more real than all beside. The waiting +earth, the prophetic sky, the very worm in the gutter was but a +part of this man, something come to tell her of Him,--she dimly +felt; though, as I said, she had no words for such a thought. +Yet even more real than this. There was no pain nor temptation +down in those dark cellars where she went that He had not +borne,--not one. Nor was there the least pleasure came to her or +the others, not even a cheerful fire, or kind words, or a warm, +hearty laugh, that she did not know He sent it and was glad to do +it. She knew that well! So it was that He took part in her +humble daily life, and became more real to her day by day. Very +homely shadows her life gave of His light, for it was His: +homely, because of her poor way of living, and of the depth to +which the heavy foot of the world had crushed her. Yet they were +there all the time, in her cheery patience, if nothing more. +To-night, for instance, how differently the surging crowd seemed +to her from what it did to Knowles! She looked down on it from +her high wood-steps with an eager interest, ready with her weak, +timid laugh to answer every friendly call from below. She had no +power to see them as types of great classes; they were just so +many living people, whom she knew, and who, most of them, had +been kind to her. Whatever good there was in the vilest face, +(and there was always something,) she was sure to see it. The +light made her poor eyes strong for that. + +She liked to sit there in the evenings, being alone, yet never +growing lonesome; there was so much that was pleasant to watch +and listen to, as the cool brown twilight came on. If, as +Knowles thought, the world was a dreary discord, she knew nothing +of it. People were going from their work now,--they had time to +talk and joke by the way,--stopping, or walking slowly down the +cool shadows of the pavement; while here and there a lingering +red sunbeam burnished a window, or struck athwart the gray +boulder-paved street. From the houses near you could catch a +faint smell of supper: very friendly people those were in these +houses; she knew them all well. The children came out with their +faces washed, to play, now the sun was down: the oldest of them +generally came to sit with her and hear a story. + +After it grew darker, you would see the girls in their neat blue +calicoes go sauntering down the street with their sweethearts for +a walk. There was old Polston and his son Sam coming home from +the coal-pits, as black as ink, with their little tin lanterns on +their caps. After a while Sam would come out in his suit of +Kentucky jean, his face shining with the soap, and go sheepishly +down to Jenny Ball's, and the old man would bring his pipe and +chair out on the pavement, and his wife would sit on the steps. +Most likely they would call Lois down, or come over themselves, +for they were the most sociable, cosiest old couple you ever +knew. There was a great stopping at Lois's door, as the girls +walked past, for a bunch of the flowers she brought from the +country, or posies, as they called them, (Sam never would take +any to Jenny but "old man" and pinks,) and she always had them +ready in broken jugs inside. They were good, kind girls, every +one of them,--had taken it in turn to sit up with Lois last +winter all the time she had the rheumatism. She never forgot +that time,--never once. + +Later in the evening you would see a man coming along, close by +the wall, with his head down, the same Margret had seen in the +mill,--a dark man, with gray, thin hair,--Joe Yare, Lois's old +father. No one spoke to him,-- people always were looking away +as he passed; and if old Mr. or Mrs. Polston were on the steps +when he came up, they would say, "Good-evening, Mr. Yare," very +formally, and go away presently. It hurt Lois more than anything +else they could have done. But she bustled about noisily, so +that he would not notice it. If they saw the marks of the ill +life he had lived on his old face, she did not; his sad, +uncertain eyes may have been dishonest to them, but they were +nothing but kind to the misshapen little soul that he kissed so +warmly with a "Why, Lo, my little girl!" Nobody else in the +world ever called her by a pet name. + +Sometimes he was gloomy and silent, but generally he told her of +all that had happened in the mill, particularly any little word +of notice or praise he might have received, watching her +anxiously until she laughed at it, and then rubbing his hands +cheerfully. He need not have doubted Lois's faith in him. +Whatever the rest did, she believed in him; she always had +believed in him, through all the dark years, when he was at home, +and in the penitentiary. They were gone now, never to come back. +It had come right. If the others wronged him, and it hurt her +bitterly that they did, that would come right some day too, she +would think, as she looked at the tired, sullen face of the old +man bent to the window-pane, afraid to go out. But they had very +cheerful little suppers there by themselves in the odd, bare +little room, as homely and clean as Lois herself. + +Sometimes, late at night, when he had gone to bed, she sat alone +in the door, while the moonlight fell in broad patches over the +square, and the great poplars stood like giants whispering +together. Still the far sounds of the town came up cheerfully, +while she folded up her knitting, it being dark, thinking how +happy an ending this was to a happy day. When it grew quiet, she +could hear the solemn whisper of the poplars, and sometimes +broken strains of music from the cathedral in the city floated +through the cold and moonlight past her, far off into the blue +beyond the hills. All the keen pleasure of the day, the warm, +bright sights and sounds, coarse and homely though they were, +seemed to fade into the deep music, and make a part of it. + +Yet, sitting there, looking out into the listening night, the +poor child's face grew slowly pale as she heard it. It humbled +her. It made her meanness, her low, weak life so plain to her! +There was no pain nor hunger she had known that did not find a +voice in its articulate cry. SHE! what was she? The pain and +wants of the world must be going up to God in that sound, she +thought. There was something more in it,--an unknown meaning of +a great content that her shattered brain struggled to grasp. She +could not. Her heart ached with a wild, restless longing. She +had no words for the vague, insatiate hunger to understand. It +was because she was ignorant and low, perhaps; others could know. +She thought her Master was speaking. She thought that unknown +Joy linked all earth and heaven together, and made it plain. So +she hid her face in her hands, and listened, while the low +harmony shivered through the air, unheeded by others, with the +message of God to man. Not comprehending, it may be,--the poor +girl,--hungry still to know. Yet, when she looked up, there were +warm tears in her eyes, and her scarred face was bright with a +sad, deep content and love. + +So the hot, long day was over for them all,--passed as thousands +of days have done for us, gone down, forgotten: as that long, hot +day we call life will be over some time, and go down into the +gray and cold. Surely, whatever of sorrow or pain may have made +darkness in that day for you or me, there were countless openings +where we might have seen glimpses of that other light than +sunshine: the light of that great To-Morrow, of the land where +all wrongs shall be righted. If we had but chosen to see it,--if +we only had chosen! + + + +CHAPTER V. + + +Now that I have come to the love part of my story, I am suddenly +conscious of dingy common colors on the palette with which I have +been painting. I wish I had some brilliant dyes. I wish, with +all my heart, I could take you back to that "Once upon a time" in +which the souls of our grandmothers delighted,--the time which +Dr. Johnson sat up all night to read about in "Evelina,"--the +time when all the celestial virtues, all the earthly graces were +revealed in a condensed state to man through the blue eyes and +sumptuous linens of some Belinda Portman or Lord Mortimer. None +of your good-hearted, sorely-tempted villains then! It made your +hair stand on end only to read of them,--going about perpetually +seeking innocent maidens and unsophisticated old men to devour. +That was the time for holding up virtue and vice; no trouble then +in seeing which were sheep and which were goats! A person could +write a story with a moral to it, then, I should hope! People +that were born in those days had no fancy for going through the +world with half-and-half characters, such as we put up with; so +Nature turned out complete specimens of each class, with all the +appendages of dress, fortune, et cetera, chording decently. The +heroine glides into life full-charged with rank, virtues, a name +three-syllabled, and a white dress that never needs washing, +ready to sail through dangers dire into a triumphant haven of +matrimony;-- all the aristocrats have high foreheads and cold +blue eyes; all the peasants are old women, miraculously grateful, +in neat check aprons, or sullen-browed insurgents planning +revolts in caves. + +Of course, I do not mean that these times are gone: they are +alive (in a modern fashion) in many places in the world; some of +my friends have described them in prose and verse. I only mean +to say that I never was there; I was born unlucky. I am willing +to do my best, but I live in the commonplace. Once or twice I +have rashly tried my hand at dark conspiracies, and women rare +and radiant in Italian bowers; but I have a friend who is sure to +say, "Try and tell us about the butcher next door, my dear." If +I look up from my paper now, I shall be just as apt to see our +dog and his kennel as the white sky stained with blood and Tyrian +purple. I never saw a full-blooded saint or sinner in my life. +The coldest villain I ever knew was the only son of his mother, +and she a widow,--and a kinder son never lived. Doubtless there +are people capable of a love terrible in its strength; but I +never knew such a case that some one did not consider its +expediency as "a match" in the light of dollars and cents. As +for heroines, of course I have seen beautiful women, and good as +fair. The most beautiful is delicate and pure enough for a type +of the Madonna, and has a heart almost as warm and holy. (Very +pure blood is in her veins, too, if you care about blood.) But at +home they call her Tode for a nickname; all we can do, she will +sing, and sing through her nose; and on washing-days she often +cooks the dinner, and scolds wholesomely, if the tea-napkins are +not in order. Now, what is anybody to do with a heroine like +that? I have known old maids in abundance, with pathos and +sunshine in their lives; but the old maid of novels I never have +met, who abandoned her soul to gossip,--nor yet the other type, a +life-long martyr of unselfishness. They are mixed generally, and +not unlike their married sisters, so far as I can see. Then as +to men, certainly I know heroes. One man, I knew, as high a +chevalier in heart as any Bayard of them all; one of those souls +simple and gentle as a woman, tender in knightly honour. He was +an old man, with a rusty brown coat and rustier wig, who spent +his life in a dingy village office. You poets would have laughed +at him. Well, well, his history never will be written. The +kind, sad, blue eyes are shut now. There is a little +farm-graveyard overgrown with privet and wild grape-vines, and a +flattened grave where he was laid to rest; and only a few who +knew him when they were children care to go there, and think of +what he was to them. But it was not in the far days of Chivalry +alone, I think, that true and proud souls have stood in the world +unwelcome, and, hurt to the quick, have turned away and dumbly +died. Let it be. Their lives are not lost, thank God! + +I meant only to ask you, How can I help it, if the people in my +story seem coarse to you,--if the hero, unlike all other heroes, +stopped to count the cost before he fell in love,--if it made his +fingers thrill with pleasure to touch a full pocket-book as well +as his mistress's hand,--not being withal, this Stephen Holmes, a +man to be despised? A hero, rather, of a peculiar type,--a man, +more than other men: the very mould of man, doubt it who will, +that women love longest and most madly. Of course, if I could, I +would have blotted out every meanness before I showed him to you; +I would have told you Margret was an impetuous, whole-souled +woman, glad to throw her life down for her father, without one +bitter thought of the wife and mother she might have been; I +would have painted her mother tender, (as she was,) forgetting +how pettish she grew on busy days: but what can I do? I must +show you men and women as they are in that especial State of the +Union where I live. In all the others, of course, it is very +different. Now, being prepared for disappointment, will you see +my hero? + +He had sauntered out from the city for a morning walk,--not +through the hills, as Margret went, going home, but on the other +side, to the river, over which you could see the Prairie. We are +in Indiana, remember. The sunlight was pure that morning, +powerful, tintless, the true wine of life for body or spirit. +Stephen Holmes knew that, being a man of delicate animal +instincts, and so used it, just as he had used the dumb-bells in +the morning. All things were made for man, weren't they? He was +leaning against the door of the school-house,-- a red, flaunting +house, the daub on the landscape: but, having his back to it, he +could not see it, so through his half-shut eyes he suffered the +beauty of the scene to act on him. Suffered: in a man, according +to his creed, the will being dominant, and all influences, such +as beauty, pain, religion, permitted to act under orders. Of +course. + +It was a peculiar landscape,--like the man who looked at it, of a +thoroughly American type. A range of sharp, dark hills, with a +sombre depth of green shadow in the clefts, and on the sides +massed forests of scarlet and flame and crimson. Above, the +sharp peaks of stone rose into the wan blue, wan and pale +themselves, and wearing a certain air of fixed calm, the type of +an eternal quiet. At the base of the hills lay the city, a dirty +mass of bricks and smoke and dust, and at its far edge flowed the +river,--deep here, tinted with green, writhing and gurgling and +curdling on the banks over shelving ledges of lichen and +mud-covered rock. Beyond it yawned the opening to the great +West,--the Prairies. Not the dreary deadness here, as farther +west. A plain, dark russet in hue,--for the grass was +sun-scorched,--stretching away into the vague distance, +intolerable, silent, broken by hillocks and puny streams that +only made the vastness and silence more wide and heavy. Its +limitless torpor weighed on the brain; the eyes ached, stretching +to find some break before the dull russet faded into the amber of +the horizon and was lost. An American landscape: of few +features, simple, grand in outline as a face of one of the early +gods. It lay utterly motionless before him, not a fleck of cloud +in the pure blue above, even where the mist rose from the river; +it only had glorified the clear blue into clearer violet. + +Holmes stood quietly looking; he could have created a picture +like this, if he never had seen one; therefore he was able to +recognize it, accepted it into his soul, and let it do what it +would there. + +Suddenly a low wind from the far Pacific coast struck from the +amber line where the sun went down. A faint tremble passed over +the great hills, the broad sweeps of colour darkened from base to +summit, then flashed again,--while below, the prairie rose and +fell like a dun sea, and rolled in long, slow, solemn waves. + +The wind struck so broad and fiercely in Holmes's face that he +caught his breath. It was a savage freedom, he thought, in the +West there, whose breath blew on him,--the freedom of the +primitive man, the untamed animal man, self-reliant and +self-assertant, having conquered Nature. Well, this fierce, +masterful freedom was good for the soul, sometimes, doubtless. +It was old Knowles's vital air. He wondered if the old man would +succeed in his hobby, if he could make the slavish beggars and +thieves in the alleys yonder comprehend this fierce freedom. +They craved leave to live on sufferance now, not knowing their +possible divinity. It was a desperate remedy, this sense of +unchecked liberty; but their disease was desperate. As for +himself, he did not need it; that element was not lacking. In a +mere bodily sense, to be sure. He felt his arm. Yes, the cold +rigor of this new life had already worn off much of the clogging +weight of flesh, strengthened the muscles. Six months more in +the West would toughen the fibres to iron. He raised an iron +weight that lay on the steps, carelessly testing them. For the +rest, he was going back here; something of the cold, loose +freshness got into his brain, he believed. In the two years of +absence his power of concentration had been stronger, his +perceptions more free from prejudice, gaining every day delicate +point, acuteness of analysis. He drew a long breath of the icy +air, coarse with the wild perfume of the prairie. No, his +temperament needed a subtiler atmosphere than this, rarer essence +than mere brutal freedom The East, the Old World, was his proper +sphere for self-development. He would go as soon as he could +command the means, leaving all clogs behind. ALL? His idle +thought balked here, suddenly; the sallow forehead contracted +sharply, and his gray eyes grew in an instant shallow, careless, +formal, as a man who holds back his thought. There was a fierce +warring in his brain for a moment. Then he brushed his Kossuth +hat with his arm, and put it on, looking out at the landscape +again. Somehow its meaning was dulled to him. Just then a muddy +terrier came up, and rubbed itself against his knee. "Why, Tige, +old boy!" he said, stooping to pat it kindly. The hard, shallow +look faded out; he half smiled, looking in the dog's eyes. A +curious smile, unspeakably tender and sad. It was the +idiosyncrasy of the man's face, rarely seen there. He might have +looked with it at a criminal, condemning him to death. But he +would have condemned him, and, if no hangman could be found, +would have put the rope on with his own hands, and then most +probably would have sat down pale and trembling, and analyzed his +sensations on paper,--being sincere in all. + +He sat down on the school-house step, which the boys had hacked +and whittled rough, and waited; for he was there by appointment, +to meet Dr. Knowles. + +Knowles had gone out early in the morning to look at the ground +he was going to buy for his Phalanstery, or whatever he chose to +call it. He was to bring the deed of sale of the mill out with +him for Holmes. The next day it was to be signed. Holmes saw +him at last lumbering across the prairie, wiping the perspiration +from his forehead. Summer or winter, he contrived to be always +hot. There was a cart drawn by an old donkey coming along beside +him. Knowles was talking to the driver. The old man clapped his +hands as stage-coachmen do, and drew in long draughts of air, as +if there were keen life and promise in every breath. They came +up at last, the cart empty, and drying for the day's work after +its morning's scrubbing, Lois's pock-marked face all in a glow +with trying to keep Barney awake. She grew quite red with +pleasure at seeing Holmes, but went on quickly as the men began +to talk. Tige followed her, of course; but when she had gone a +little way across the prairie, they saw her stop, and presently +the dog came back with something in his mouth, which he laid down +beside his master, and bolted off. It was only a rough +wicker-basket which she had filled with damp plushy moss, and +half-buried in it clusters of plumy fern, delicate brown and +ashen lichens, masses of forest-leaves all shaded green with a +few crimson tints. It had a clear woody smell, like far-off +myrrh. The Doctor laughed as Holmes took it up. + +"An artist's gift, if it is from a mulatto," he said. "A born +colourist." + +The men were not at ease,--for some reason; they seized on every +trifle to keep off the subject which had brought them together. + +"That girl's artist-sense is pure, and her religion, down under +the perversion and ignorance of her brain. Curious, eh?" + +"Look at the top of her head, when you see her," said Holmes. +"It is necessity for such brains to worship. They let the fire +lick their blood, if they happen to be born Parsees. This girl, +if she had been a Jew when Christ was born, would have known him +as Simeon did." + +Knowles said nothing,--only glanced at the massive head of the +speaker, with its overhanging brow, square development at the +sides, and lowered crown, and smiled significantly. + +"Exactly," laughed Holmes, putting his hand on his head. +"Crippled there by my Yorkshire blood,--my mother. Never mind; +outside of this life, blood or circumstance matters nothing." + +They walked on slowly towards town. Surely there was nothing in +the bill-of-sale which the old man had in his pocket but a mere +matter of business; yet they were strangely silent about it, as +if it brought shame to some one. There was an embarrassed pause. +The Doctor went back to Lois for relief. + +"I think it is the pain and want of such as she that makes them +susceptible to religion. The self in them is so starved and +humbled that it cannot obscure their eyes; they see God clearly." + +"Say rather," said Holmes, "that the soul is so starved and blind +that it cannot recognize itself as God." + +The Doctor's intolerant eye kindled. + +"Humph! So that's your creed! Not Pantheism. Ego sum. Of +course you go on with the conjugation: I have been, I shall be. +I,-- that covers the whole ground, creation, redemption, and +commands the hereafter?" + +"It does so," said Holmes, coolly. + +"And this wretched huckster carries her deity about her,--her +self-existent soul? How, in God's name, is her life to set it +free?" + +Holmes said nothing. The coarse sneer could not be answered. +Men with pale faces and heavy jaws like his do not carry their +religion on their tongue's end; their creeds leave them only in +the slow oozing life-blood, false as the creeds may be. + +Knowles went on hotly, half to himself, seizing on the new idea +fiercely, as men and women do who are yet groping for the truth +of life. + +"What is it your Novalis says? `The true Shechinah is man.' You +know no higher God? Pooh! the idea is old enough; it began with +Eve. It works slowly, Holmes. In six thousand years, taking +humanity as one, this self-existent soul should have clothed +itself with a freer, royaller garment than poor Lois's body,-- or +mine," he added, bitterly. + +"It works slowly," said the other, quietly. "Faster soon, in +America. There are yet many ills of life for the divinity within +to conquer." + +"And Lois and the swarming mass yonder in those dens? It is late +for them to begin the fight?" + +"Endurance is enough for them here, and their religions teach +them that. They could not bear the truth. One does not put a +weapon into the hands of a man dying of the fetor and hunger of +the siege." + +"But what will this life, or the lives to come, give to you, +champions who know the truth?" + +"Nothing but victory," he said, in a low tone, looking away. + +Knowles looked at the pale strength of the iron face. + +"God help you, Stephen!" he broke out, his shallow jeering +falling off. "For there IS a God higher than we. The ills of +life you mean to conquer will teach it to you, Holmes. You'll +find the Something above yourself, if it's only to curse Him and +die." + +Holmes did not smile at the old man's heat,-- walked gravely, +steadily. + +There was a short silence. Knowles put his hand gently on the +other's arm. + +"Stephen," he hesitated, "you're a stronger man than I. I know +what you are; I've watched you from a boy. But you're wrong +here. I'm an old man. There's not much I know in life,--enough +to madden me. But I do know there's something stronger,--some +God outside of the mean devil they call `Me.' You'll learn it, +boy. There's an old story of a man like you and the rest of your +sect, and of the vile, mean, crawling things that God sent to +bring him down. There are such things yet. Mean passions in +your divine soul, low, selfish things, that will get the better +of you, show you what you are. You'll do all that man can do. +But they are coming, Stephen Holmes! they're coming!" + +He stopped, startled. For Holmes had turned abruptly, glancing +over at the city with a strange wistfulness. It was over in a +moment. He resumed the slow, controlling walk beside him. They +went on in silence into town, and when they did speak, it was on +indifferent subjects, not referring to the last. The Doctor's +heat, as it usually did, boiled out in spasms on trifles. Once +he stumped his toe, and, I am sorry to say, swore roundly about +it, just as he would have done in the new Arcadia, if one of the +jail-birds comprising that colony had been ungrateful for his +advantages. Philanthropists, for some curious reason, are not +the most amiable members of small families. + +He gave Holmes the roll of parchment he had in his pocket, +looking keenly at him, as he did so, but only saying, that, if he +meant to sign it, it would be done to-morrow. As Holmes took it, +they stopped at the great door of the factory. He went in alone, +Knowles going down the street. One trifle, strange in its way, +he remembered afterwards. Holding the roll of paper in his hand +that would make the mill his, he went, in his slow, grave way, +down the long passage to the loom-rooms. There was a crowd of +porters and firemen there, as usual, and he thought one of them +hastily passed him in the dark passage, hiding behind an engine. +As the shadow fell on him, his teeth chattered with a chilly +shudder. He smiled, thinking how superstitious people would say +that some one trod on his grave just then, or that Death looked +at him, and went on. Afterwards he thought of it. Going through +the office, the fat old book-keeper, Huff, stopped him with a +story he had been keeping for him all day. He liked to tell a +story to Holmes; he could see into a joke; it did a man good to +hear a fellow laugh like that. Holmes did laugh, for the story +was a good one, and stood a moment, then went in, leaving the old +fellow chuckling over his desk. Huff did not know how, lately, +after every laugh, this man felt a vague scorn of himself, as if +jokes and laughter belonged to a self that ought to have been +dead long ago. Perhaps, if the fat old book-keeper had known it, +he would have said that the man was better than he knew. But +then,--poor Huff! He passed slowly through the alleys between +the great looms. Overhead the ceiling looked like a heavy maze +of iron cylinders and black swinging bars and wheels, all in +swift, ponderous motion. It was enough to make a brain dizzy +with the clanging thunder of the engines, the whizzing spindles +of red and yellow, and the hot daylight glaring over all. The +looms were watched by women, most of them bold, tawdry girls of +fifteen or sixteen, or lean-jawed women from the hills, wives of +the coal-diggers. There was a breathless odour of copperas. As +he went from one room to another up through the ascending +stories, he had a vague sensation of being followed. Some shadow +lurked at times behind the engines, or stole after him in the +dark entries. Were there ghosts, then, in mills in broad +daylight? None but the ghosts of Want and Hunger and Crime, he +might have known, that do not wait for night to walk our streets: +the ghosts that poor old Knowles hoped to lay forever. + +Holmes had a room fitted up in the mill, where he slept. He went +up to it slowly, holding the paper tightly in one hand, glancing +at the operatives, the work, through his furtive half-shut eye. +Nothing escaped him. Passing the windows, he did not once look +out at the prophetic dream of beauty he had left without. In the +mill he was of the mill. Yet he went slowly, as if he shrank +from the task waiting for him. Why should he? It was a simple +matter of business, this transfer of Knowles's share in the mill +to himself; to-day he was to decide whether he would conclude the +bargain. If any dark history of wrong lay underneath, if this +simple decision of his was to be the struggle for life and death +with him, his cold, firm face told nothing of it. Let us be just +to him, stand by him, if we can, in the midst of his desolate +home and desolate life, and look through his cold, sorrowful eyes +at the deed he was going to do. Dreary enough he looked, going +through the great mill, despite the power in his quiet face. A +man who had strength for solitude; yet, I think, with all his +strength, his mother could not have borne to look back from the +dead that day, to see her boy so utterly alone. The day was the +crisis of his life, looked forward to for years; he held in his +hand a sure passport to fortune. Yet he thrust the hour off, +perversely, trifling with idle fancies, pushing from him the one +question which all the years past and to come had left for this +day to decide. + +Some such idle fancy it may have been that made the man turn from +the usual way down a narrow passage into which opened doors from +small offices. Margret Howth, he had learned to-day, was in the +first one. He hesitated before he did it, his sallow face +turning a trifle paler; then he went on in his hard, grave way, +wondering dimly if she remembered his step, if she cared to see +him now. She used to know it,--she was the only one in the world +who ever had cared to know it,--silly child! Doubtless she was +wiser now. He remembered he used to think, that, when this woman +loved, it would be as he himself would, with a simple trust which +the wrong of years could not touch. And once he had thought---- +Well, well, he was mistaken. Poor Margret! Better as it was. +They were nothing to each other. She had put him from her, and +he had suffered himself to be put away. Why, he would have given +up every prospect of life, if he had done otherwise! Yet he +wondered bitterly if she had thought him selfish,--if she thought +it was money he cared for, as the others did. It mattered +nothing what they thought, but it wounded him intolerably that +she should wrong him. Yet, with all this, whenever he looked +forward to death, it was with the certainty that he should find +her there beyond. There would be no secrets then; she would know +then how he had loved her always. Loved her? Yes; he need not +hide it from himself, surely. + +He was now by the door of the office;-- she was within. Little +Margret, poor little Margret! struggling there day after day for +the old father and mother. What a pale, cold little child she +used to be! such a child! yet kindling at his look or touch, as +if her veins were filled with subtile flame. Her soul was--like +his own, he thought. He knew what it was,-- he only. Even now +he glowed with a man's triumph to know he held the secret life of +this woman bare in his hand. No other human power could ever +come near her; he was secure in possession. She had put him from +her;--it was better for both, perhaps. Their paths were separate +here; for she had some unreal notions of duty, and he had too +much to do in the world to clog himself with cares, or to idle an +hour in the rare ecstasy of even love like this. + +He passed the office, not pausing in his slow step. Some sudden +impulse made him put his hand on the door as he brushed against +it: just a quick, light touch; but it had all the fierce passion +of a caress. He drew it back as quickly, and went on, wiping a +clammy sweat from his face. + +The room he had fitted up for himself was whitewashed and barely +furnished; it made one's bones ache to look at the iron bedstead +and chairs. Holmes's natural taste was more glowing, however +smothered, than that of any saffron-robed Sybarite. It needed +correction, he knew; here was discipline. Besides, he had set +apart the coming three or four years of his life to make money +in, enough for the time to come. He would devote his whole +strength to that work, and so be sooner done with it. Money, or +place, or even power, was nothing but a means to him: other men +valued them because of their influence on others. As his work in +the world was only the development of himself, it was different, +of course. What would it matter to his soul the day after death, +if millions called his name aloud in blame or praise? Would he +hear or answer then? What would it matter to him then, if he had +starved with them, or ruled over them? People talked of +benevolence. What would it matter to him then, the misery or +happiness of those yet working in this paltry life of ours? In +so far as the exercise of kindly emotions or self-denial +developed the higher part of his nature, it was to be commended; +as for its effect on others, that he had nothing to do with. He +practised self-denial constantly to strengthen the benevolent +instincts. That very morning he had given his last dollar to Joe +Byers, a half-starved cripple. "Chucked it at me," Joe said, +"like as he'd give a bone to a dog, and be damned to him! Who +thanks him?" To tell the truth, you will find no fairer exponent +than this Stephen Holmes of the great idea of American +sociology,--that the object of life is TO GROW. Circumstances +had forced it on him, partly. Sitting now in his room, where he +was counting the cost of becoming a merchant prince, he could +look back to the time of a boyhood passed in the depths of +ignorance and vice. He knew what this Self within him was; he +knew how it had forced him to grope his way up, to give this +hungry, insatiate soul air and freedom and knowledge. All men +around him were doing the same,--thrusting and jostling and +struggling, up, up. It was the American motto, Go ahead; mothers +taught it to their children; the whole system was a scale of +glittering prizes. He at least saw the higher meaning of the +truth; he had no low ambitions. To lift this self up into a +higher range of being when it had done with the uses of +this,--that was his work. Self-salvation, self-elevation,--the +ideas that give birth to, and destroy half of our Christianity, +half of our philanthropy! Sometimes, sleeping instincts in the +man struggled up to assert a divinity more terrible than this +growing self-existent soul that he purified and analyzed day by +day: a depth of tender pity for outer pain; a fierce longing for +rest, on something, in something, he cared not what. He stifled +such rebellious promptings,--called them morbid. He called it +morbid, too, the passion now that chilled his strong blood, and +wrung out these clammy drops on his forehead, at the mere thought +of this girl below. + +He shut the door of his room tightly: he had no time to-day for +lounging visitors. For Holmes, quiet and steady, was sought for, +if not popular, even in the free-and-easy West; one of those men +who are unwillingly masters among men. Just and mild, always; +with a peculiar gift that made men talk their best thoughts to +him, knowing they would be understood; if any core of eternal +flint lay under the simple, truthful manner of the man, nobody +saw it. + +He laid the bill of sale on the table; it was an altogether +practical matter on which he sat in judgment, but he was going to +do nothing rashly. A plain business document: he took Dr. +Knowles's share in the factory; the payments made with short +intervals; John Herne was to be his endorser: it needed only the +names to make it valid. Plain enough; no hint there of the tacit +understanding that the purchase-money was a wedding dowry; even +between Herne and himself it never was openly put into words. If +he did not marry Miss Herne, the mill was her father's; that of +course must be spoken of, arranged to-morrow. If he took it, +then? if he married her? Holmes had been poor, was miserably +poor yet, with the position and habits of a man, of refinement. +God knows it was not to gratify those tastes that he clutched at +this money. All the slow years of work trailed up before him, +that were gone,--of hard, wearing work for daily bread, when his +brain had been starving for knowledge, and his soul dulled, +debased with sordid trading. Was this to be always? Were these +few golden moments of life to be traded for the bread and meat he +ate? To eat and drink,--was that what he was here for? + +As he paced the floor mechanically, some vague recollection +crossed his brain of a childish story of the man standing where +the two great roads of life parted. They were open before him +now. Money, money,--he took the word into his heart as a miser +might do. With it, he was free from these carking cares that +were making his mind foul and muddy. If he had money! Slow, +cool visions of triumphs rose before him outlined on the years to +come, practical, if Utopian. Slow and sure successes of science +and art, where his brain could work, helpful and growing. Far +off, yet surely to come,--surely for him,--a day when a pure +social system should be universal, should have thrust out its +fibres of light, knitting into one the nations of the earth, when +the lowest slave should find its true place and rightful work, +and stand up, knowing itself divine. "To insure to every man the +freest development of his faculties:" he said over the hackneyed +dogma again and again, while the heavy, hateful years of poverty +rose before him that had trampled him down. "To insure to him +the freest development," he did not need to wait for St. Simon, +or the golden year, he thought with a dreary gibe; money was +enough, and--Miss Herne. + +It was curious, that, when this woman, whom he saw every day, +came up in his mind, it was always in one posture, one costume. +You have noticed that peculiarity in your remembrance of some +persons? Perhaps you would find, if you looked closely, that in +that look or indelible gesture which your memory has caught there +lies some subtile hint of the tie between your soul and theirs. +Now, when Holmes had resolved coolly to weigh this woman, brain, +heart, and flesh, to know how much of a hindrance she would be, +he could only see her, with his artist's sense, as delicate a +bloom of colouring as eye could crave, in one immovable +posture,--as he had seen her once in some masquerade or tableau +vivant. June, I think it was, she chose to represent that +evening,--and with her usual success; for no woman ever knew more +thoroughly her material of shape or colour, or how to work it up. +Not an ill-chosen fancy, either, that of the moist, warm month. +Some tranced summer's day might have drowsed down into such a +human form by a dank pool, or on the thick grass-crusted meadows. +There was the full contour of the limbs hid under warm green +folds, the white flesh that glowed when you touched it as if some +smothered heat lay beneath, the snaring eyes, the sleeping face, +the amber hair uncoiled in a languid quiet, while yellow jasmines +deepened its hue into molten sunshine, and a great tiger-lily +laid its sultry head on her breast. June? Could June become +incarnate with higher poetic meaning than that which this woman +gave it? Mr. Kitts, the artist I told you of, thought not, and +fell in love with June and her on the spot, which passion became +quite unbearable after she had graciously permitted him to sketch +her,--for the benefit of Art. Three medical students and one +attorney, Miss Herne numbered as having been driven into a + +state of dogged despair on that triumphal occasion. Mr. Holmes +may have quarrelled with the rendering, doubting to himself if +her lip were not too thick, her eye too brassy and pale a blue +for the queen of months; though I do not believe he thought at +all about it. Yet the picture clung to his memory. + +As he slowly paced the room to-day, thinking of this woman as his +wife, light blue eyes and yellow hair and the unclean sweetness +of jasmine-flowers mixed with the hot sunshine and smells of the +mill. He could think of her in no other light. He might have +done so; for the poor girl had her other sides for view. She had +one of those sharp, tawdry intellects whose possessors are always +reckoned "brilliant women, fine talkers." She was (aside from +the necessary sarcasm to keep up this reputation) a good-humoured +soul enough,--when no one stood in her way. But if her shallow +virtues or vices were palpable at all to him, they became one +with the torpid beauty of the oppressive summer day, and weighed +on him alike with a vague disgust. The woman luxuriated in +perfume; some heavy odour always hung about her. Holmes, +thinking of her now, fancied he felt it stifling the air, and +opened the window for breath. Patchouli or copperas,--what was +the difference? The mill and his future wife came to him +together; it was scarcely his fault, if he thought of them as +one, or muttered, "Damnable clog!" as he sat down to write, his +cold eye growing colder. But he did not argue the question any +longer; decision had come keenly in one moment, fixed, +unalterable. + +If, through the long day, the starved heart of the man called +feebly for its natural food, he called it a paltry weakness; or +if the old thought of the quiet, pure little girl in the office +below came back to him, he--he wished her well, he hoped she +might succeed in her work, he would always be ready to lend her a +helping hand. So many years (he was ashamed to think how many) +he had built the thought of this girl as his wife into the +future, put his soul's strength into the hope, as if love and the +homely duties of husband and father were what life was given for! +A boyish fancy, he thought. He had not learned then that all +dreams must yield to self-reverence and self-growth. As for +taking up this life of poverty and soul-starvation for the sake +of a little love, it would be an ignoble martyrdom, the sacrifice +of a grand unmeasured life to a shallow pleasure. He was no +longer a young man now; he had no time to waste. Poor Margret! +he wondered if it hurt her? + +He signed the deed, and left it in the slow, quiet way natural to +him, and after a while stooped to pat the dog softly, who was +trying to lick his hand,--with the hard fingers shaking a little, +and a smothered fierceness in the half-closed eye, like a man who +is tortured and alone. + +There is a miserable drama acted in other homes than the +Tuileries, when men have found a woman's heart in their way to +success, and trampled it down under an iron heel. Men like +Napoleon must live out the law of their natures, I suppose,--on a +throne, or in a mill. + +So many trifles that day roused the undercurrent of old thoughts +and old hopes that taunted him,--trifles, too, that he would not +have heeded at another time. Pike came in on business, a bunch +of bills in his hand. A wily, keen eye he had, looking over +them,--a lean face, emphasized only by cunning. No wonder Dr. +Knowles cursed him for a "slippery customer," and was cheated by +him the next hour. While he and Holmes were counting out the +bills, a little white-headed girl crept shyly in at the door, and +came up to the table,--oddly dressed, in a frock fastened with +great horn buttons, and with an old-fashioned anxious pair of +eyes, the color of blue Delft. Holmes smoothed her hair, as she +stood beside them; for he never could help caressing children or +dogs. Pike looked up sharply,--then half smiled, as he went on +counting. + +"Ninety, ninety-five, AND one hundred, all right,"--tying a bit +of tape about the papers. "My Sophy, Mr. Holmes. Good girl, +Sophy is. Bring her up to the mill sometimes," he said, +apologetically, "on 'count of not leaving her alone. She gets +lonesome at th' house." + +Holmes glanced at Pike's felt hat lying on the table: there was a +rusty strip of crape on it. + +"Yes," said Pike, in a lower tone, "I'm father and mother, both, +to Sophy now." + +"I had not heard," said Holmes, kindly. "How about the boys, +now?" + +"Pete and John 's both gone West," the man said, his eyes +kindling eagerly. " 'S fine boys as ever turned out of Indiana. +Good eddications I give 'em both. I've felt the want of that all +my life.. Good eddications. Says I, `Now, boys, you've got your +fortunes, nothing to hinder your bein' President. Let's see what +stuff 's in ye,' says I. So they're doin' well. Wrote fur me to +come out in the fall. But I'd rather scratch on, and gather up a +little for Sophy here, before I stop work." + +He patted Sophy's tanned little hand on the table, as if beating +some soft tune. Holmes folded up the bills. Even this man could +spare time out of his hard, stingy life to love, and be loved, +and to be generous! But then he had no higher aim, knew nothing +better. + +"Well," said Pike, rising, "in case you take th' mill, Mr. +Holmes, I hope we'll be agreeable. I'll strive to do my +best,"--in the old fawning manner, to which Holmes nodded a curt +reply. + +The man stopped for Sophy to gather up her bits of broken +"chayney" with which she was making a tea-party on the table, and +went down-stairs. + +Towards evening Holmes went out,--not going through the narrow +passage that led to the offices, but avoiding it by a circuitous +route. If it cost him any pain to think why he did it, he showed +none in his calm, observant face. Buttoning up his coat as he +went: the October sunset looked as if it ought to be warm, but he +was deathly cold. On the street the young doctor beset him again +with bows and news: Cox was his name, I believe; the one, you +remember, who had such a Talleyrand nose for ferreting out +successful men. He had to bear with him but for a few moments, +however. They met a crowd of workmen at the corner, one of whom, +an old man freshly washed, with honest eyes looking out of horn +spectacles, waited for them by a fire-plug. It was Polston, the +coal-digger,--an acquaintance, a far-off kinsman of Holmes, in +fact. + +"Curious person making signs to you, yonder," said Cox; "hand, I +presume." + +"My cousin Polston. If you do not know him, you'll excuse me?" + +Cox sniffed the air down the street, and twirled his rattan, as +he went. The coal-digger was abrupt and distant in his greeting, +going straight to business. + +"I will keep yoh only a minute, Mr. Holmes"---- + +"Stephen," corrected Holmes. + +The old man's face warmed. + +"Stephen, then," holding out his hand, "sence old times dawn't +shame yoh, Stephen. That's hearty, now. It's only a wured I +want, but it's immediate. Concernin' Joe Yare,--Lois's father, +yoh know? He's back." + +"Back? I saw him to-day, following me in the mill. His hair is +gray? I think it was he." + +"No doubt. Yes, he's aged fast, down in the lock-up; goin' fast +to the end. Feeble, pore-like. It's a bad life, Joe Yare's; I +wish 'n' 't would be better to the end"---- + +He stopped with a wistful look at Holmes, who stood outwardly +attentive, but with little thought to waste on Joe Yare. The old +coal-digger drummed on the fire-plug uneasily. + +"Myself, 't was for Lois's sake I thowt on it. To speak +plain,--yoh'll mind that Stokes affair, th' note Yare forged? +Yes? Ther' 's none knows o' that but yoh an' me. He's safe, +Yare is, only fur yoh an' me. Yoh speak the wured an' back he +goes to the lock-up. Fur life. D' yoh see?" + +"I see." + +"He's tryin' to do right, Yare is." + +The old man went on, trying not to be eager, and watching +Holmes's face. + +"He's tryin'. Sendin' him back--yoh know how THAT'll end. Seems +like as we'd his soul in our hands. S'pose,--what d' yoh think, +if we give him a chance? It's yoh he fears. I see him +a-watchin' yoh; what d' yoh think, if we give him a chance?" +catching Holmes's sleeve. "He's old, an' he's tryin'. Heh?" + +Holmes smiled. + +"We didn't make the law he broke. Justice before mercy. Haven't +I heard you talk to Sam in that way, long ago?" + +The old man loosened his hold of Holmes's arm, looked up and down +the street, uncertain, disappointed. + +"The law. Yes. That's right! Yoh're just man, Stephen Holmes." + +"And yet?"---- + +"Yes. I dun'no'. Law's right, but Yare's had a bad chance, an' +he's tryin'. An' we're sendin' him to hell. Somethin' 's wrong. +But I think yoh're a just man," looking keenly in Holmes's face. + +"A hard one, people say," said Holmes, after a pause, as they +walked on. + +He had spoken half to himself, and received no answer. Some +blacker shadow troubled him than old Yare's fate. + +"My mother was a hard woman,--you knew her?" he said, abruptly. + +"She was just, like yoh. She was one o' th' elect, she said. +Mercy's fur them,--an' outside, justice. It's a narrer showin', +I'm thinkin'." + +"My father was outside," said Holmes, some old bitterness rising +up in his tone, his gray eye lighting with some unrevenged wrong. + +Polston did not speak for a moment. + +"Dunnot bear malice agin her. They're dead, now. It wasn't left +fur her to judge him out yonder. Yoh've yer father's Stephen, +'times. Hungry, pitiful, like women's. His got desper't' 't th' +last. Drunk hard,--died of 't, yoh know. But SHE killed +him,--th' sin was writ down fur her. Never was a boy I loved +like him, when we was boys." + +There was a short silence. + +"Yoh're like yer mother," said Polston, striving for a lighter +tone. "Here,"--motioning to the heavy iron jaws. "She +never--let go. Somehow, too, she'd the law on her side in +outward showin', an' th' right. But I hated religion, knowin' +her. Well, ther' 's a day of makin' things clear, comin'." + +They had reached the corner now, and Polston turned down the +lane. + +"Yoh 'll think o' Yare's case?" he said. + +"Yes. But how can I help it," Holmes said, lightly, "if I am +like my mother, here?"-- putting his hand to his mouth. + +"God help us, how can yoh? It's hard to think father and mother +leave their souls fightin' in their childern, cos th' love was +wantin' to make them one here." + +Something glittered along the street as he spoke: the silver +mountings of a low-hung phaeton drawn by a pair of Mexican +ponies. One or two gentlemen on horseback were alongside, +attendant on a lady within, Miss Herne. She turned her fair +face, and pale, greedy eyes, as she passed, and lifted her hand +languidly in recognition of Holmes. Polston's face coloured. + +"I've heered," he said, holding out his grimy hand. "I wish yoh +well, Stephen, boy. So'll the old 'oman. Yoh'll come an' see +us, soon? Ye'r' lookin' fagged, an' yer eyes is gettin' more like +yer father's. I'm glad things is takin' a good turn with yoh; +an' yoh'll never be like him, starvin' fur th' kind wured, an' +havin' to die without it. I'm glad yoh've got true love. She'd +a fair face, I think. I wish yoh well, Stephen." + +Holmes shook the grimy hand, and then stood a moment looking back +to the mill, from which the hands were just coming, and then down +at the phaeton moving idly down the road. How cold it was +growing! People passing by had a sickly look, as if they were +struck by the plague. He pushed the damp hair back, wiping his +forehead, with another glance at the mill-women coming out of the +gate, and then followed the phaeton down the hill. + + + +CHAPTER VI. + + +An hour after, the evening came on sultry, the air murky, opaque, +with yellow trails of colour dragging in the west: a sullen +stillness in the woods and farms; only, in fact, that dark, +inexplicable hush that precedes a storm. But Lois, coming down +the hill-road, singing to herself, and keeping time with her +whip-end on the wooden measure, stopped when she grew conscious +of it. It seemed to her blurred fancy more than a deadening sky: +a something solemn and unknown, hinting of evil to come. The +dwarf-pines on the road-side scowled weakly at her through the +gray; the very silver minnows in the pools she passed, flashed +frightened away, and darkened into the muddy niches. There was a +vague dread in the sudden silence. She called to the old donkey, +and went faster down the hill, as if escaping from some +overhanging peril, unseen. She saw Margret coming up the road. +There was a phaeton behind Lois, and some horsemen: she jolted +the cart off into the stones to let them pass, seeing Mr. +Holmes's face in the carriage as she did so. He did not look at +her; had his head turned towards the gray distance. Lois's vivid +eye caught the full meaning of the woman beside him. The face +hurt her: not fair, as Polston called it: vapid and cruel. She +was dressed in yellow: the colour seemed jeering and mocking to +the girl's sensitive instinct, keenly alive to every trifle. She +did not know that it is the colour of shams, and that women like +this are the most deadly of shams. As the phaeton went slowly +down, Margret came nearer, meeting it on the road-side, the dust +from the wheels stifling the air. Lois saw her look up, and then +suddenly stand still, holding to the fence, as they met her. +Holmes's cold, wandering eye turned on the little dusty figure +standing there, poor and despised. Polston called his eyes +hungry: it was a savage hunger that sprang into them now; a gray +shadow creeping over his set face, as he looked at her, in that +flashing moment. The phaeton was gone in an instant, leaving her +alone in the road. One of the men looked back, and then +whispered something to the lady with a laugh. She turned to +Holmes, when he had finished, fixing her light, confusing eyes on +his face, and softening her voice. + +"Fred swears that woman we passed was your first love. Were you, +then, so chivalric? Was it to have been a second romaunt of `King +Cophetua and the Beggar Maid?' " + +He met her look, and saw the fierce demand through the softness +and persiflage. He gave it no answer, but, turning to her, +kindled into the man whom she was so proud to show as her +capture,--a man far off from Stephen Holmes. Brilliant she +called him,--frank, winning, generous. She thought she knew him +well; held him a slave to her fluttering hand. Being proud of +her slave, she let the hand flutter down now somehow with some +flowers it held until it touched his hard fingers, her cheek +flushing into rose. The nerveless, spongy hand,--what a +death-grip it had on his life! He did not look back once at the +motionless, dusty figure on the road. What was that Polston had +said about starving to death for a kind word? LOVE? He was sick +of the sickly talk,--crushed it out of his heart with a savage +scorn. He remembered his father, the night he died, had said in +his weak ravings that God was love. Was He? No wonder, then, He +was the God of women, and children, and unsuccessful men. For +him, he was done with it. He was here with stronger purpose than +to yield to weaknesses of the flesh. He had made his choice,--a +straight, hard path upwards; he was deaf now and forever to any +word of kindness or pity. As for this woman beside him, he would +be just to her, in justice to himself: she never should know the +loathing in his heart: just to her as to all living creatures. +Some little, mean doubt kept up a sullen whisper of bought and +sold,--sold,--but he laughed it down. He sat there with his head +steadily turned towards her: a kingly face, she called it, and +she was right,--it was a kingly face: with the same shallow, +fixed smile on his mouth,--no weary cry went up to God that day +so terrible in its pathos, I think: with the same dull +consciousness that this was the trial night of his life,--that +with the homely figure on the road-side he had turned his back on +love and kindly happiness and warmth, on all that was weak and +useless in the world. He had made his choice; he would abide by +it,--he would abide by it. He said that over and over again, +dulling down the death-gnawing of his outraged heart. + +Miss Herne was quite contented, sitting by him, with herself, and +the admiring world. She had no notion of trial nights in life. +Not many temptations pierced through her callous, flabby +temperament to sting her to defeat or triumph. There was for her +no under-current of conflict, in these people whom she passed, +between self and the unseen power that Holmes sneered at, whose +name was love; they were nothing but movables, pleasant or ugly +to look at, well- or ill-dressed. There were no dark iron bars +across her life for her soul to clutch and shake madly,--nothing +"in the world amiss, to be unriddled by and by." Little Margret, +sitting by the muddy road, digging her fingers dully into the +clover-roots, while she looked at the spot where the wheels had +passed, looked at life differently, it may be;--or old Joe Yare +by the furnace-fire, his black face and gray hair bent over a +torn old spelling-book Lois had given him. The night, perhaps, +was going to be more to them than so many rainy hours for +sleeping,--the time to be looked back on through coming lives as +the hour when good and ill came to them, and they made their +choice, and, as Holmes said, did abide by it. + +It grew cool and darker. Holmes left the phaeton before they +entered town, and turned back. He was going to see this Margret +Howth, tell her what he meant to do. Because he was going to +leave a clean record. No one should accuse him of want of +honour. This girl alone of all living beings had a right to see +him as he stood, justified to himself. Why she had this right, I +do not think he answered to himself. Besides, he must see her, +if only on business. She must keep her place at the mill: he +would not begin his new life by an act of injustice, taking the +bread out of Margret's mouth. LITTLE MARGRET! He stopped +suddenly, looking down into a deep pool of water by the +road-side. What madness of weariness crossed his brain just then +I do not know. He shook it off. Was he mad? Life was worth +more to him than to other men, he thought; and perhaps he was +right. He went slowly through the cool dusk, looking across the +fields, up at the pale, frightened face of the moon hooded in +clouds: he did not dare to look, with all his iron nerve, at the +dark figure beyond him on the road. She was sitting there just +where he had left her: he knew she would be. When he came +closer, she got up, not looking towards him; but he saw her clasp +her hands behind her, the fingers plucking weakly at each other. +It was an old, childish fashion of hers, when she was frightened +or hurt. It would only need a word, and he could be quiet and +firm,--she was such a child compared to him: he always had +thought of her so. He went on up to her slowly, and stopped; +when she looked at him, he untied the linen bonnet that hid her +face, and threw it back. How thin and tired the little face had +grown! Poor child! He put his strong arm kindly about her, and +stooped to kiss her hand, but she drew it away. God! what did +she do that for? Did not she know that he could put his head +beneath her foot then, he was so mad with pity for the woman he +had wronged? Not love, he thought, controlling himself,--it was +only justice to be kind to her. + +"You have been ill, Margret, these two years, while I was gone?" + +He could not hear her answer; only saw that she looked up with a +white, pitiful smile. Only a word it needed, he thought,--very +kind and firm: and he must be quick,--he could not bear this +long. But he held the little worn fingers, stroking them with an +unutterable tenderness. + +"You must let these fingers work for me, Margret," he said, at +last, "when I am master in the mill." + +"It is true, then, Stephen?" + +"It is true,--yes." + +She lifted her hand to her head, uncertainly: he held it tightly, +and then let it go. What right had he to touch the dust upon her +shoes,--he, bought and sold? She did not speak for a time; when +she did, it was a weak and sick voice. + +"I am glad. I saw her, you know. She is very beautiful." + +The fingers were plucking at each other again; and a strange, +vacant smile on her face, trying to look glad. + +"You love her, Stephen?" + +He was quiet and firm enough now. + +"I do not. Her money will help me to become what I ought to be. +She does not care for love. You want me to succeed, Margret? No +one ever understood me as you did, child though you were." + +Her whole face glowed. + +"I know! I know! I did understand you!" + +She said, lower, after a little while,-- + +"I knew you did not love her." + +"There is no such thing as love in real life," he said, in his +steeled voice. "You will know that, when you grow older. I used +to believe in it once, myself." + +She did not speak, only watched the slow motion of his lips, not +looking into his eyes,--as she used to do in the old time. +Whatever secret account lay between the souls of this man and +woman came out now, and stood bare on their faces. + +"I used to think that I, too, loved," he went on, in his low, +hard tone. "But it kept me back, Margret, and"---- + +He was silent. + +"I know, Stephen. It kept you back"---- + +"And I put it away. I put it away to-night, forever." + +She did not speak; stood quite quiet, her head bent on her +breast. His conscience was clear now. But he almost wished he +had not said it, she was such a weak, sickly thing. She sat down +at last, burying her face in her hands, with a shivering sob. He +dared not trust him self to speak again. + +"I am not proud,--as a woman ought to be," she said, wearily, +when he wiped her clammy forehead. + +"You loved me, then?" he whispered. + +Her face flashed at the unmanly triumph; her puny frame started +up, away from him. + +"I did love you, Stephen. I did love you,-- as you might be, not +as you are,--not with those inhuman eyes. I do understand you,-- +I do. I know you for a better man than you know yourself this +night." + +She turned to go. He put his hand on her arm; something we have +never seen on his face struggled up,--the better soul that she +knew. + +"Come back," he said, hoarsely; "don't leave me with myself. +Come back, Margret." + +She did not come; stood leaning, her sudden strength gone, +against the broken wall. There was a heavy silence. The night +throbbed slow about them. Some late bird rose from the sedges of +the pool, and with a frightened cry flapped its tired wings, and +drifted into the dark. His eyes, through the gathering shadow, +devoured the weak, trembling body, met the soul that looked at +him, strong as his own. Was it because it knew and trusted him +that all that was pure and strongest in his crushed nature +struggled madly to be free? He thrust it down; the self-learned +lesson of years was not to be conquered in a moment. + +"There have been times," he said, in a smothered, restless voice, +"when I thought you belonged to me. Not here, but before this +life. My soul and body thirst and hunger for you, then, +Margret." + +She did not answer; her hands worked feebly together, the dull +blood fainting in her veins. + +Knowing only that the night yawned intolerable about her, that +she was alone,--going mad with being alone. No thought of heaven +or God in her soul: her craving eyes seeing him only. The +strong, living man that she loved: her tired-out heart goading, +aching to lie down on his brawny breast for one minute, and die +there,--that was all. + +She did not move: underneath the pain there was power, as Knowles +thought. + +He came nearer, and held up his arms to where she stood,--the +heavy, masterful face pale and wet. + +"I need you, Margret. I shall be nothing without you, now. +Come, Margret, little Margret!" + +She came to him, then, and put her hands in his. + +"No, Stephen," she said. + +If there were any pain in her tone, she kept it down, for his +sake. + +"Never, I could never help you,--as you are. It might have been, +once. Good-by, Stephen." + +Her childish way put him in mind of the old days when this girl +was dearer to him than his own soul. She was so yet. He held +her close to his breast, looking down into her eyes. She moved +uneasily; she dared not trust herself. + +"You will come?" he said. "It might have been,--it shall be +again." + +"It may be," she said, humbly. "God is good. And I believe in +you, Stephen. I will be yours some time: we cannot help it, if +we would: but not as you are." + +"You do not love me?" he said, flinging her off, his face +whitening. + +She said nothing, gathered her damp shawl around her, and turned +to go. Just a moment they stood, looking at each other. If the +dark square figure standing there had been an iron fate trampling +her young life down into hopeless wretchedness, she forgot it +now. Women like Margret are apt to forget. His eye never abated +in its fierce question. + +"I will wait for you yonder, if I die first," she whispered. + +He came closer, waiting for an answer. + +"And--I love you, Stephen." + +He gathered her in his arms, and put his cold lips to hers, +without a word; then turned, and left her slowly. + +She made no sign, shed no tear, as she stood, watching him go. +It was all over: she had willed it, herself, and yet--he could +not go! God would not suffer it! Oh, he could not leave her,--he +could not!--He went down the hill, slowly. If it were a trial of +life and death for her, did he know or care?--He did not look +back. What if he did not? his heart was true; he suffered in +going; even now he walked wearily. God forgive her, if she had +wronged him!--What did it matter, if he were hard in this life, +and it hurt her a little? It would come right,--beyond, some +time. But life was long.--She would not sit down, sick as she +was: he might turn, and it would vex him to see her suffer.--He +walked slowly; once he stopped to pick up something. She saw the +deep-cut face and half-shut eyes. How often those eyes had +looked into her soul, and it had answered! They never would look +so any more.--There was a tree by the place where the road turned +into town. If he came back, he would be sure to turn there.--How +tired he walked, and slow!--If he was sick, that beautiful woman +could be near him,--help him.-- SHE never would touch his hand +again,--never again, never,--unless he came back now.-- He was +near the tree: she closed her eyes, turning away. When she +looked again, only the bare road lay there, yellow and wet. It +was over, now. + +How long she sat there she did not know. She tried once or twice +to go to the house, but the lights seemed so far off that she +gave it up and sat quiet, unconscious, except of the damp +stone-wall her head leaned on, and the stretch of muddy road. +Some time, she knew not when, there was a heavy step beside her, +and a rough hand shook hers where she stooped, feebly tracing out +the lines of mortar between the stones. It was Knowles. She +looked up, bewildered. + +"Hunting catarrhs, eh?" he growled, eying her keenly. "Got your +father on the Bourbons, so took the chance to come and find you. +He'll not miss ME for an hour. That man has a natural hankering +after treason against the people. Lord, Margret! what a stiff +old head he'd have carried to the guillotine! How he'd have +looked at the canaille!" + +He helped her up gently enough. + +"Your bonnet's like a wet rag,"--with a furtive glance at the +worn-out face. A hungry face always, with her life unfed by its +stingy few crumbs of good; but to-night it was vacant with utter +loss. + +She got up, trying to laugh cheerfully, and went beside him down +the road. + +"You saw that painted Jezebel to-night, and"----stopping +abruptly. + +She had not heard him, and he followed her doggedly, with an +occasional snort or grunt or other inarticulate damn at the +obstinate mud. She stopped at last, with a quick gasp. Looking +at her, he chafed her limp hands,--his huge, uncouth face growing +pale. When she was better, he said, gravely,-- + +"I want you, Margret. Not at home, child. I want to show you +something." + +He turned with her suddenly off the main road into a by-path, +helping her along, watching her stealthily, but going on with his +disjointed, bearish growls. If it stung her from her pain, +vexing her, he did not care. + +"I want to show you a bit of hell: outskirt. You're in a fit +state: it'll do you good. I'm minister there. The clergy can't +attend to it just now: they're too busy measuring God's truth by +the States'--Rights doctrine, or the Chicago Platform. +Consequence, religion yields to majorities. Are you able? It's +only a step." + +She went on indifferently. The night was breathless and dark. +Black, wet gusts dragged now and then through the skyless fog, +striking her face with a chill. The Doctor quit talking, +hurrying her, watching her anxiously. They came at last to the +railway-track, with long trains of empty freight-cars. + +"We are nearly there," he whispered. "It's time you knew your +work, and forgot your weakness. The curse of pampered +generations. `High Norman blood,'--pah!" + +There was a broken gap in the fence. He led her through it into +a muddy yard. Inside was one of those taverns you will find in +the suburbs of large cities, haunts of the lowest vice. This one +was a smoky frame, standing on piles over an open space where +hogs were rooting. Half a dozen drunken Irishmen were playing +poker with a pack of greasy cards in an out-house. He led her up +the rickety ladder to the one room, where a flaring tallow-dip +threw a saffron glare into the darkness. A putrid odour met them +at the door. She drew back, trembling. + +"Come here!" he said, fiercely, clutching her hand. "Women as +fair and pure as you have come into dens like this,--and never +gone away. Does it make your delicate breath faint? And you a +follower of the meek and lowly Jesus! Look here! and here!" + +The room was swarming with human life. Women, idle trampers, +whiskey-bloated, filthy, lay half-asleep, or smoking, on the +floor, and set up a chorus of whining begging when they entered. +Half-naked children crawled about in rags. On the damp, mildewed +walls there was hung a picture of the Benicia Boy, and close by, +Pio Nono, crook in hand, with the usual inscription, "Feed my +sheep." The Doctor looked at it. + +" `Tu es Petrus, et super hanc'---- Good God! what IS truth?" he +muttered, bitterly. + +He dragged her closer to the women, through the darkness and foul +smell. + +"Look in their faces," he whispered. "There is not one of them +that is not a living lie. Can they help it? Think of the +centuries of serfdom and superstition through which their blood +has crawled. Come closer,--here." + +In the corner slept a heap of half-clothed blacks. Going on the +underground railroad to Canada. Stolid, sensual wretches, with +here and there a broad, melancholy brow, and desperate jaws. One +little pickaninny rubbed its sleepy eyes, and laughed at them. + +"So much flesh and blood out of the market, unweighed!" + +Margret took up the child, kissing its brown face. Knowles +looked at her. + +"Would you touch her? I forgot you were born down South. Put it +down, and come on." + +They went out of the door. Margret stopped, looking back. + +"Did I call it a bit of hell? It 's only a glimpse of the +under-life of America,--God help us!--where all men are born free +and equal." + +The air in the passage grew fouler. She leaned back faint and +shuddering. He did not heed her. The passion of the man, the +terrible pity for these people, came out of his soul now, +writhing his face, and dulling his eyes. + +"And you," he said, savagely, "you sit by the road-side, with +help in your hands, and Christ in your heart, and call your life +lost, quarrel with your God, because that mass of selfishness has +left you,--because you are balked in your puny hope! Look at +these women. What is their loss, do you think? Go back, will +you, and drone out your life whimpering over your lost dream, and +go to Shakspeare for tragedy when you want it? Tragedy! Come +here,--let me hear what you call this." + +He led her through the passage, up a narrow flight of stairs. An +old woman in a flaring cap sat at the top, nodding,--wakening now +and then, to rock herself to and fro, and give the shrill Irish +keen. + +"You know that stoker who was killed in the mill a month ago? Of +course not,--what are such people to you? There was a girl who +loved him,--you know what that is? She's dead now, here. She +drank herself to death,--a most unpicturesque suicide. I want +you to look at her. You need not blush for her life of shame, +now; she's dead.--Is Hetty here?" + +The woman got up. + +"She is, Zur. She is, Mem. She's lookin' foine in her Sunday +suit. Shrouds is gone out, Mem, they say." + +She went tipping over the floor to something white that lay on a +board, a candle at the head, and drew off the sheet. A girl of +fifteen, almost a child, lay underneath, dead,--her lithe, +delicate figure decked out in a dirty plaid skirt, and stained +velvet bodice,--her neck and arms bare. The small face was +purely cut, haggard, patient in its sleep,--the soft, fair hair +gathered off the tired forehead. Margret leaned over her, +shuddering, pinning her handkerchief about the child's dead neck. + +"How young she is!" muttered Knowles. "Merciful God, how young +she is!--What is that you say?" sharply, seeing Margret's lips +move. + +" `He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone +at her.' " + +"Ah, child, that is old-time philosophy. Put your hand here, on +her dead face. Is your loss like hers?" he said lower, looking +into the dull pain in her eyes. Selfish pain he called it. + +"Let me go," she said. "I am tired." + +He took her out into the cool, open road, leading her tenderly +enough,--for the girl suffered, he saw. + +"What will you do?" he asked her then. "It is not too +late,--will you help me save these people?" + +She wrung her hands helplessly. + +"What do you want with me?" she cried. "I have enough to bear." + +The burly black figure before her seemed to tower and strengthen; +the man's face in the wall light showed a terrible life-purpose +coming out bare. + +"I want you to do your work. It is hard, it will wear out your +strength and brain and heart. Give yourself to these people. +God calls you to it. There is none to help them. Give up love, +and the petty hopes of women. Help me. God calls you to the +work." + +She went, on blindly: he followed her. For years he had set +apart this girl to help him in his scheme: he would not be balked +now. He had great hopes from his plan: he meant to give all he +had: it was the noblest of aims. He thought some day it would +work like leaven through the festering mass under the country he +loved so well, and raise it to a new life. If it failed,--if it +failed, and saved one life, his work was not lost. But it could +not fail. + +"Home!" he said, stopping her as she reached the stile,--"oh, +Margret, what is home? There is a cry going up night and day +from homes like that den yonder, for help,--and no man listens." + +She was weak; her brain faltered. + +"Does God call me to this work? Does He call me?" she moaned. + +He watched her eagerly. + +"He calls you. He waits for your answer. Swear to me that you +will help His people. Give up father and mother and love, and go +down as Christ did. Help me to give liberty and truth and Jesus' +love to these wretches on the brink of hell. Live with them, +raise them with you." + +She looked up, white; she was a weak, weak woman, sick for her +natural food of love. + +"Is it my work?" + +"It is your work. Listen to me, Margret," softly. "Who cares +for you? You stand alone to-night. There is not a single human +heart that calls you nearest and best. Shiver, if you will,--it +is true. The man you wasted your soul on left you in the night +and cold to go to his bride,--is sitting by her now, holding her +hand in his." + +He waited a moment, looking down at her, until she should +understand. + +"Do you think you deserved this of God? I know that yonder on the +muddy road you looked up to Him, and knew it was not just; that +you had done right, and this was your reward. I know that for +these two years you have trusted in the Christ you worship to +make it right, to give you your heart's desire. Did He do it? +Did He hear your prayer? Does He care for your weak love, when +the nations of the earth are going down? What is your poor hope +to Him, when the very land you live in is a wine-press that will +be trodden some day by the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God? +O Christ!--if there be a Christ,--help me to save it!" + +He looked up,--his face white with pain. After a time he said to +her,-- + +"Help me, Margret! Your prayer was selfish; it was not heard. +Give up your idle hope that Christ will aid you. Swear to me, +this night when you have lost all, to give yourself to this +work." + +The storm had been dark and windy: it cleared now slowly, the +warm summer rain falling softly, the fresh blue stealing broadly +from behind the gray. It seemed to Margret like a blessing; for +her brain rose up stronger, more healthful. + +"I will not swear," she said, weakly. "I think He heard my +prayer. I think He will answer it. He was a man, and loved as +we do. My love is not selfish; it is the best gift God has given +me." + +Knowles went slowly with her to the house. He was not baffled. +He knew that the struggle was yet to come; that, when she was +alone, her faith in the far-off Christ would falter; that she +would grasp at this work, to fill her empty hands and starved +heart, if for no other reason,--to stifle by a sense of duty her +unutterable feeling of loss. He was keenly read in woman's +heart, this Knowles. He left her silently, and she passed +through the dark passage to her own room. + +Putting her damp shawl off, she sat down on the floor, leaning +her head on a low chair,--one her father had given her for a +Christmas gift when she was little. How fond Holmes and her +father used to be of each other! Every Christmas he spent with +them. She remembered them all now. "He was sitting by her now, +holding her hand in his." She said that over to herself, though +it was not hard to understand. + +After a long time, her mother came with a candle to the door. + +"Good-night, Margret. Why, your hair is wet, child!" + +For Margret, kissing her good-night, had laid her head down a +minute on her breast. She stroked the hair a moment, and then +turned away. + +"Mother, could you stay with me to-night?" + +"Why, no, Maggie,--your father wants me to read to him." + +"Oh, I know. Did he miss me to-night,-- father?" + +"Not much; we were talking old times over,--in Virginia, you +know." + +"I know; good-night." + +She went back to the chair. Tige was there,--for he used to +spend half of his time on the farm. She put her arm about his +head. God knows how lonely the poor child was when she drew the +dog so warmly to her heart: not for his master's sake alone; but +it was all she had. He grew tired at last, and whined, trying to +get out. + +"Will you go, Tige?" she said, and opened the window. + +He jumped out, and she watched him going towards town. Such a +little thing, it was! But not even a dog "called her nearest and +best." + +Let us be silent; the story of the night is not for us to read. +Do you think that He, who in the far, dim Life holds the worlds +in His hand, knew or cared how alone the child was? What if she +wrung her thin hands, grew sick with the slow, mad, solitary +tears?--was not the world to save, as Knowles said? + +He, too, had been alone; He had come unto His own, and His own +received him not: so, while the struggling world rested, +unconscious, in infinite calm of right, He came close to her with +human eyes that had loved, and not been loved, and had suffered +with that pain. And, trusting Him, she only said, "Show me my +work! Thou that takest away the pain of the world, have mercy +upon me!" + + + +CHAPTER VII. + + +For that night, at least, Holmes swept his soul clean of doubt +and indecision; one of his natures was conquered,--finally, he +thought. Polston, if he had seen his face as he paced the street +slowly home to the mill, would have remembered his mother's the +day she died. How the stern old woman met death half-way! why +should she fear? she was as strong as he. Wherein had she failed +of duty? her hands were clean: she was going to meet her just +reward. + +It was different with Holmes, of course, with his self-existent +soul. It was life he accepted to-night, he thought,--a life of +growth, labour, achievement,--eternal. + +"Ohne Hast, aber ohne Rast,"--favourite words with him. He liked +to study the nature of the man who spoke them; because, I think, +it was like his own,--a Titan strength of endurance, an infinite +capability of love, and hate, and suffering, and over all, (the +peculiar identity of the man,) a cold, speculative eye of reason, +that looked down into the passion and depths of his growing self, +and calmly noted them, a lesson for all time. + + +"Ohne Hast." Going slowly through the night, he strengthened +himself by marking how all things in Nature accomplish a +perfected life through slow, narrow fixedness of purpose,-- each +life complete in itself: why not his own, then? The windless +gray, the stars, the stone under his feet, stood alone in the +universe, each working out its own soul into deed. If there were +any all-embracing harmony, one soul through all, he did not see +it. Knowles--that old sceptic--believed in it, and called it +Love. Even Goethe himself, what was it he said? "Der +Allumfasser, der Allerhalter, fasst und erhalt er nicht, dich, +mich, sich selbst?" + +There was a curious power in the words, as he lingered over them, +like half-comprehended music,--as simple and tender as if they +had come from the depths of a woman's heart: it touched him +deeper than his power of control. Pah! it was a dream of +Faust's; he, too, had his Margaret; he fell, through that love. + +He went on slowly to the mill. If the name or the words woke a +subtile remorse or longing, he buried them under restful +composure. Whether they should ever rise like angry ghosts of +what might have been, to taunt the man, only the future could +tell. + +Going through the gas-lit streets, Holmes met some cordial +greeting at every turn. What a just, clever fellow he was! +people said: one of those men improved by success: just to the +defrauding of himself: saw the true worth of everybody, the very +lowest: hadn't one spark of self-esteem: despised all humbug and +show, one could see, though he never said it: when he was a boy, +he was moody, with passionate likes and dislikes; but success had +improved him, vastly. So Holmes was popular, though the beggars +shunned him, and the lazy Italian organ-grinders never held their +tambourines up to him. + +The mill street was dark; the building threw its great shadow +over the square. It was empty, he supposed; only one hand +generally remained to keep in the furnace-fires. Going through +one of the lower passages, he heard voices, and turned aside to +examine. The management was not strict, and in case of a fire +the mill was not insured: like Knowles's carelessness. + +It was Lois and her father,--Joe Yare being feeder that night. +They were in one of the great furnace-rooms in the cellar,--a +very comfortable place that stormy night. Two or three doors of +the wide brick ovens were open, and the fire threw a ruddy glow +over the stone floor, and shimmered into the dark recesses of the +shadows, very home-like after the rain and mud without. Lois +seemed to think so, at any rate, for she had made a table of a +store-box, put a white cloth on it, and was busy getting up a +regular supper for her father,--down on her knees before the red +coals, turning something on an iron plate, while some slices of +ham sent up a cloud of juicy, hungry smell. + +The old stoker had just finished slaking the out-fires, and was +putting some blue plates on the table, gravely straightening +them. He had grown old, as Polston said,--Holmes saw, stooped +much, with a low, hacking cough; his coarse clothes were +curiously clean: that was to please Lois, of course. She put the +ham on the table, and some bubbling coffee, and then, from a +hickory board in front of the fire, took off, with a jerk, brown, +flaky slices of Virginia johnny-cake. + +"Ther' yoh are, father, hot 'n' hot," with her face on +fire,--"ther'--yoh--are,--coaxin' to be eatin'.--Why, Mr. +Holmes! Father! Now, ef yoh jes' hedn't hed yer supper?" + +She came up, coaxingly. What brooding brown eyes the poor +cripple had! Not many years ago he would have sat down with the +two poor souls, and made a hearty meal of it: he had no heart for +such follies now. + +Old Yare stood in the background, his hat in his hand, stooping +in his submissive negro fashion, with a frightened watch on +Holmes. + +"Do you stay here, Lois?" he asked, kindly, turning his back on +the old man. + +"On'y to bring his supper. I couldn't bide all night 'n th' +mill," the old shadow coming on her face,--"I couldn't, yoh know. +HE doesn't mind it." + +She glanced quickly from one to the other in silence, seeing the +fear on her father's face. + +"Yoh know father, Mr. Holmes? He's back now. This is him." + +The old man came forward, humbly. + +"It's me, Marster Stephen." + +The sullen, stealthy face disgusted Holmes. He nodded, shortly. + +"Yoh've been kind to my little girl while I was gone," he said, +catching his breath. "I thank yoh, Marster." + +"You need not. It was for Lois." + +" 'T was fur her I comed back hyur. 'T was a resk,"--with a dumb +look of entreaty at Holmes,--"but fur her I thort I'd try it. I +know't was a resk; but I thort them as cared fur Lo wud be +merciful. She's a good girl, Lo. She's all I hev." + +Lois brought a box over, lugging it heavily. + +"We hev n't chairs; but yoh'll sit down, Mr. Holmes?" laughing +as she covered it with a cloth. "It'd a warm place, here. +Father studies 'n his watch, 'n' I'm teacher,"--showing the torn +old spelling-book. + +The old man came eagerly forward, seeing the smile flicker on +Holmes's face. + +"It's slow work, Marster,--slow. But Lo's a good teacher, 'n' +I'm tryin',--I'm tryin' hard." + +"It's not slow, Sir, seein' father hed n't 'dvantages, like me. +He was a"---- + +She stopped, lowering her voice, a hot flush of shame on her +face. + +"I know." + +"Be n't that'll 'xcuse, Marster, seein' I knowed noght at the +beginnin'? Thenk o' that, Marster. I'm tryin' to be a different +man. Fur Lo. I AM tryin'." + +Holmes did not notice him. + +"Good-night, Lois," he said, kindly, as she lighted his lamp. + +He put some money on the table. + +"You must take it," as she looked uneasy. "For Tiger's board, +say. I never see him now. A bright new frock, remember." + +She thanked him, her eyes brightening, looking at her father's +patched coat. + +The old man followed Holmes out. + +"Marster Holmes"---- + +"Have done with this," said Holmes, sternly. "Whoever breaks law +abides by it. It is no affair of mine." + +The old man clutched his hands together fiercely, struggling to +be quiet. + +"Ther' 's none knows it but yoh," he said, in a smothered voice. +"Fur God's sake be merciful! It'll kill my girl,--it 'll kill +her. Gev me a chance, Marster." + +"You trouble me. I must do what is just." + +"It's not just," he said, savagely. "What good'll it do me to go +back ther'? I was goin' down, down, an' bringin' th' others with +me. What good'll it do you or the rest to hev me ther'? To make +me afraid? It's poor learnin' frum fear. Who taught me what was +right? Who cared? No man cared fur my soul, till I thieved 'n' +robbed; 'n' then judge 'n' jury 'n' jailers was glad to pounce on +me. Will yoh gev me a chance? will yoh?" + +It was a desperate face before him; but Holmes never knew fear. + +"Stand aside," he said, quietly. "To-morrow I will see you. You +need not try to escape." + +He passed him, and went slowly up through the vacant mill to his +chamber. + +The man sat down on the lower step a few moments, quite quiet, +crushing his hat up in a slow, steady way, looking up at the +mouldy cobwebs on the wall. He got up at last, and went in to +Lois. Had she heard? The old scarred face of the girl looked +years older, he thought,--but it might be fancy. She did not say +anything for a while, moving slowly, with a new gentleness, about +him; her very voice was changed, older. He tried to be cheerful, +eating his supper: she need not know until to-morrow. He would +get out of the town to-night, or---- There were different ways +to escape. When he had done, he told her to go; but she would +not. + +"Let me stay til' night," she said. "I be n't afraid o' th' +mill." + +"Why, Lo," he said, laughing, "yoh used to say yer death was hid +here, somewheres." + +"I know. But ther' 's worse nor death. But it'll come right," +she said, persistently, muttering to herself, as she leaned her +face on her knees, watching,--"it'll come right." + +The glimmering shadows changed and faded for an hour. The man +sat quiet. There was not much in the years gone to soften his +thought, as it grew desperate and cruel: there was oppression and +vice heaped on him, and flung back out of his bitter heart. Nor +much in the future: a blank stretch of punishment to the end. He +was an old man: was it easy to bear? What if he were black? +what if he were born a thief? what if all the sullen revenge of +his nature had made him an outcast from the poorest poor? Was +there no latent good in this soul for which Christ died, that a +kind hand might not have brought to life? + +None? Something, I think, struggled up in the touch of his hand, +catching the skirt of his child's dress, when it came near him, +with the timid tenderness of a mother touching her dead baby's +hair,--as something holy, far off, yet very near: something in +his old crime- marked face,--a look like this dog's, putting his +head on my knee,--a dumb, unhelpful love in his eyes, and the +slow memory of a wrong done to his soul in a day long past. A +wrong to both, you say, perhaps; but if so, irreparable, and +never to be recompensed. Never? + +"Yoh must go, my little girl," he said at last. + +Whatever he did must be done quickly. She came up, combing the +thin gray hairs through her fingers. + +"Father, I dunnot understan' what it is, rightly. But stay with +me,--stay, father!" + +"Yoh've a many frien's, Lo," he said, with a keen flash of +jealousy. "Ther' 's none like yoh,--none." + +"Father, look here." + +She put her misshapen head and scarred face down on his hand, +where he could see them. If it had ever hurt her to be as she +was, if she had ever compared herself bitterly with fair, beloved +women, she was glad now, and thankful, for every fault and +deformity that brought her nearer to him, and made her dearer. + +"They're kind, but ther' 's not many loves me with true love, +like yoh. Stay, father! Bear it out, whatever it be. Th' good +time 'll come, father." + +He kissed her, saying nothing, and went with her down the street. +When he left her, she waited, and, creeping back, hid near the +mill. God knows what vague dread was in her brain; but she came +back to watch and help. + +Old Yare wandered through the great loom rooms of the mill with +but one fact clear in his cloudy, faltering perception,--that +above him the man lay quietly sleeping who would bring worse than +death on him to-morrow. Up and down, aimlessly, with his +stoker's torch in hand, going over the years gone and the years +to come, with the dead hatred through all of the pitiless man +above him,--with now and then, perhaps, a pleasanter thought of +things that had been warm and cheerful in his life,--of the +corn-huskings long ago, when he was a boy, down in "th' +Alabam',"--of the scow his young master gave him once, the first +thing he really owned: he was almost as proud of it as he was of +Lois when she was born. Most of all remembering the good times +in his life, he went back to Lois. It was all good, there, to go +back to. What a little chub she used to be! Remembering, with +bitter remorse, how all his life he had meant to try and do +better, on her account, but had kept putting off and putting off +until now. And now---- Did nothing lie before him but to go back +and rot yonder? Was that the end, because he never had learned +better, and was a "dam' nigger"? + +"I'll NOT leave my girl!" he muttered, going up and down,--"I'll +NOT leave my girl!" + +If Holmes did sleep above him, the trial of the day, of which we +have seen nothing, came back sharper in sleep. While the strong +self in the man lay torpid, whatever holier power was in him came +out, undaunted by defeat, and unwearied, and took the form of +dreams, those slighted messengers of God, to soothe and charm and +win him out into fuller, kindlier life. Let us hope that they +did so win him; let us hope that even in that unreal world the +better nature of the man triumphed at last, and claimed its +reward before the terrible reality broke upon him. + +Lois, over in the damp, fresh-smelling lumber-yard, sat coiled up +in one of the creviced houses made by the jutting boards. She +remembered how she used to play in them, before she went into the +mill. The mill,--even now, with the vague dread of some +uncertain evil to come, the mill absorbed all fear in its old +hated shadow. Whatever danger was coming to them lay in it, came +from it, she knew, in her confused, blurred way of thinking. It +loomed up now, with the square patch of ashen sky above, black, +heavy with years of remembered agony and loss. In Lois's +hopeful, warm life this was the one uncomprehended monster. Her +crushed brain, her unwakened powers, resented their wrong dimly +to the mass of iron and work and impure smells, unconscious of +any remorseless power that wielded it. It was a monster, she +thought, through the sleepy, dreading night,--a monster that kept +her wakeful with a dull, mysterious terror. + +When the night grew sultry and deepest, she started from her +half-doze to see her father come stealthily out and go down the +street. She must have slept, she thought, rubbing her eyes, and +watching him out of sight,--and then, creeping out, turned to +glance at the mill. She cried out, shrill with horror. It was a +live monster now,--in one swift instant, alive with fire,--quick, +greedy fire, leaping like serpents' tongues out of its hundred +jaws, hungry sheets of flame maddening and writhing towards her, +and under all a dull and hollow roar that shook the night. Did +it call her to her death? She turned to fly, and then----He was +alone, dying! He had been so kind to her! She wrung her hands, +standing there a moment. It was a brave hope that was in her +heart, and a prayer on her lips never left unanswered, as she +hobbled, in her lame, slow way, up to the open black door, and, +with one backward look, went in. + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + + +There was a dull smell of camphor; a farther sense of coolness +and prickling wet on Holmes's hot, cracking face and hands; then +silence and sleep again. Sometime--when, he never knew--a gray +light stinging his eyes like pain, and again a slow sinking into +warm, unsounded darkness and unconsciousness. It might be years, +it might be ages. Even in after-life, looking back, he never +broke that time into weeks or days: people might so divide it for +him, but he was uncertain, always: it was a vague vacuum in his +memory: he had drifted out of coarse, measured life into some +out-coast of eternity, and slept in its calm. When, by long +degrees, the shock of outer life jarred and woke him, it was +feebly done: he came back reluctant, weak: the quiet clinging to +him, as if he had been drowned in Lethe, and had brought its +calming mist with him out of the shades. + +The low chatter of voices, the occasional lifting of his head on +the pillow, the very soothing draught, came to him unreal at +first: parts only of the dull, lifeless pleasure. There was a +sharper memory pierced it sometimes, making him moan and try to +sleep,--a remembrance of great, cleaving pain, of falling +giddily, of owing life to some one, and being angry that he owed +it, in the pain. Was it he that had borne it? He did not +know,--nor care: it made him tired to think. Even when he heard +the name, Stephen Holmes, it had but a far-off meaning: he never +woke enough to know if it were his or not. He learned, long +after, to watch the red light curling among the shavings in the +grate when they made a fire in the evenings, to listen to the +voices of the women by the bed, to know that the pleasantest +belonged to the one with the low, shapeless figure, and to call +her Lois, when he wanted a drink, long before he knew himself. + +They were very long, pleasant days in early December. The +sunshine was pale, but it suited his hurt eyes better: it crept +slowly in the mornings over the snuff-coloured carpet on the +floor, up the brown foot-board of the bed, and, when the wind +shook the window-curtains, made little crimson pools of mottled +light over the ceiling,--curdling pools, that he liked to watch: +going off, from the clean gray walls, and rustling curtain, and +transparent crimson, into sleeps that lasted all day. + +He was not conscious how he knew he was in a hospital: but he did +know it, vaguely; thought sometimes of the long halls outside of +the door, with ranges of rooms opening into them, like this, and +of very barns of rooms on the other side of the building with +rows of white cots where the poorer patients lay: a stretch of +travel from which his brain came back to his snug fireplace, +quite tired, and to Lois sitting knitting by it. He called the +little Welsh-woman, "Sister," too, who used to come in a stuff +dress, and white bands about her face, to give his medicine, and +gossip with Lois in the evening: she had a comical voice, like a +cricket chirping. There was another with a real Scotch brogue, +who came and listened sometimes, bringing a basket of undarned +stockings: the doctor told him one day how fearless and skilful +she was, every summer going to New Orleans when the yellow fever +came. She died there the next June: but Holmes never, somehow, +could realize a martyr in the cheery, freckled-faced woman whom +he always remembered darning stockings in the quiet fire-light. +It was very quiet; the voices about him were pleasant and low. +If he had drifted from any shock of pain into a sleep like death, +some of the stillness hung about him yet; but the outer life was +homely and fresh and natural. + +The doctor used to talk to him a little; and sometimes one or two +of the patients from the eye-ward would grow tired of sitting +about in the garden-alleys, and would loiter in, if Lois would +give them leave; but their talk wearied him, jarred him as +strangely as if one had begun on politics and price-currents to +the silent souls in Hades. It was enough thought for him to +listen to the whispered stories of the sisters in the long +evenings, and, half-heard, try and make an end to them; to look +drowsily down into the garden, where the afternoon sunshine was +still so summer-like that a few holly-hocks persisted in showing +their honest red faces along the walls, and the very leaves that +filled the paths would not wither, but kept up a wholesome ruddy +brown. One of the sisters had a poultry-yard in it, which he +could see: the wall around it was of stone covered with a brown +feathery lichen, which every rooster in that yard was determined +to stand on, or perish in the attempt; and Holmes would watch, +through the quiet, bright mornings, the frantic ambition of the +successful aspirant with an amused smile. + +"One 'd thenk," said Lois, sagely, "a chicken never stood on a +wall before, to hear 'em, or a hen laid an egg." + +Nor did Holmes smile once because the chicken burlesqued man: his +thought was too single for that yet. It was long, too, before he +thought of the people who came in quietly to see him as anything +but shadows, or wished for them to come again. Lois, perhaps, +was the most real thing in life then to him: growing conscious, +day by day, as he watched her, of his old life over the gulf. +Very slowly conscious: with a weak groping to comprehend the +sudden, awful change that had come on him, and then forgetting +his old life, and the change, and the pity he felt for himself, +in the vague content of the fire-lit room, and his nurse with her +interminable knitting through the long afternoons, while the sky +without would thicken and gray, and a few still flakes of snow +would come drifting down to whiten the brown fields,--with no +chilly thought of winter, but only to make the quiet autumn more +quiet. Whatever honest, commonplace affection was in the man +came out in a simple way to this Lois, who ruled his sick whims +and crotchets in such a quiet, sturdy fashion. Not because she +had risked her life to save his; even when he understood that, he +recalled it with an uneasy, heavy gratitude; but the drinks she +made him, and the plot they laid to smuggle in some oysters in +defiance of all rules, and the cheerful, pock-marked face, he +never forgot. + +Doctor Knowles came sometimes, but seldom: never talked, when he +did come: late in the evening generally: and then would punch his +skin, and look at his tongue, and shake the bottles on the +mantel-shelf with a grunt that terrified Lois into the belief +that the other doctor was a quack, and her patient was totally +undone. He would sit, grum enough, with his feet higher than his +head, chewing an unlighted cigar, and leave them both thankful +when he saw proper to go. + +The truth is, Knowles was thoroughly out of place in these little +mending-shops called sick-chambers, where bodies are taken to +pieces, and souls set right. He had no faith in your slow, +impalpable cures: all reforms were to be accomplished by a +wrench, from the abolition of slavery to the pulling of a tooth. + +He had no especial sympathy with Holmes, either: the men were +started in life from opposite poles: and with all the real +tenderness under his surly, rugged habit, it would have been hard +to touch him with the sudden doom fallen on this man, thrown +crippled and penniless upon the world, helpless, it might be, for +life. He would have been apt to tell you, savagely, that "he +wrought for it." + +Besides, it made him out of temper to meet the sisters. Knowles +could have sketched for you with a fine decision of touch the +role played by the Papal power in the progress of humanity,--how +far it served as a stepping-stone, and the exact period when it +became a wearisome clog. The world was done with it now,-- +utterly. Its breath was only poisoned, with coming death. So +the homely live charity of these women, their work, which no +other hands were ready to take, jarred against his abstract +theory, and irritated him, as an obstinate fact always does run +into the hand of a man who is determined to clutch the very heart +of a matter. Truth will not underlie all facts, in this muddle +of a world, in spite of the Positive Philosophy, you know. + +Don't sneer at Knowles. Your own clear, tolerant brain, that +reflects all men and creeds alike, like colourless water, drawing +the truth from all, is very different, doubtless, from this +narrow, solitary soul, who thought the world waited for him to +fight down his one evil before it went on its slow way. An +intolerant fanatic, of course. But the truth he did know was so +terribly real to him, there was such sick, throbbing pity in his +heart for men who suffered as he had done! And then, fanatics +must make history for conservative men to learn from, I suppose. + +If Knowles shunned the hospital, there was another place he +shunned more,--the place where his Communist buildings were to +have stood. He went out there once, as one might go alone to +bury his dead out of his sight, the day after the mill was +burnt,--looking first at the smoking mass of hot bricks and +charred shingles, so as clearly to understand how utterly dead +his life-long scheme was. He stalked gravely around it, his +hands in his pockets; the hodmen who were raking out their +winter's firewood from the ashes remarking, that "old Knowles +didn't seem a bit cut up about it." Then he went out to the farm +he had meant to buy, as I told you, and looked at it in the same +stolid way. It was a dull day in October. The river crawled +moodily past his feet, the dingy prairie stretched drearily away +on the other side, while the heavy-browed Indiana hills stood +solemnly looking down the plateau where the buildings were to +have risen. + +Well, most men have some plan of life, into which all the +strength and the keen, fine feeling of their nature enter; but +generally they try to make it real in early youth, and, balked +then, laugh ever afterwards at their own folly. This poor old +Knowles had begun to block out his dream when he was a gaunt, +gray-haired man of sixty. I have known men so build their +heart's blood, and brains into their work, that, when it tumbled +down, their lives went with it. His fell that dull day in +October; but if it hurt him, no man knew it. He sat there, +looking at the broad plateau, whistling softly to himself, a long +time. He had meant that a great many hearts should be made +better and happier there; he had dreamed----God knows what he had +dreamed, of which this reality was the foundation,--of how much +world-freedom, or beauty, or kindly life this was the heart or +seed. It was all over now. All the afternoon the muddy sky hung +low over the hills and dull prairie, while he sat there looking +at the dingy gloom: just as you and I have done, perhaps, some +time, thwarted in some true hope,--sore and bitter against God, +because He did not see how much His universe needed our pet +reform. + +He got up at last, and without a sigh went slowly away, leaving +the courage and self-reliance of his life behind him, buried with +that one beautiful, fair dream of life. He never came back +again. People said Knowles was quieter since his loss; but I +think only God saw the depth of the difference. When he was +leaving the plateau, that day, he looked back at it, as if to say +good-bye,--not to the dingy fields and river, but to the +Something he had nursed so long in his rugged heart, and given up +now forever. As he looked, the warm, red sun came out, lighting +up with a heartsome warmth the whole gray day. Some blessing +power seemed to look at him from this grave yard of his hopes, +from the gloomy hills, the prairie, and the river, which he never +was to see again. His hope accomplished could not have looked at +him with surer content and fulfilment. He turned away, +ungrateful and moody. Long afterwards he remembered the calm and +brightness which his hand had not been raised to make, and +understood the meaning of its promise. + +He went to work now in earnest: he had to work for his +bread-and-butter, you understand? Restless, impatient at first; +but we will forgive him that: you yourself were not altogether +submissive, perhaps, when the slow-built expectation of life was +destroyed by some chance, as you called it, no more controllable +than this paltry burning of a mill. Yet, now that the great hope +was gone on which his brain had worked with rigid, fierce +intentness, now that his hands were powerless to redeem a +perishing class, he had time to fall into careless, kindly habit: +he thought it wasted time, remorsefully, of course. He was +seized with a curiosity to know what plan in living these people +had who crossed his way on the streets; if they were +disappointed, like him. Humbled, he hardly knew why: vague, +uncertain in action. Quit dogging old Huff with his advice; +trotted about the streets with a cowed look, that, if one could +have seen into the jaded old heart under his snuffy waistcoat, +would have seemed pitiful enough. He went sometimes to read the +papers to old Tim Poole, who was bed-ridden, and did not pish or +pshaw once at his maundering about secession, or the misery in +his back. Went to church sometimes: the sermons were bigotry, +always, to his notion, sitting on a back seat, squirting +tobacco-juice about him; but the simple, old-fashioned hymns +brought the tears to his eyes:--"They sounded to him like his +mother's voice, singing in Paradise:" he hoped she could not see +how things had gone on here,--how all that was honest and strong +in his life had fallen in that infernal mill. Once or twice he +went down Crane Alley, and lumbered up three pair of stairs to +the garret where Kitts had his studio,--got him orders, in fact, +for two portraits; and when that pale-eyed young man, in a fit of +confidence, one night, with a very red face drew back the curtain +from his grand "Fall of Chapultepec," and watched him with a lean +and hungry look, Knowles, who knew no more about painting than a +gorilla, walked about, looking through his fist at it, saying, +"how fine the chiaroscuro was, and that it was a devilish good +thing altogether." "Well, well," he soothed his conscience, +going downstairs, "maybe that bit of canvas is as much to that +poor chap as the Phalanstery was once to another fool." And so +went on through the gas-lit streets into his parishes in cellars +and alleys, with a sorer heart, but cheerfuller words, now that +he had nothing but words to give. + +The only place where he hardened his heart was in the hospital +with Holmes. After he had wakened to full consciousness, Knowles +thought the man a beast to sit there uncomplaining day after day, +cold and grave, as if the lifeful warmth of the late autumn were +enough for him. Did he understand the iron fate laid on him? +Where was the strength of the self-existent soul now? Did he +know that it was a balked, defeated life, that waited for him, +vacant of the triumphs he had planned? "The self-existent soul! +stopped in its growth by chance, this omnipotent deity,--the +chance burning of a mill!" Knowles muttered to himself, looking +at Holmes. With a dim flash of doubt, as he said it, whether +there might not, after all, be a Something,--some deep of calm, +of eternal order, where he and Holmes, these coarse chances, +these wrestling souls, these creeds, Catholic or Humanitarian, +even that namby-pamby Kitts and his picture, might be +unconsciously working out their part. Looking out of the +hospital-window, he saw the deep of the stainless blue, +impenetrable, with the stars unconscious in their silence of the +maddest raging of the petty world. There was such calm! such +infinite love and justice! it was around, above him; it held him, +it held the world,--all Wrong, all Right! For an instant the +turbid heart of the man cowered, awestruck, as yours or mine has +done when some swift touch of music or human love gave us a +cleaving glimpse of the great I AM. The next, he opened the +newspaper in his hand. What part in the eternal order could THAT +hold? or slavery, or secession, or civil war? No harmony could +be infinite enough to hold such discords, he thought, pushing the +whole matter from him in despair. Why, the experiment of +self-government, the problem of the ages, was crumbling in ruin! +So he despaired, just as Tige did the night the mill fell about +his ears, in full confidence that the world had come to an end +now, without hope of salvation,--crawling out of his cellar in +dumb amazement, when the sun rose as usual the next morning. + +Knowles sat, peering at Holmes over his paper, watching the +languid breath that showed how deep the hurt had been, the maimed +body, the face outwardly cool, watchful, reticent as before. He +fancied the slough of disappointment into which God had crushed +the soul of this man: would he struggle out? Would he take Miss +Herne as the first step in his stair-way, or be content to be +flung down in vigorous manhood to the depth of impotent poverty? +He could not tell if the quiet on Holmes's face were stolid +defiance or submission: the dumb kings might have looked thus +beneath the feet of Pharaoh. When he walked over the floor, too, +weak as he was it was with the old iron tread. He asked Knowles +presently what business he had gone into. + +"My old hobby in an humble way,--the House of Refuge." + +They both laughed. + +"Yes, it is true. The janitor points me out to visitors as +`under-superintendent, a philanthropist in decayed +circumstances.' Perhaps it is my life-work,"--growing sad and +earnest. + +"If you can inoculate these infant beggars and thieves with your +theory, it will be practice when you are dead." + +"I think that," said Knowles, gravely, his eye kindling,--"I +think that." + +"As thankless a task as that of Moses," said the other, watching +him curiously. "For YOU will not see the pleasant land,--YOU +will not go over." + +The old man's flabby face darkened. + +"I know," he said. + +He glanced involuntarily out at the blue, and the clear-shining, +eternal stars. + +"I suppose," he said, after a while, cheerfully, "I must content +myself with Lois's creed, here,--`It'll come right some time.' " + +Lois looked up from the saucepan she was stirring, her face +growing quite red, nodding emphatically some half-dozen times. + +"After all," said Holmes, kindly, "this chance may have forced +you on the true road to success for your new system of Sociology. +Only untainted natures could be fitted for self-government. Do +you find the fallow field easily worked?" + +Knowles fidgeted uneasily. + +"No. Fact is, I'm beginning to think there 's a good deal of an +obstacle in blood. I find difficulty, much difficulty, Sir, in +giving to the youngest child true ideas of absolute freedom, and +unselfish heroism." + +"You teach them these by reason alone?" said Holmes, gravely. + +"Well,--of course,--that is the true theory; reason is the only +yoke that should be laid upon a free-born soul; but I--I find it +necessary to have them whipped, Mr. Holmes." + +Holmes stooped suddenly to pat Tiger, hiding a furtive smile. +The old man went on, anxiously,-- + +"Old Mr. Howth says that is the end of all self-governments: from +anarchy to despotism, he says. Brute force must come in. Old +people are apt to be set in their ways, you know. Honestly, we +do not find unlimited freedom answer in the House. I hope much +from a woman's assistance: I have destined her for this work +always: she has great latent power of sympathy and endurance, +such as can bring the Christian teaching home to these wretches." + +"The Christian?" said Holmes. + +"Well, yes. I am not a believer myself, you know; but I find +that it takes hold of these people more vitally than more +abstract faiths: I suppose because of the humanity of Jesus. In +Utopia, of course, we shall live from scientific principles; but +they do not answer in the House." + +"Who is the woman?" asked Holmes, carelessly. + +The other watched him keenly. + +"She is coming for five years. Margret Howth." + +He patted the dog with the same hard, unmoved touch. + +"It is a religious duty with her. Besides, she must do +something. They have been almost starving since the mill was +burnt." + +Holmes's face was bent; he could not see it. When he looked up, +Knowles thought it more rigid, immovable than before. + +When Knowles was going away, Holmes said to him,-- + +"When does Margret Howth go into that devils' den?" + +"The House? On New-Year's." The scorn in him was too savage to +be silent. "It is the best time to begin a new life. Yourself, +now, you will have fulfilled your design by that time,--of +marriage?" + +Holmes was leaning on the mantel-shelf; his very lips were pale. + +"Yes, I shall, I shall,"--in his low, hard tone. + +Some sudden dream of warmth and beauty flashed before his gray +eyes, lighting them as Knowles never had seen before. + +"Miss Herne is beautiful,--let me congratulate you, in Western +fashion." + +The old man did not hide his sneer. + +Holmes bowed. + +"I thank you, for her." + +Lois held the candle to light the Doctor out of the long +passages. + +"Yoh hev n't seen Barney out 't Mr. Howth's, Doctor? He's ther' +now." + +"No. When shall you have done waiting on this--man, Lois? God +help you, child!" + +Lois's quick instinct answered,-- + +"He's very kind. He's like a woman fur kindness to such as me. +When I come to die, I'd like eyes such as his to look at, tender, +pitiful." + +"Women are fools alike," grumbled the Doctor. "Never mind. +`When you come to die?' What put that into your head? Look up." + +The child sheltered the flaring candle with her hand. + +"I've no tho't o' dyin'," she said, laughing. + +There was a gray shadow about her eyes, a peaked look to the +face, he never saw before, looking at her now with a physician's +eyes. + +"Does anything hurt you here?" touching her chest. + +"It's better now. It was that night o' th' fire. Th' breath o' +th' mill, I thenk,--but it's nothin'." + +"Burning copperas? Of course it's better! Oh, that's nothing!" +he said, cheerfully. + +When they reached the door, he held out his hand, the first time +he ever had done it to her, and then waited, patting her on the +head. + +"I think it'll come right, Lois," he said, dreamily, looking out +into the night. "You're a good girl. I think it'll all come +right. For you and me. Some time. Good-night, child." + +After he was a long way down the street, he turned to nod +good-night again to the comical little figure in the door-way. + + + +CHAPTER IX. + + +If Knowles hated anybody that night, he hated the man he had left +standing there with pale, heavy jaws, and heart of iron; he could +have cursed him, standing there. He did not see how, after he +was left alone, the man lay with his face to the wall, holding +his bony hand to his forehead, with a look in his eyes that if +you had seen, you would have thought his soul had entered on that +path whose steps take hold on hell. + +There was no struggle in his face; whatever was the resolve he +had reached in the solitary hours when he had stood so close upon +the borders of death, it was unshaken now; but the heart, crushed +and stifled before, was taking its dire revenge. If ever it had +hungered, through the cold, selfish days, for God's help, or a +woman's love, it hungered now, with a craving like death. If +ever he had thought how bare and vacant the years would be, going +down to the grave with lips that never had known a true wife's +kiss, he remembered it now, when it was too late, with bitterness +such as wrings a man's heart but once in a lifetime. If ever he +had denied to his own soul this Margret, called her alien or +foreign, it called her now, when it was too late, to her rightful +place; there was not a thought nor a hope in the darkest depths +of his nature that did not cry out for her help that night,--for +her, a part of himself,--now, when it was too late. He went over +all the years gone, and pictured the years to come; he remembered +the money that was to help his divine soul upward; he thought of +it with a curse, getting up and pacing the floor of the narrow +room, slowly and quietly. Looking out into the still starlight +and the quaint garden, he tried to fancy this woman as he knew +her, after the restless power of her soul should have been +chilled and starved into a narrow, lifeless duty. He fancied her +old, and stern, and sick of life, she that might have been what +might they not have been, together? And he had driven her to this +for money,--money! + +It was of no use to repent of it now. He had frozen the love out +of her heart, long ago. He remembered (all that he did remember +of the blank night after he was hurt) that he had seen her white, +worn-out face looking down at him; that she did not touch him; +and that, when one of the sisters told her she might take her +place, and sponge his forehead, she said, bitterly, she had no +right to do it, that he was no friend of hers. He saw and heard +that, unconscious to all else; he would have known it, if he had +been dead, lying there. It was too late now: why need he think +of what might have been? Yet he did think of it through the long +winter's night,--each moment his thought of the life to come, or +of her, growing more tender and more bitter. Do you wonder at +the remorse of this man? Wait, then, until you lie alone, as he +had done, through days as slow, revealing as ages, face to face +with God and death. Wait until you go down so close to eternity +that the life you have lived stands out before you in the +dreadful bareness in which God sees it,--as you shall see it some +day from heaven or hell: money, and hate, and love will stand in +their true light then. Yet, coming back to life again, he held +whatever resolve he had reached down there with his old iron +will: all the pain he bore in looking back to the false life +before, or the ceaseless remembrance that it was too late now to +atone for that false life, made him the stronger to abide by that +resolve, to go on the path self-chosen, let the end be what it +might. Whatever the resolve was, it did not still the gnawing +hunger in his heart that night, which every trifle made more +fresh and strong. + +There was a wicker-basket that Lois had left by the fire, piled +up with bits of cloth and leather out of which she was +manufacturing Christmas gifts; a pair of great woollen socks, +which one of the sisters had told him privately Lois meant for +him, lying on top. As with all of her people, Christmas was the +great day of the year to her. Holmes could not but smile, +looking at them. Poor Lois!--Christmas would be here soon, then? +And sitting by the covered fire, he went back to Christmases +gone, the thought of all others that brought Margret nearest and +warmest to him: since he was a boy they had been together on that +day. With his hand over his eyes, he sat quiet by the fire until +morning. He heard some boy going by in the gray dawn call to +another that they would have holiday on Christmas week. It was +coming, he thought, rousing himself,-- but never as it had been: +that could never be again. Yet it was strange how this thought +of Christmas took hold of him, after this,-- famished his heart. +As it approached in the slow-coming winter, the days growing +shorter, and the nights longer and more solitary, so Margret +became more real to him,--not rejected and lost, but as the wife +she might have been, with the simple, passionate love she gave +him once. The thought grew intolerable to him; yet there was not +a homely pleasure of those years gone, when the old school-master +kept high holiday on Christmas, that he did not recall and linger +over with a boyish yearning, now that these things were over +forever. He chafed under his weakness. If the day would but +come when he could go out and conquer his fate, as a man ought to +do! On Christmas eve he would put an end to these torturing +taunts, be done with them, let the sacrifice be what it might. +For I fear that even now Stephen Holmes thought of his own need +and his own hunger. + +He watched Lois knitting and patching her poor little gifts, with +a vague feeling that every stitch made the time a moment shorter +until he should be free, with his life in his hand again. She +left the hospital at last, sorrowfully enough, but he made her +go: he fancied the close air was hurting her, seeing at night the +strange shadow growing on her face. I do not think he ever said +to her that he knew all she had done for him, or thanked her; but +no dog or woman that Stephen Holmes loved could look into his +eyes, and doubt that love. Sad, masterful eyes, such as are seen +but once or twice in a lifetime: no woman but would wish, like +Lois, for such eyes to be near her when she came to die, for her +to remember the world's love in. She came hobbling back every +day to see him after she had gone, and would stay to make his +soup, telling him, child-like, how many days it was until +Christmas. He knew that, as well as she, waiting through the +cold, slow hours, in his solitary room. He thought sometimes she +had some eager petition to offer him, when she stood watching him +wistfully, twisting her hands together; but she always smothered +it with a sigh, and, tying her little woollen cap, went away, +walking more slowly, he thought, every day. + +Do you remember how Christmas came that year? how there was a +waiting pause, when the States stood still, and from the peoples +came the first awful murmurs of the storm that was to shake the +earth? how men's hearts failed them for fear, how women turned +pale, and held their children closer to their breasts, while they +heard a far cry of lamentation for their country that had fallen? +Do you remember how, amidst the fury of men's anger, the +storehouses of God were opened for that land? how the very +sunshine gathered new splendours, the rains more fruitful +moisture, until the earth poured forth an unknown fulness of life +and beauty? Was there no promise there, no prophecy? Do you +remember, while the very life of the people hung in doubt before +them, while the angel of death came again to pass over the land, +and there was no blood on any door-post to keep him from that +house, how serenely the old earth folded in her harvest, dead, +till it should waken to a stronger life? how quietly, as the time +came near for the birth of Christ, this old earth made ready for +his coming, heedless of the clamour of men? how the air grew +fresher above, day by day, and the gray deep silently opened for +the snow to go down and screen and whiten and make holy that +fouled earth? I think the slow-falling snow did not fail in its +quiet warning; for I remember that men, too, in a feeble way +tried to make ready for the birth of Christ. There was a +healthier glow than terror stirred in their hearts; because of +the vague, great dread without, it may be, they drew closer +together round household fires, were kindlier in the good +old-fashioned way; old friendships were wakened, old times talked +over, fathers and mothers and children planned homely ways to +show the love in their hearts and to welcome in Christmas. Who +knew but it might be the last? Let us be thankful for that happy +Christmas-day. What if it were the last? What if, when another +comes, and another, one voice, the kindest and cheerfullest then, +shall never say "Happy Christmas" to us again? Let us be +thankful for that day the more,--accept it the more as a sign of +that which will surely come. + +Holmes, even, in his dreary room and drearier thought, felt the +warmth and expectant stir creeping through the land as the day +drew near. Even in the hospital, the sisters were in a busy +flutter, decking their little chapel with flowers, and preparing +a fete for their patients. The doctor, as he bandaged his broken +arm, hinted at faint rumours in the city of masquerades and +concerts. Even Knowles, who had not visited the hospital for +weeks, relented and came back, moody and grum. He brought Kitts +with him, and started him on talking of how they kept Christmas +in Ohio on his mother's farm; and the poor soul, encouraged by +the silence of two of his auditors, and the intense interest of +Lois in the background, mazed on about Santa-Claus trees and +Virginia reels until the clock struck twelve, and Knowles began +to snore. + +Christmas was coming. As he stood, day after day, looking out of +the gray window, he could see the signs of its coming even in the +shop-windows glittering with miraculous toys, in the market-carts +with their red-faced drivers and heaps of ducks and turkeys, in +every stage-coach or omnibus that went by crowded with boys home +for the holidays, hallooing for Bell or Lincoln, forgetful that +the election was over, and Carolina out. + +Pike came to see him one day, his arms full of a bundle, which +turned out to be an accordion for Sophy. + +"Christmas, you know," he said, taking off the brown paper, while +he was cursing the Cotton States the hardest, and gravely +kneading at the keys, and stretching it until he made as much +discord as five Congressmen. "I think Sophy will like that," he +said, looking at it sideways, and tying it up carefully. + +"I am sure she will," said Holmes,--and did not think the man a +fool for one moment. + +Always going back, this Holmes, when he was alone, to the +certainty that home-comings or children's kisses or Christmas +feasts were not for such as he,--never could be, though he sought +for the old time in bitterness of heart; and so, dully +remembering his resolve, and waiting for Christmas eve, when he +might end it all. Not one of the myriads of happy children +listened more intently to the clock clanging off hour after hour +than the silent, stern man who had no hope in that day that was +coming. + +He learned to watch even for poor Lois coming up the corridor +every day,--being the only tie that bound the solitary man to the +inner world of love and warmth. The deformed little body was +quite alive with Christmas now, and brought its glow with her, in +her weak way. Different from the others, he saw with a curious +interest. The day was more real to her than to them. Not +because, only, the care she had of everybody, and everybody had +of her seemed to reach its culmination of kindly thought for the +Christmas time; not because, as she sat talking slowly, stopping +for breath, her great fear seemed to be that she would not have +gifts enough to go round; but deeper than that,--the day was real +to her. As if it were actually true that the Master in whom she +believed was freshly born into the world once a year, to waken +all that was genial and noble and pure in the turbid, worn-out +hearts; as if new honour and pride and love did flash into the +realms below heaven with the breaking of Christmas morn. It was +a beautiful faith; he almost wished it were his. A beautiful +faith! it gave a meaning to the old custom of gifts and kind +words. LOVE coming into the world!--the idea pleased his +artistic taste, being simple and sublime. Lois used to tell him, +while she feebly tried to set his room in order, of all her +plans,-- of how Sam Polston was to be married on New-Year's,--but +most of all of the Christmas coming out at the old +school-master's: how the old house had been scrubbed from top to +bottom, was fairly glowing with shining paint and hot fires,--how +Margret and her mother worked, in terror lest the old man should +find out how poor and bare it was,--how he and Joel had some +secret enterprise on foot at the far end of the plantation out in +the swamp, and were gone nearly all day. + +She ceased coming at last. One of the sisters went out to see +her, and told him she was too weak to walk, but meant to be +better soon,--quite well by the holidays. He wished the poor +thing had told him what she wanted of him,--wished it anxiously, +with a dull presentiment of evil. + +The days went by, cold and slow. He watched grimly the +preparations the hospital physician was silently making in his +case, for fever, inflammation. + +"I must be strong enough to go out cured on Christmas eve," he +said to him one day, coolly. + +The old doctor glanced up shrewdly. He was an old Alsatian, very +plain-spoken. + +"You say so?" he mumbled. "Chut! Then you will go. There are +some--bull-dog, men. They do what they please,--they never die +unless they choose, begar! We know them in our practice, Herr +Holmes!" + +Holmes laughed. Some acumen there, he thought, in medicine or +mind: as for himself, it was true enough; whatever success he had +gained in life had been by no flush of enthusiasm or hope; a +dogged persistence of "holding on," rather. + +A long time; but Christmas eve came at last: bright, still, +frosty. "Whatever he had to do, let it be done quickly;" but not +till the set hour came. So he laid his watch on the table beside +him, waiting until it should mark the time he had chosen: the +ruling passion of self-control as strong in this turn of life's +tide as it would be in its ebb, at the last. The old doctor +found him alone in the dreary room, coming in with the frosty +breath of the eager street about him. A grim, chilling sight +enough, as solitary and impenetrable as the Sphinx. He did not +like such faces in this genial and gracious time, so hurried over +his examination. The eye was cool, the pulse steady, the man's +body, battered though it was, strong in its steely composure. +"Ja wohl!--ja wohl!" he went on chuffily, summing up: latent +fever,--the very lips were blue, dry as husks; "he would +go,--oui?--then go!"--with a chuckle. "All right, gluck Zu!" +And so shuffled out. Latent fever? Doubtless, yet hardly from +broken bones, the doctor thought,--with no suspicion of the +subtile, intolerable passion smouldering in every drop of this +man's phlegmatic blood. + +Evening came at last. He stopped until the cracked bell of the +chapel had done striking the Angelus, and then put on his +overcoat, and went out. Passing down the garden walk a miserable +chicken staggered up to him, chirping a drunken recognition. For +a moment, he breathed again the hot smoke of the mill, +remembering how Lois had found him in Margret's office, not +forgetting the cage: chary of this low life, even in the peril of +his own. So, going out on the street, he tested his own nature +by this trifle in his old fashion. "The ruling passion strong in +death," eh? It had not been self-love; something deeper: an +instinct rather than reason. Was he glad to think this of +himself? He looked out more watchful of the face which the +coming Christmas bore. The air was cold and pungent. The +crowded city seemed wakening to some keen enjoyment; even his own +weak, deliberate step rang on the icy pavement as if it wished to +rejoice with the rest. I said it was a trading city: so it was, +but the very trade to-day had a jolly Christmas face on; the +surly old banks and pawnbrokers' shops had grown ashamed of their +doings, and shut their doors, and covered their windows + +with frosty trees, and cathedrals, and castles; the shops opened +their inmost hearts; some child's angel had touched them, and +they flushed out into a magic splendour of Christmas trees, and +lights, and toys; Santa Claus might have made his head-quarters +in any one of them. As for children, you stumbled over them at +every step, quite weighed down with the heaviness of their joy, +and the money burning their pockets; the acrid old brokers and +pettifoggers, that you met with a chill on other days, had turned +into jolly fathers of families, and lounged laughing along with +half a dozen little hands pulling them into candy-stores or +toy-shops; all of the churches whose rules permitted them to show +their deep rejoicing in a simple way, had covered their cold +stone walls with evergreens, and wreaths of glowing fire-berries: +the child's angel had touched them too, perhaps,--not unwisely. + +He passed crowds of thin-clad women looking in through open +doors, with red cheeks and hungry eyes, at red-hot stoves within, +and a placard, "Christmas dinners for the poor, gratis;" out of +every window on the streets came a ruddy light, and a spicy +smell; the very sunset sky had caught the reflection of the +countless Christmas fires, and flamed up to the zenith, blood-red +as cinnabar. + +Holmes turned down one of the back streets: he was going to see +Lois, first of all. I hardly know why: the child's angel may +have touched him, too; or his heart, full of a yearning pity for +the poor cripple, who, he believed now, had given her own life +for his, may have plead for indulgence, as men remember their +childish prayers, before going into battle. He came at last, in +the quiet lane where she lived, to her little brown frame-shanty, +to which you mounted by a flight of wooden steps: there were two +narrow windows at the top, hung with red curtains; he could hear +her feeble voice singing within. As he turned to go up the +steps, he caught sight of something crouched underneath them in +the dark, hiding from him: whether a man or a dog he could not +see. He touched it. + +"What d' ye want, Mas'r?" said a stifled voice. + +He touched it again with his stick. The man stood upright, back +in the shadow: it was old Yare. + +"Had ye any word wi' me, Mas'r?" + +He saw the negro's face grow gray with fear. + +"Come out, Yare," he said, quietly. "Any word? What word is +arson, eh?" + +The man did not move. Holmes touched him with the stick. + +"Come out," he said. + +He came out, looking gaunt, as with famine. + +"I'll not flurr myself," he said, crunching his ragged hat in his +hands,--"I'll not." + +He drove the hat down upon his head, and looked up with a sullen +fierceness. + +"Yoh've got me, an' I'm glad of 't. I'm tired, fearin'. I was +born for hangin', they say," with a laugh. "But I'll see my +girl. I've waited hyur, runnin' the resk,--not darin' to see +her, on 'count o' yoh. I thort I was safe on Christmas-day,--but +what's Christmas to yoh or me?" + +Holmes's quiet motion drove him up the steps before him. He +stopped at the top, his cowardly nature getting the better of +him, and sat down whining on the upper step. + +"Be marciful, Mas'r! I wanted to see my girl,--that's all. +She's all I hev." + +Holmes passed him and went in. Was Christmas nothing to him? +How did this foul wretch know that they stood alone, apart from +the world? + +It was a low, cheerful little room that he came into, stooping +his tall head: a tea-kettle humming and singing on the wood-fire, +that lighted up the coarse carpet and the gray walls, but spent +its warmest heat on the low settee where Lois lay sewing, and +singing to herself. She was wrapped up in a shawl, but the +hands, he saw, were worn to skin and bone; the gray shadow was +heavier on her face, and the brooding brown eyes were like a +tired child's. She tried to jump up when she saw him, and not +being able, leaned on one elbow, half-crying as she laughed. + +"It's the best Christmas gift of all! I can hardly b'lieve +it!"--touching the strong hand humbly that was held out to her. + +Holmes had a gentle touch, I told you, for dogs and children and +women: so, sitting quietly by her, he listened for a long time +with untiring patience to her long story; looked at the heap of +worthless trifles she had patched up for gifts, wondering +secretly at the delicate sense of colour and grace betrayed in +the bits of flannel and leather; and took, with a grave look of +wonder, his own package, out of which a bit of woollen thread +peeped forth. + +"Don't look till to-morrow mornin'," she said, anxiously, as she +lay back trembling and exhausted. + +The breath of the mill! The fires of the world's want and crime +had finished their work on her life,--so! She caught the meaning +of his face quickly. + +"It's nothin'," she said, eagerly. "I'll be strong by +New-Year's; it's only a day or two rest I need. I've no tho't o' +givin' up." + +And to show how strong she was, she got up and hobbled about to +make the tea. He had not the heart to stop her; she did not want +to die,--why should she? the world was a great, warm, beautiful +nest for the little cripple,-- why need he show her the cold +without? He saw her at last go near the door where old Yare sat +outside, then heard her breathless cry, and a sob. A moment +after the old man came into the room, carrying her, and, laying +her down on the settee, chafed her hands, and misshapen head. + +"What ails her?" he said, looking up, bewildered, to Holmes. +"We've killed her among us." + +She laughed, though the great eyes were growing dim, and drew his +coarse gray hair into her hand. + +"Yoh wur long comin'," she said, weakly. "I hunted fur yoh every +day,--every day." + +The old man had pushed her hair back, and was reading the sunken +face with a wild fear. + +"What ails her?" he cried. "Ther' 's somethin' gone wi' my girl. +Was it my fault? Lo, was it my fault?" + +"Be quiet!" said Holmes, sternly. + +"Is it THAT?" he gasped, shrilly. "My God! not that! I can't +bear it!" + +Lois soothed him, patting his face childishly. + +"Am I dyin' now?" she asked, with a frightened look at Holmes. + +He told her no, cheerfully. + +"I've no tho't o' dyin'. I dunnot thenk o' dyin'. Don't mind, +dear! Yoh'll stay with me, fur good?" + +The man's paroxysm of fear for her over, his spite and cowardice +came uppermost. + +"It's him," he yelped, looking fiercely at Holmes. "He's got my +life in his hands. He kin take it. What does he keer fur me or +my girl? I'll not stay wi' yoh no longer, Lo. Mornin' he'll +send me t' th' lock-up, an' after"---- + +"I care for you, child," said Holmes, stooping suddenly close to +the girl's livid face. + +"To-morrow?" she muttered. "My Christmas-day?" + +He wet her face while he looked over at the wretch whose life he +held in his hands. It was the iron rule of Holmes's nature to be +just; but to-night dim perceptions of a deeper justice than law +opened before him,--problems he had no time to solve: the +sternest fortress is liable to be taken by assault,--and the dew +of the coming morn was on his heart. + +"So as I've hunted fur him!" she whispered, weakly. "I didn't +thenk it wud come to this. So as I loved him! Oh, Mr. Holmes, +he's hed a pore chance in livin',--forgive him this! Him that'll +come to-morrow 'd say to forgive him this." + +She caught the old man's head in her arms with an agony of tears, +and held it tight. + +"I hev hed a pore chance," he said, looking up,--"that's God's +truth, Lo! I dunnot keer fur that: it's too late goin' back. +But Lo-- Mas'r," he mumbled, servilely, "it's on'y a little time +t' th' end: let me stay with Lo. She loves me,--Lo does." + +A look of disgust crept over Holmes's face. + +"Stay, then," he muttered,--"I wash my hands of you, you old +scoundrel!" + +He bent over Lois with his rare, pitiful smile. + +"Have I his life in my hands? I put it into yours,--so, child! +Now put it all out of your head, and look up here to wish me +good-bye." + +She looked up cheerfully, hardly conscious how deep the danger +had been; but the flush had gone from her face, leaving it sad +and still. + +"I must go to keep Christmas, Lois," he said, playfully. + +"Yoh're keepin' it here, Sir." She held her weak grip on his +hand still, with the vague outlook in her eyes that came there +sometimes. + +"Was it fur me yoh done it?" + +"Yes, for you." + +"And fur Him that's comin', Sir?" smiling. + +Holmes's face grew graver. + +"No, Lois." She looked into his eyes bewildered. "For the poor +child that loved me" he said, half to himself, smoothing her +hair. + +Perhaps in that day when the under-currents of the soul's life +will be bared, this man will know the subtile instincts that drew +him out of his self-reliance by the hand of the child that loved +him to the Love beyond, that was man and died for him, as well as +she. He did not see it now. + +The clear evening light fell on Holmes, as he stood there looking +down at the dying little lamiter: a powerful figure, with a face +supreme, masterful, but tender: you will find no higher type of +manhood. Did God make him of the same blood as the vicious, +cringing wretch crouching to hide his black face at the other +side of the bed? Some such thought came into Lois's brain, and +vexed her, bringing the tears to her eyes: he was her father, you +know. She drew their hands together, as if she would have joined +them, then stopped, closing her eyes wearily. + +"It's all wrong," she muttered,--"oh, it's far wrong! Ther' 's +One could make them 'like. Not me." + +She stroked her father's hand once, and then let it go. There +was a long silence. Holmes glanced out, and saw the sun was +down. + +"Lois," he said, "I want you to wish me a happy Christmas, as +people do." + +Holmes had a curious vein of superstition: he knew no lips so +pure as this girl's, and he wanted them to wish him good-luck +that night. She did it, looking up laughing and growing red: +riddles of life did not trouble her childish fancy long. And so +he left her, with a dull feeling, as I said before, that it was +good to say a prayer before the battle came on. For men who +believed in prayers: for him, it was the same thing to make one +day for Lois happier. + + + +CHAPTER X. + + +It was later than Holmes thought: a gray, cold evening. The +streets in that suburb were lonely: he went down them, the +new-fallen snow dulling his step. It had covered the peaked +roofs of the houses too, and they stood in listening rows, white +and still. Here and there a pale flicker from the gas-lamps +struggled with the ashy twilight. He met no one: people had gone +home early on Christmas eve. He had no home to go to: pah! there +were plenty of hotels, he remembered, smiling grimly. It was +bitter cold: he buttoned up his coat tightly, as he walked slowly +along as if waiting for some one,--wondering dully if the gray +air were any colder or stiller than the heart hardly beating +under the coat. Well, men had conquered Fate, conquered life and +love, before now. It grew darker: he was pacing now slowly in +the shadow of a long low wall surrounding the grounds of some +building. When he came near the gate, he would stop and listen: +he could have heard a sparrow on the snow, it was so still. +After a while he did hear footsteps, crunching the snow heavily; +the gate clicked as they came out: it was Knowles, and the +clergyman whom Dr. Cox did not like; Vandyke was his name. + +"Don't bolt the gate," said Knowles; "Miss Howth will be out +presently." + +They sat down on a pile of lumber near by, waiting, apparently. +Holmes went up and joined them, standing in the shadow of the +lumber, talking to Vandyke. He did not meet him, perhaps, once +in six months; but he believed in the man, thoroughly. + +"I've just helped Knowles build a Christmas-tree in yonder,--the +House of Refuge: you know. He could not tell an oak from an +arbor-vitae, I believe." + +Knowles was in no mood for quizzing. + +"There are other things I don't know," he said, gloomily, +recurring to some subject Holmes had interrupted. "The House is +going to the Devil, Charley, headlong." + +"There's no use in saying no," said the other; "you'll call me a +lying diviner." + +Knowles did not listen. + +"Seems as if I am to go groping and stumbling through the world +like some forsaken Cyclops with his eye out, dragging down +whatever I touch. If there were anything to hold by, anything +certain!" + +Vandyke looked at him gravely, but did not answer; rose and +walked indolently up and down to keep himself warm. A lithe, +slow figure, a clear face with delicate lips, and careless eyes +that saw everything: the face of a man quick to learn, and slow +to teach. + +"There she comes!" said Knowles, as the lock of the gate rasped. + +Holmes had heard the slow step in the snow long before. A small +woman came out, and went down the silent street into the road +beyond. Holmes kept his back turned to her, lighting his cigar; +the other men watched her eagerly. + +"What do you think, Vandyke?" demanded Knowles. "How will she +do?" + +"Do for what?"--resuming his lazy walk. "You talk as if she were +a machine. It is the way with modern reformers. Men are so many +ploughs and harrows to work on `the classes.' Do for what?" + +Knowles flushed hotly. + +"The work the Lord has left for her. Do you mean to say there is +none to do,--you, pledged to Missionary labour?" + +The young man's face coloured. + +"I know this street needs paving terribly, Knowles; but I don't +see a boulder in your hands. Yet the great Task-master does not +despise the pavers. He did not give you the spirit and +understanding for paving, eh, is that it? How do you know He +gave this Margret Howth the spirit and understanding of a +reformer? There may be higher work for her to do." + +"Higher!" The old man stood aghast. "I know your creed, +then,--that the true work for a man or a woman is that which +develops their highest nature?" + +Vandyke laughed. + +"You have a creed-mania, Knowles. You have a confession of faith +ready-made for everybody, but yourself. I only meant for you to +take care what you do. That woman looks as the Prodigal Son +might have done when he began to be in want, and would fain have +fed himself with the husks that the swine did eat." + +Knowles got up moodily. + +"Whose work is it, then?" he muttered, following the men down the +street; for they walked on. "The world has waited six thousand +years for help. It comes slowly,--slowly, Vandyke; even through +your religion." + +The young man did not answer: looked up, with quiet, rapt eyes, +through the silent city, and the clear gray beyond. They passed +a little church lighted up for evening service: as if to give a +meaning to the old man's words, they were chanting the one anthem +of the world, the Gloria in Excelsis. Hearing the deep +organ-roll, the men stopped outside to listen: it heaved and +sobbed through the night, as if bearing up to God the wrong of +countless aching hearts, then was silent, and a single voice +swept over the moors in a long, lamentable cry:--"Thou that +takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us!" + +The men stood silent, until the hush was broken by a low +murmur:--"For Thou only art holy." Holmes had taken off his hat, +unconscious that he did it; he put it on slowly, and walked on. +What was it that Knowles had said to him once about mean and +selfish taints on his divine soul? "For Thou only art holy:" if +there were truth in that! + +"How quiet it is!" he said, as they stopped to leave him. It +was,--a breathless quiet; the great streets of the town behind +them were shrouded in snow; the hills, the moors, the prairie +swept off into the skyless dark, a gray and motionless sea lit by +a low watery moon. "The very earth listens," he said. + +"Listens for what?" said the literal old Doctor. + +"I think it listens always," said Vandyke, his eye on fire. "For +its King--that shall be. Not as He came before. It has not long +to wait now: the New Year is not far off." + +"I've no faith in holding your hands, waiting for it; nor have +you either, Charley," growled Knowles. "There's an infernal lot +of work to be done before it comes, I fancy. Here, let me light +my cigar." + +Holmes bade them good-night, laughing, and struck into the +by-road through the hills. He shook hands with Vandyke before he +went,--a thing he scarce ever did with anybody. Knowles noticed +it, and, after he was out of hearing, mumbled out some sarcasm at +"a minister of the gospel consorting with a cold, silent +scoundrel like that!" Vandyke listened to his scolding in his +usual lazy way, and they went back into town. + +The road Holmes took was rutted deep with wagon-wheels, not +easily travelled; he walked slowly therefore, being weak, +stopping now and then to gather strength. He had not counted the +hours until this day, to be balked now by a little loss of blood. +The moon was nearly down before he reached the Cloughton hills: +he turned there into a narrow path which he remembered well. Now +and then he saw the mark of a little shoe in the snow,--looking +down at it with a hot panting in his veins, and a strange flash +in his eye, as he walked on steadily. + +There was a turn in the path at the top of the hill, a sunken +wall, with a broad stone from which the wind had blown the snow. +This was the place. He sat down on the stone, resting. Just +there she had stood, clutching her little fingers behind her, +when he came up and threw back her hood to look in her face: how +pale and worn it was, even then! He had not looked at her +to-night: he would not, if he had been dying, with those men +standing there. He stood alone in the world with this little +Margret. How those men had carped, and criticised her, chattered +of the duties of her soul! Why, it was his, it was his own, +softer and fresher. There was not a glance with which they +followed the weak little body in its poor dress that he had not +seen, and savagely resented. They measured her strength? counted +how long the bones and blood would last in their House of Refuge? +There was not a morsel of her flesh that was not pure and holy in +his eyes. His Margret? He chafed with an intolerable fever to +make her his, but for one instant, as she had been once. Now, +when it was too late. For he went back over every word he had +spoken that night, forcing himself to go through with it,--every +cold, poisoned word. It was a fitting penance. "There is no +such thing as love in real life:" he had told her that! How he +had stood, with all the power of his "divine soul" in his will, +and told her,--he,--a man,--that he put away her love from him +then, forever! He spared himself nothing,--slurred over nothing; +spurned himself, as it were, for the meanness, in which he had +wallowed that night. How firm he had been! how kind! how +masterful!--pluming himself on his man's strength, while he held +her in his power as one might hold an insect, played with her +shrinking woman's nature, and trampled it under his feet, coldly +and quietly! She was in his way, and he had put her aside. How +the fine subtile spirit had risen up out of its agony of shame, +and scorned him! How it had flashed from the puny frame standing +there in the muddy road despised and jeered at, and calmly judged +him! He might go from her as he would, toss her off like a +worn-out plaything, but he could not blind her: let him put on +what face he would to the world, whether they called him a master +among men, or a miser, or, as Knowles did to-night after he +turned away, a scoundrel, this girl laid her little hand on his +soul with an utter recognition: she alone. "She knew him for a +better man than he knew himself that night:" he remembered the +words. + +The night was growing murky and bitingly cold: there was no +prospect on the snow-covered hills, or the rough road at his +feet with its pools of ice-water, to bring content into his face, +or the dewy light into his eyes; but they came there, slowly, +while he sat thinking. Some old thought was stealing into his +brain, perhaps, fresh and warm, like a soft spring air,--some +hope of the future, in which this child-woman came close to him, +and near. It was an idle dream, only would taunt him when it was +over, but he opened his arms to it: it was an old friend; it had +made him once a purer and better man than he could ever be again. +A warm, happy dream, whatever it may have been: the rugged, +sinister face grew calm and sad, as the faces of the dead change +when loving tears fall on them. + +He sighed wearily: the homely little hope was fanning into life +stagnant depths of desire and purpose, stirring his resolute +ambition. Too late? Was it too late? Living or dead she was +his, though he should never see her face, by some subtile power +that had made them one, he knew not when nor how. He did not +reason now,--abandoned himself, as morbid men only do, to this +delirious hope of a home, and cheerful warmth, and this woman's +love fresh and eternal: a pleasant dream at first, to be put away +at pleasure. But it grew bolder, touched under-deeps in his +nature of longing and intense passion; all that he knew or felt +of power or will, of craving effort, of success in the world, +drifted into this dream, and became one with it. He stood up, +his vigorous frame starting into a nobler manhood, with the +consciousness of right,--with a willed assurance, that, the first +victory gained, the others should follow. + +It was late; he must go on; he had not meant to sit idling by the +road-side. He went through the fields, his heavy step crushing +the snow, a dry heat in his blood, his eye intent, still, until +he came within sight of the farm-house; then he went on, cool and +grave, in his ordinary port. + +The house was quite dark; only a light in one of the lower +windows,--the library, he thought. The broad field he was +crossing sloped down to the house, so that, as he came nearer, he +saw the little room quite plainly in the red glow of the fire +within, the curtains being undrawn. He had a keen eye; did not +fail to see the marks of poverty about the place, the gateless +fences, even the bare room with its worn and patched carpet: +noted it all with a triumphant gleam of satisfaction. There was +a black shadow passing and repassing the windows: he waited a +moment looking at it, then came more slowly towards them, +intenser heats smouldering in his face. He would not surprise +her; she should be as ready as he was for the meeting. If she +ever put her pure hand in his again, it should be freely done, +and of her own good-will. + +She saw him as he came up on the porch, and stopped, looking out, +as if bewildered,--then resumed her walk, mechanically. What it +cost her to see him again he could not tell: her face did not +alter. It was lifeless and schooled, the eyes looking straight +forward always, indifferently. Was this his work? If he had +killed her outright, it would have been better than this. + +The windows were low: it had been his old habit to go in through +them, and he now went up to one unconsciously. As he opened it, +he saw her turn away for an instant; then she waited for him, +entirely tranquil, the clear fire shedding a still glow over the +room, no cry or shiver of pain to show how his coming broke open +the old wound. She smiled even, when he leaned against the +window, with a careless welcome. + +Holmes stopped, confounded. It did not suit him,--this. If you +know a man's nature, you comprehend why. The bitterest reproach, +or a proud contempt would have been less galling than this gentle +indifference. His hold had slipped from off the woman, he +believed. A moment before he had remembered how he had held her +in his arms, touched her cold lips, and then flung her off,--he +had remembered it, every nerve shrinking with remorse and +unutterable tenderness: now----! The utter quiet of her face +told more than words could do. She did not love him; he was +nothing to her. Then love was a lie. A moment before he could +have humbled himself in her eyes as low as he lay in his own, and +accepted her pardon as a necessity of her enduring, faithful +nature: now, the whole strength of the man sprang into rage, and +mad desire of conquest. + +He came gravely across the room, holding out his hand with his +old quiet control. She might be cold and grave as he, but +underneath he knew there was a thwarted, hungry spirit,--a +strong, fine spirit as dainty Ariel. He would sting it to life, +and tame it: it was his. + +"I thought you would come, Stephen," she said, simply, motioning +him to a chair. + +Could this automaton be Margret? He leaned on the mantel-shelf, +looking down with a cynical sneer. + +"Is that the welcome? Why, there are a thousand greetings for +this time of love and good words you might have chosen. Besides, +I have come back ill and poor,--a beggar perhaps. How do women +receive such,--generous women? Is there no etiquette? no +hand-shaking? nothing more? remembering that I was once--not +indifferent to you." + +He laughed. She stood still and grave as before. + +"Why, Margret, I have been down near death since that night." + +He thought her lips grew gray, but she looked up clear and +steady. + +"I am glad you did not die. Yes, I can say that. As for +hand-shaking, my ideas may be peculiar as your own." + +"She measures her words," he said, as to himself; "her very +eye-light is ruled by decorum; she is a machine, for work. She +has swept her child's heart clean of anger and revenge, even +scorn for the wretch that sold himself for money. There was +nothing else to sweep out, was there?"--bitterly,--"no +friendships, such as weak women nurse and coddle into being,--or +love, that they live in, and die for sometimes, in a silly way?" + +"Unmanly!" + +"No, not unmanly. Margret, let us be serious and calm. It is no +time to trifle or wear masks. That has passed between us which +leaves no room for sham courtesies." + +"There needs none,"--meeting his eye unflinchingly. "I am ready +to meet you and hear your good-bye. Dr. Knowles told me your +marriage was near at hand. I knew you would come, Stephen. You +did before." + +He winced,--the more that her voice was so clear of pain. + +"Why should I come? To show you what sort of a heart I have sold +for money? Why, you think you know, little Margret. You can +reckon up its deformity, its worthlessness, on your cool fingers. +You could tell the serene and gracious lady who is chaffering for +it what a bargain she has made,--that there is not in it one +spark of manly honour or true love. Don't venture too near it in +your coldness and prudence. It has tiger passions I will not +answer for. Give me your hand, and feel how it pants like a +hungry fiend. It will have food, Margret." + +She drew away the hand he grasped, and stood back in the shadow. + +"What is it to me?"--in the same measured voice. + +Holmes wiped the cold drops from his forehead, a sort of shudder +in his powerful frame. He stood a moment looking into the fire, +his head dropped on his arm. + +"Let it be so," he said at last, quietly. "The worn old heart +can gnaw on itself a little longer. I have no mind to whimper +over pain." + +Something that she saw on the dark sardonic face, as the red +gleams lighted it, made her start convulsively, as if she would +go to him; then controlling herself, she stood silent. He had +not seen the movement,--or, if he saw, did not heed it. He did +not care to tame her now. The firelight flashed and darkened, +the crackling wood breaking the dead silence of the room. + +"It does not matter," he said, raising his head, laying his arm +over his strong chest unconsciously, as if to shut in all +complaint. "I had an idle fancy that it would be good on this +Christmas night to bare the secrets hidden in here to you,--to +suffer your pure eyes to probe the sorest depths: I thought +perhaps they would have a blessing power. It was an idle fancy. +What is my want or crime to you?" + +The answer came slowly, but it did come. + +"Nothing to me." + +She tried to meet the gaunt face looking down on her with its +proud sadness,--did meet it at last with her meek eyes. + +"No, nothing to you. There is no need that I should stay longer, +is there? You made ready to meet me, and have gone through your +part well." + +"It is no part. I speak God's truth to you as I can." + +"I know. There is nothing more for us to say to each other in +this world, then, except good-night. Words--polite words--are +bitterer than death, sometimes. If ever we happen to meet, that +courteous smile on your face will be enough to speak--God's truth +for you. Shall we say good-night now?" + +"If you will." + +She drew farther into the shadow, leaning on a chair. + +He stopped, some sudden thought striking him. + +"I have a whim," he said, dreamily, "that I would like to +satisfy. It would be a trifle to you: will you grant it?--for +the sake of some old happy day, long ago?" + +She put her hand up to her throat; then it fell again. + +"Anything you wish, Stephen," she said, gravely. + +"Yes. Come nearer, then, and let me see what I have lost. A +heart so cold and strong as yours need not fear inspection. I +have a fancy to look into it, for the last time." + +She stood motionless and silent. + +"Come,"--softly,--"there is no hurt in your heart that fears +detection?" + +She came out into the full light, and stood before him, pushing +back the hair from her forehead, that he might see every wrinkle, +and the faded, lifeless eyes. It was a true woman's motion, +remembering even then to scorn deception. The light glowed +brightly in her face, as the slow minutes ebbed without a sound: +she only saw his face in shadow, with the fitful gleam of +intolerable meaning in his eyes. Her own quailed and fell. + +"Does it hurt you that I should even look at you?" he said, +drawing back. "Why, even the sainted dead suffer us to come near +them after they have died to us,--to touch their hands, to kiss +their lips, to find what look they left in their faces for us. +Be patient, for the sake of the old time. My whim is not +satisfied yet." + +"I am patient." + +"Tell me something of yourself, to take with me when I go, for +the last time. Shall I think of you as happy in these days?" + +"I am contented,"--the words oozing from her white lips in the +bitterness of truth. "I asked God, that night, to show me my +work; and I think He has shown it to me. I do not complain. It +is a great work." + +"Is that all?" he demanded, fiercely. + +"No, not all. It pleases me to feel I have a warm home, and to +help keep it cheerful. When my father kisses me at night, or my +mother says, `God bless you, child,' I know that is enough, that +I ought to be happy." + +The old clock in the corner hummed and ticked through the deep +silence, like the humble voice of the home she toiled to keep +warm, thanking her, comforting her. + +"Once more," as the light grew stronger on her face,--"will you +look down into your heart that you have given to this great work, +and tell me what you see there? Dare you do it, Margret?" + +"I dare do it,"--but her whisper was husky. + +"Go on." + +He watched her more as a judge would a criminal, as she sat +before him: she struggled weakly under the power of his eye, not +meeting it. He waited relentless, seeing her face slowly whiten, +her limbs shiver, her bosom heave. + +"Let me speak for you," he said at last. "I know who once filled +your heart to the exclusion of all others: it is no time for mock +shame. I know it was my hand that held the very secret of your +being. Whatever I may have been, you loved me, Margret. Will +you say that now?" + +"I loved you,--once." + +Whether it were truth that nerved her, or self-delusion, she was +strong now to utter it all. + +"You love me no longer, then?" + +"I love you no longer." + +She did not look at him; she was conscious only of the hot fire +wearing her eyes, and the vexing click of the clock. After a +while he bent over her silently,--a manly, tender presence. + +"When love goes once," he said, "it never returns. Did you say +it was gone, Margret?" + +One effort more, and Duty would be satisfied. + +"It is gone." + +In the slow darkness that came to her she covered her face, +knowing and hearing nothing. When she looked up, Holmes was +standing by the window, with his face toward the gray fields. It +was a long time before he turned and came to her. + +"You have spoken honestly: it is an old fashion of yours. You +believed what you said. Let me also tell you what you call God's +truth, for a moment, Margret. It will not do you harm."--He +spoke gravely, solemnly.--"When you loved me long ago, selfish, +erring as I was, you fulfilled the law of your nature; when you +put that love out of your heart, you make your duty a tawdry +sham, and your life a lie. Listen to me. I am calm." + +It was calmness that made her tremble as she had not done before, +with a strange suspicion of the truth flashing on her. That she, +casing herself in her pride, her conscious righteousness, hugging +her new-found philanthropy close, had sunk to a depth of +niggardly selfishness, of which this man knew nothing. Nobler +than she; half angry as she felt that, sitting at his feet, +looking up. He knew it, too; the grave judging voice told it; he +had taken his rightful place. Just, as only a man can be, in his +judgment of himself and her: her love that she had prided herself +with, seemed weak and drifting, brought into contact with this +cool integrity of meaning. I think she was glad to be humbled +before him. Women have strange fancies, sometimes. + +"You have deceived yourself," he said: "when you try to fill your +heart with this work, you serve neither your God nor your +fellow-man. You tell me," stooping close to her, "that I am +nothing to you: you believe it, poor child! There is not a line +on your face that does not prove it false. I have keen eyes, +Margret!"-- He laughed.--"You have wrung this love out of your +heart? If it were easy to do, did it need to wring with it every +sparkle of pleasure and grace out of your life! Your very hair +is gathered out of your sight: you feared to remember how my hand +had touched it? Your dress is stingy and hard; your step, your +eyes, your mouth under rule. So hard it was to force yourself +into an old worn-out woman! Oh, Margret! Margret!" + +She moaned under her breath. + +"I notice trifles, child! Yonder, in that corner, used to stand +the desk where I helped you with your Latin. How you hated it! +Do you remember?" + +"I remember." + +"It always stood there: it is gone now. Outside of the gate +there was that elm I planted, and you promised to water while I +was gone. It is cut down now by the roots." + +"I had it done, Stephen." + +"I know. Do you know why? Because you love me: because you do +not dare to think of me, you dare not trust yourself to look at +the tree that I had planted." + +She started up with a cry, and stood there in the old way, her +fingers catching at each other. + +"It is cruel,--let me go!" + +"It is not cruel."--He came up closer to her.--"You think you do +not love me, and see what I have made you! Look at the torpor of +this face,--the dead, frozen eyes! It is a `nightmare death in +life.' Good God, to think that I have done this! To think of +the countless days of agony, the nights, the years of solitude +that have brought her to this,--little Margret!" + +He paced the floor, slowly. She sat down on a low stool, leaning +her head on her hands. The little figure, the bent head, the +quivering chin brought up her childhood to him. She used to sit +so when he had tormented her, waiting to be coaxed back to love +and smiles again. The hard man's eyes filled with tears, as he +thought of it. He watched the deep, tearless sobs that shook her +breast: he had wounded her to death,--his bonny Margret! She was +like a dead thing now: what need to torture her longer? Let him +be manly and go out to his solitary life, taking the remembrance +of what he had done with him for company. He rose +uncertainly,--then came to her: was that the way to leave her? + +"I am going, Margret," he whispered, "but let me tell you a story +before I go,--a Christmas story, say. It will not touch you,--it +is too late to hope for that,--but it is right that you should +hear it." + +She looked up wearily. + +"As you will, Stephen." + +Whatever impulse drove the man to speak words that he knew were +useless, made him stand back from her, as though she were +something he was unfit to touch: the words dragged from him +slowly. + +"I had a curious dream to-night, Margret,--a waking dream: only a +clear vision of what had been once. Do you remember--the old +time?" + +What disconnected rambling was this? Yet the girl understood it, +looked into the low fire with sad, listening eyes. + +"Long ago. That was a free, strong life that opened before us +then, little one,--before you and me? Do you remember the +Christmas before I went away? I had a strong arm and a hungry +brain to go out into the world with, then. Something better, +too, I had. A purer self than was born with me came late in +life, and nestled in my heart. Margret, there was no fresh +loving thought in my brain for God or man that did not grow from +my love of you; there was nothing noble or kindly in my nature +that did not flow into that love, and deepen there. I was your +master, too. I held my own soul by no diviner right than I held +your love and owed you mine. I understand it, now, when it is +too late."--He wiped the cold drops from his face.--"Now do you +know whether it is remorse I feel, when I think how I put this +purer self away,--how I went out triumphant in my inhuman, greedy +brain,--how I resolved to know, to be, to trample under foot all +weak love or homely pleasures? I have been punished. Let those +years go. I think, sometimes, I came near to the nature of the +damned who dare not love: I would not. It was then I hurt you, +Margret,--to the death: your true life lay in me, as mine in +you." + +He had gone on drearily, as though holding colloquy with himself, +as though great years of meaning surged up and filled the broken +words. It may have been thus with the girl, for her face +deepened as she listened. For the first time for many long days +tears welled up into her eyes, and rolled between her fingers +unheeded. + +"I came through the streets to-night baffled in life,--a mean man +that might have been noble,--all the years wasted that had gone +before,--disappointed,--with nothing to hope for but time to work +humbly and atone for the wrongs I had done. When I lay yonder, +my soul on the coast of eternity, I resolved to atone for every +selfish deed. I had no thought of happiness; God knows I had no +hope of it. I had wronged you most: I could not die with that +wrong unforgiven." + +"Unforgiven, Stephen?" she sobbed; "I forgave it long ago." + +He looked at her a moment, then by some effort choked down the +word he would have spoken, and went on with his bitter +confession. + +"I came through the crowded town, a homeless, solitary man, on +the Christmas eve when love comes to every man. If ever I had +grown sick for a word or touch from the one soul to whom alone +mine was open, I thirsted for it then. The better part of my +nature was crushed out, and flung away with you, Margret. I +cried for it,--I wanted help to be a better, purer man. I need +it now. And so," he said, with a smile that hurt her more than +tears, "I came to my good angel, to tell her I had sinned and +repented, that I had made humble plans for the future, and ask +her---- God knows what I would have asked her then! She had +forgotten me,--she had another work to do!" + +She wrung her hands with a helpless cry. Holmes went to the +window: the dull waste of snow looked to him as hopeless and +vague as his own life. + +"I have deserved it," he muttered to himself. "It is too late to +amend." + +Some light touch thrilled his arm. + +"Is it too late, Stephen?" whispered a childish voice. + +The strong man trembled, looking at the little dark figure +standing near him. + +"We were both wrong: I have been untrue, selfish. More than you. +Stephen, help me to be a better girl; let us be friends again." + +She went back unconsciously to the old words of their quarrels +long ago. He drew back. + +"Do not mock me," he gasped. "I suffer, Margret. Do not mock me +with more courtesy." + +"I do not; let us be friends again." + +She was crying like a penitent child; her face was turned away; +love, pure and deep, was in her eyes. + +The red fire-light grew stronger; the clock hushed its noisy +ticking to hear the story. Holmes's pale lip worked: what was +this coming to him? His breast heaved, a dry heat panted in his +veins, his deep eyes flashed fire. + +"If my little friend comes to me," he said, in a smothered voice, +"there is but one place for her,--her soul with my soul, her +heart on my heart."--He opened his arms.--"She must rest her head +here. My little friend must be--my wife." + +She looked into the strong, haggard face,-- a smile crept out on +her own, arch and debonair like that of old time. + +"I am tired, Stephen," she whispered, and softly laid her head +down on his breast. + +The red fire-light flashed into a glory of crimson through the +room, about the two figures standing motionless there,--shimmered +down into awe-struck shadow: who heeded it? The old clock ticked +away furiously, as if rejoicing that weary days were over for the +pet and darling of the house: nothing else broke the silence. +Without, the deep night paused, gray, impenetrable. Did it hope +that far angel-voices would break its breathless hush, as once on +the fields of Judea, to usher in Christmas morn? A hush, in air, +and earth, and sky, of waiting hope, of a promised joy. Down +there in the farm-window two human hearts had given the joy a +name; the hope throbbed into being; the hearts touching each +other beat in a slow, full chord of love as pure in God's eyes as +the song the angels sang, and as sure a promise of the Christ +that is to come. Forever,--not even death would part them; he +knew that, holding her closer, looking down into her face. + +What a pale little face it was! Through the intensest heat of +his passion the sting touched him. Some instinct made her glance +up at him, with a keen insight, seeing the morbid gloom that was +the man's sin, in his face. She lifted her head from his breast, +and when he stooped to touch her lips, shook herself free, +laughing carelessly. Alas, Stephen Holmes! you will have little +time for morbid questionings in those years to come: her cheerful +work has begun: no more self-devouring reveries: your very pauses +of silent content and love will be rare and well-earned. No more +tranced raptures for to-night,--let to-morrow bring what it +would. + +"You do not seem to find your purer self altogether perfect?" she +demanded. "I think the pale skin hurts your artistic eye, or the +frozen eyes,--which is it?" + +"They have thawed into brilliant fire,-- something looks at me +half-yielding and half-defiant,--you know that, you vain child! +But, Margret, nothing can atone"---- + +He stopped. + +"Yes, stop. That is right, Stephen. Remorse grows maudlin when +it goes into words," laughing again at his astounded look. + +He took her hand,--a dewy, healthy hand,-- the very touch of it +meant action and life. + +"What if I say, then," he said, earnestly, "that I do not find my +angel perfect, be the fault mine or hers? The child Margret, +with her sudden tears, and laughter, and angry heats, is gone,--I +killed her, I think,--gone long ago. I will not take in place of +her this worn, pale ghost, who wears clothes as chilly as if she +came from the dead, and stands alone, as ghosts do." + +She stood a little way off, her great brown eyes flashing with +tears. It was so strange a joy to find herself cared for, when +she had believed she was old and hard: the very idle jesting made +her youth and happiness real to her. Holmes saw that with his +quick tact. He flung playfully a crimson shawl that lay there +about her white neck. + +"My wife must suffer her life to flush out in gleams of colour +and light: her cheeks must hint at a glow within, as yours do +now. I will have no hard angles, no pallor, no uncertain memory +of pain in her life: it shall be perpetual summer." + +He loosened her hair, and it rolled down about the bright, +tearful face, shining in the red fire-light like a mist of tawny +gold. + +"I need warmth and freshness and light: my wife shall bring them +to me. She shall be no strong-willed reformer, standing alone: a +sovereign lady with kind words for the world, who gives her hand +only to that man whom she trusts, and keeps her heart and its +secrets for me alone." + +She paid no heed to him other than by a deepening colour; the +clock, however, grew tired of the long soliloquy, and broke in +with an asthmatic warning as to the time of night. + +"There is midnight," she said. "You shall go, now, Stephen +Holmes,--quick! before your sovereign lady fades, like +Cinderella, into grayness and frozen eyes!" + +When he was gone, she knelt down by her window, remembering that +night long ago,-- free to sob and weep out her joy,--very sure +that her Master had not forgotten to hear even a woman's prayer, +and to give her her true work,--very sure,--never to doubt again. +There was a dark, sturdy figure pacing up and down the road, that +she did not see. It was there when the night was over, and +morning began to dawn. Christmas morning! he remembered,--it was +something to him now! Never again a homeless, solitary man! You +would think the man weak, if I were to tell yon how this word +"home" had taken possession of him,--how he had planned out work +through the long night: success to come, but with his wife +nearest his heart, and the homely farm-house, and the old +school-master in the centre of the picture. Such an humble +castle in the air! Christmas morning was surely something to him. +Yet, as the night passed, he went back to the years that had been +wasted, with an unavailing bitterness. He would not turn from +the truth, that, with his strength of body and brain to command +happiness and growth, his life had been a failure. I think it +was first on that night that the story of the despised Nazarene +came to him with a new meaning,--One who came to gather up these +broken fragments of lives and save them with His own. But +vaguely, though: Christmas-day as yet was to him the day when +love came into the world. He knew the meaning of that. So he +watched with an eagerness new to him the day-breaking. He could +see Margret's window, and a dim light in it: she would be awake, +praying for him, no doubt. He pondered on that. Would you think +Holmes weak, if he forsook the faith of Fichte, sometime, led by +a woman's hand? Think of the apostle of the positive +philosophers, and say no more. He could see a flickering light +at dawn crossing the hall: he remembered the old school-master's +habit well,--calling "Happy Christmas" at every door: he meant to +go down there for breakfast, as he used to do, imagining how the +old man would wring his hands, with a "Holloa! you're welcome +home, Stephen, boy!" and Mrs. Howth would bring out the jars of +pine-apple preserve which her sister sent her every year from the +West Indies. And then---- Never mind what then. Stephen Holmes +was very much in love, and this Christmas-day had much to bring +him. Yet it was with a solemn shadow on his face that he watched +the dawn, showing that he grasped the awful meaning of this day +that "brought love into the world." Through the clear, frosty +night he could hear a low chime of distant bells shiver the air, +hurrying faint and far to tell the glad tidings. He fancied that +the dawn flushed warm to hear the story,--that the very earth +should rejoice in its frozen depths, if it were true. If it were +true!--if this passion in his heart were but a part of an +all-embracing power, in whose clear depths the world struggled +vainly!-- if it were true that this Christ did come to make that +love clear to us! There would be some meaning then in the old +school-master's joy, in the bells wakening the city yonder, in +even poor Lois's thorough content in this day,--for it would be, +he knew, a thrice happy day to her. A strange story that of the +Child coming into the world,--simple! He thought of it, +watching, through his cold, gray eyes, how all the fresh morning +told it,--it was in the very air; thinking how its echo stole +through the whole world,--how innumerable children's voices told +it in eager laughter,--how even the lowest slave half-smiled, on +waking, to think it was Christmas-day, the day that Christ was +born. He could hear from the church on the hill that they were +singing again the old song of the angels. Did this matter to +him? Did not he care, with the new throb in his heart, who was +born this day? There is no smile on his face as he listens to +the words, "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, +good-will toward men;" it bends lower,--lower only. But in his +soul-lit eyes there are warm tears, and on his worn face a sad +and solemn joy. + + + +CHAPTER XI. + + +I AM going to end my story now. There are phases more vivid in +the commonplace lives of these men and women, I do not doubt: +love, as poignant as pain in its joy; crime, weak and foul and +foolish, like all crime; silent self- sacrifices: but I leave +them for you to paint; you will find colours enough in your own +house and heart. + +As for Christmas-day, neither you nor I need try to do justice to +that theme: how the old school-master went about, bustling, his +thin face quite hot with enthusiasm, and muttering, "God bless my +soul!"--hardly recovered from the sudden delight of finding his +old pupil waiting for him when he went down in the morning; how +he insisted on being led by him, and nobody else, all day, and +before half an hour had confided, under solemn pledges of +secrecy, the great project of the book about Bertrand de Born; +how even easy Mrs. Howth found her hospitable Virginian blood in +a glow at the unexpected breakfast-guest,--settling into more +confident pleasure as dinner came on, for which success was +surer; how cold it was, outside; how Joel piled on great fires, +and went off on some mysterious errand, having "other chores to +do than idling and duddering;" how the day rose into a climax of +perfection at dinner-time, to Mrs. Howth's mind,--the turkey +being done to a delicious brown, the plum-pudding quivering like +luscious jelly (a Christian dinner to-day, if we starve the rest +of the year!). Even Dr. Knowles, who brought a great bouquet out +for the school-master, was in an unwonted good-humour; and Mr. +Holmes, of whom she stood a little in dread, enjoyed it all with +such zest, and was so attentive to them all, but Margret. They +hardly spoke to each other all day; it quite fretted the old +lady; indeed, she gave the girl a good scolding about it out in +the pantry, until she was ready to cry. She had looked that way +all day, however. + +Knowles was hurt deep enough when he saw Holmes, and suspected +the worst, under all his good-humour. It was a bitter +disappointment to give up the girl; for, beside the great work, +he loved her in an uncouth fashion, and hated Holmes. He met her +alone in the morning; but when he saw how pale she grew, +expecting his outbreak, and how she glanced timidly in at the +room where Stephen was, he relented. Something in the wet brown +eye perhaps recalled a forgotten dream of his boyhood; for he +sighed sharply, and did not swear as he meant to. All he said +was, that "women will be women, and that she had a worse job on +her hands than the House of Refuge,"--which she put down to the +account of his ill-temper, and only laughed, and made him shake +hands. + +Lois and her father came out in the old cart in high state across +the bleak, snowy hills, quite aglow with all they had seen at the +farm-houses on the road. Margret had arranged a settle for the +sick girl by the kitchen-fire, but they all came out to speak to +her. + +As for the dinner, it was the essence of all Christmas dinners: +Dickens himself, the priest of the genial day, would have been +contented. The old school-master and his wife had hearts big and +warm enough to do the perpetual honours of a baronial castle; so +you may know how the little room and the faces about the homely +table glowed and brightened. Even Knowles began to think that +Holmes might not be so bad, after all, recalling the chicken in +the mill, and,--"Well, it was better to think well of all men, +poor devils!" + +I am sorry to say there was a short thunderstorm in the very +midst of the dinner. Knowles and Mr. Howth, in their anxiety to +keep off from ancient subjects of dispute, came, for a wonder, on +modern politics, and of course there was a terrible collision, +which made Mrs. Howth quite breathless: it was over in a minute, +however, and it was hard to tell which was the most repentant. +Knowles, as you know, was a disciple of Garrison, and the old +school-master was a States'-rights man, as you might suppose from +his antecedents,--suspected, indeed, of being a contributor to +"DeBow's Review." I may as well come out with the whole truth, +and acknowledge that at the present writing the old gentleman is +the very hottest Secessionist I know. If it hurts the type, +write it down a vice of blood, O printers of New England! + +The dinner, perhaps, was fresher and heartier after that. Then +Knowles went back to town; and in the middle of the afternoon, as +it grew dusk, Lois started, knowing how many would come into her +little shanty in the evening to wish her Happy Christmas, +although it was over. They piled up comforts and blankets in the +cart, and she lay on them quite snugly, her scarred child's-face +looking out from a great woollen hood Mrs. Howth gave her. Old +Yare held Barney, with his hat in his hand, looking as if he +deserved hanging, but very proud of the kindness they all showed +his girl. Holmes gave him some money for a Christmas gift, and +he took it, eagerly enough. For some unexpressed reason, they +stood a long time in the snow bidding Lois good-bye; and for the +same reason, it may be, she was loath to go, looking at each one +earnestly as she laughed and grew red and pale answering them, +kissing Mrs. Howth's hand when she gave it to her. When the cart +did drive away, she watched them standing there until she was out +of sight, and waved her scrap of a handkerchief; and when the +road turned down the hill, lay down and softly cried to herself. + +Now that they were alone they gathered close about the fire, +while the day without grew gray and colder,--Margret in her old +place by her father's knee. Some dim instinct had troubled the +old man all day; it did now: whenever Margret spoke, he listened +eagerly, and forgot to answer sometimes, he was so lost in +thought. At last he put his hand on her head, and whispered, +"What ails my little girl?" And then his little girl sobbed and +cried, as she had been ready to do all day, and kissed his +trembling hand, and went and hid on her mother's neck, and left +Stephen to say everything for her. And I think you and I had +better come away. + +It was quite dark before they had done talking,--quite dark; the +wood-fire had charred down into a great bed of crimson; the tea +stood till it grew cold, and no one drank it. + +The old man got up at last, and Holmes led him to the library, +where he smoked every evening. He held Maggie, as he called her, +in his arms a long time, and wrung Holmes's hand. "God bless +you, Stephen!" he said,-- "this is a very happy Christmas-day to +me." And yet, sitting alone, the tears ran over his wrinkled +face as he smoked; and when his pipe went out, he did not know +it, but sat motionless. Mrs. Howth, fairly confounded by the +shock, went up-stairs, and stayed there a long time. When she +came down, the old lady's blue eyes were tenderer, if that were +possible, and her face very pale. She went into the library and +asked her husband if she didn't prophesy this two years ago, and +he said she did, and after a while asked her if she remembered +the barbecue-night at Judge Clapp's thirty years ago. She +blushed at that, and then went up and kissed him. She had heard +Joel's horse clattering up to the kitchen-door, so concluded she +would go out and scold him. Under the circumstances it would be +a relief. + +If Mrs. Howth's nerves had been weak, she might have supposed +that free-born serving- man seized with sudden insanity, from the +sight that met her, going into the kitchen. His dinner, set on +the dresser, was flung contemptuously on the ashes; a horrible +cloud of burning grease rushed from a dirty pint-pot on the +table, and before this Joel was capering and snorting like some +red-headed Hottentot before his fetich, occasionally sticking his +fingers into the nauseous stuff, and snuffing it up as if it were +roses. He was a church-member: he could NOT be drunk? At the +sight of her, he tried to regain the austere dignity usual to him +when women were concerned, but lapsed into an occasional giggle, +which spoiled the effect. + +"Where have you been," she inquired, severely, "scouring the +country like a heathen on this blessed day? And what is that you +have burning? You're disgracing the house, and strangers in it." + +Joel's good-humour was proof against even this. + +"I've scoured to some purpose, then. Dun't tell the mester: +it'll muddle his brains t'-night. Wait till mornin'. Squire +More'll be down his-self t' 'xplain." + +He rubbed the greasy fingers into his hair, while Mrs. Howth's +eyes were fixed in dumb perplexity. + +"Ye see,"--slowly, determined to make it clear to her now and +forever,--"it's water: no, t' a'n't water: it's troubled me an' +Mester Howth some time in Poke Run, atop o' 't. I hed my +suspicions,--so'd he; lay low, though, frum all women-folks. So +'s I tuk a bottle down, unbeknown, to Squire More, an' it's +oil!"--jumping like a wild Indian,--"thank the Lord fur his +marcies, it's oil!" + +"Well, Joel," she said, calmly, "very disagreeably smelling oil +it is, I must say." + +"Good save the woman!" he broke out, sotto voce, "she's a born +natural! Did ye never hear of a shaft? or millions o' gallons a +day? It's better nor a California ranch, I tell ye. Mebbe," +charitably, "ye didn't know Poke Run's the mester's?" + +"I certainly do. But I do not see what this green ditch-water is +to me. And I think, Joel,"---- + +"It's more to ye nor all yer States'-rights as I'm sick o' +hearin' of. It's carpets, an' bunnets, an' slithers of +railroad-stock, an' some colour on Margot's cheeks,--ye 'ed best +think o' that! That's what it is to ye! I'm goin' to take stock +myself. I'm glad that gell 'll git rest frum her mills an' her +Houses o' Deviltry,--she's got gumption fur a dozen women." + +He went on muttering, as he gathered up his pint-pot and +bottle,-- + +"I'm goin' to send my Tim to college soon's the thing's in +runnin' order. Lord! what a lawyer that boy'll make!" + +Mrs. Howth's brain was still muddled. + + +"You are better pleased than you were at Lincoln's election," she +observed, placidly. + +"Lincoln be darned!" he broke out, forgetting the teachings of +Mr. Clinche. "Now, Mem, dun't ye muddle the mester's brain +t'-night wi' 't, I say. I'm goin' t' 'xperiment myself a bit." + +Which he did, accordingly,--shutting himself up in the +smoke-house and burning the compound in divers sconces and +Wide-Awake torches, giving up the entire night to his diabolical +orgies. + +Mrs. Howth did not tell the master; for one reason: it took a +long time for so stupendous an idea to penetrate the good lady's +brain; and for another: her motherly heart was touched by another +story than this Aladdin's lamp of Joel's wherein burned +petroleum. She watched from her window until she saw Holmes +crossing the icy road: there was a little bitterness, I confess, +in the thought that he had taken her child from her; but the +prayer that rose for them both took her whole woman's heart with +it. + +The road was rough over the hills; the wind that struck Holmes's +face bitingly keen: perhaps the life coming for him would be as +cold a struggle, having not only poverty to conquer, but himself. +But he is a strong man,--no stronger puts his foot down with +cool, resolute tread; and to-night there is a thrill on his lips +that never rested there before,--a kiss, dewy and warm. +Something, some new belief, too, stirs in his heart, like a +subtile atom of pure fire, that he hugs closely,--his for all +time. No poverty or death shall ever drive it away. Perhaps he +entertains an angel unaware. + +After that night Lois never left her little shanty. The days +that followed were like one long Christmas; for her poor +neighbors, black and white, had some plot among themselves, and +worked zealously to make them seem so to her. It was easy to +make these last days happy for the simple little soul who had +always gathered up every fragment of pleasure in her featureless +life, and made much of it, and rejoiced over it. She grew +bewildered, sometimes, lying on her wooden settle by the fire; +people lead always been friendly, taken care of her, but now they +were eager in their kindness, as though the time were short. She +did not understand the reason, at first; she did not want to die: +yet if it hurt her, when it grew clear at last, no one knew it; +it was not her way to speak of pain. Only, as she grew weaker, +day by day, she began to set her house in order, as one might +say, in a quaint, almost comical fashion, giving away everything +she owned, down to her treasures of colored bottles and +needle-books, mending her father's clothes, and laying them out +in her drawers; lastly, she had Barney brought in from the +country, and every day would creep to the window to see him fed +and chirrup to him, whereat the poor old beast would look up with +his dim eye, and try to neigh a feeble answer. Kitts used to +come every day to see her, though he never said much when he was +there: he lugged his great copy of the Venus del Pardo along with +him one day, and left it, thinking she would like to look at it; +Knowles called it trash, when he came. The Doctor came always in +the morning; he told her he would read to her one day, and did it +always afterwards, putting on his horn spectacles, and holding +her old Bible close up to his rugged, anxious face. He used to +read most from the Gospel of St. John. She liked better to hear +him than any of the others, even than Margret, whose voice was so +low and tender: something in the man's half-savage nature was +akin to the child's. + +As the day drew near when she was to go, every pleasant trifle +seemed to gather a deeper, solemn meaning. Jenny Balls came in +one night, and old Mrs. Polston. + +"We thought you'd like to see her weddin'-dress, Lois," said the +old woman, taking off Jenny's cloak, "seein' as the weddin' was +to hev been to-morrow, and was put off on 'count of you." + +Lois did like to see it; sat up, her face quite flushed to see +how nicely it fitted, and stroked back Jenny's soft hair under +the veil. And Jenny, being a warm-hearted little thing, broke +into a sobbing fit, saying that it spoiled it all to have Lois +gone. + +"Don't muss your veil, child," said Mrs. Polston. + +But Jenny cried on, hiding her face in Lois's skinny hand, until +Sam Polston came in, when she grew quiet and shy. The poor +deformed girl lay watching them, as they talked. Very pretty +Jenny looked, with her blue eyes and damp pink cheeks; and it was +a manly, grave love in Sam's face, when it turned to her. A +different love from any she had known: better, she thought. It +could not be helped; but it WAS better. + +After they were gone, she lay a long time quiet, with her hand +over her eyes. Forgive her! she, too, was a woman. Ah, it may +be there are more wrongs that shall be righted yonder in the +To-Morrow than are set down in your theology! + +And so it was, that, as she drew nearer to this To-Morrow, the +brain of the girl grew clearer,--struggling, one would think, to +shake off whatever weight had been put on it by blood or vice or +poverty, and become itself again. Perhaps, even in her cheerful, +patient life, there had been hours when she had known the wrongs +that had been done her, known how cruelly the world had thwarted +her; her very keen insight into whatever was beautiful or helpful +may have made her see her own mischance, the blank she had drawn +in life, more bitterly. She did not see it bitterly now. Death +is honest; all things grew clear to her, going down into the +valley of the shadow; so, wakening to the consciousness of +stifled powers and ungiven happiness, she saw that the fault was +not hers, nor His who had appointed her lot; He had helped her to +bear it,--bearing worse himself. She did not say once, "I might +have been," but day by day, more surely, "I shall be." There was +not a tear on the homely faces turning from her bed, not a tint +of colour in the flowers they brought her, not a shiver of light +in the ashy sky, that did not make her more sure of that which +was to come. More loving she grew, as she went away from them, +the touch of her hand more pitiful, her voice more tender, if +such a thing could be,--with a look in her eyes never seen there +before. Old Yare pointed it out to Mrs. Polston one day. + +"My girl's far off frum us," he said, sobbing in the +kitchen,--"my girl's far off now." + +It was the last night of the year that she died. She was so much +better that they all were quite cheerful. Kitts went away as it +grew dark, and she bade him wrap up his throat with such a +motherly dogmatism that they all laughed at her; she, too, with +the rest. + +"I'll make you a New-Year's call," he said, going out; and she +called out that she should be sure to expect him. + +She seemed so strong that Holmes and Mrs. Polston and Margret, +who were there, were going home; besides, old Yare said, "I'd +like to take care o' my girl alone to-night, ef yoh'd let +me,"--for they had not trusted him before. But Lois asked them +not to go until the Old Year was over; so they waited +down-stairs. + +The old man fell asleep, and it was near midnight when he wakened +with a cold touch on his hand. + +"It's come, father!" + +He started up with a cry, looking at the new smile in her eyes, +grown strangely still. + +"Call them all, quick, father!" + +Whatever was the mystery of death that met her now, her heart +clung to the old love that had been true to her so long. + +He did not move. + +"Let me hev yoh to myself, Lo, 't th' last; yoh're all I hev; let +me hev yoh 't th' last." + +It was a bitter disappointment, but she roused herself even then +to smile, and tell him yes, cheerfully. You call it a trifle, +nothing? It may be; yet I think the angels looking down had tears +in their eyes, when they saw the last trial of the unselfish, +solitary heart, and kept for her a different crown from his who +conquers a city. + +The fire-light grew warmer and redder; her eyes followed it, as +if all that had been bright and kindly in her life were coming +back in it. She put her hand on her father, trying vainly to +smooth his gray hair. The old man's heart smote him for +something, for his sobs grew louder, and he left her a moment; +then she saw them all, faces very dear to her even then. She +laughed and nodded to them all in the old childish way; then her +lips moved. "It's come right!" she tried to say; but the weak +voice would never speak again on earth. + +"It's the turn o' the night," said Mrs. Polston, solemnly; "lift +her head; the Old Year's 'goin' out." + +Margret lifted her head, and held it on her breast. She could +hear cries and sobs; the faces, white now, and wet, pressed +nearer, yet fading slowly: it was the Old Year going out, the +worn-out year of her life. Holmes opened the window: the cold +night-wind rushed in, bearing with it snatches of broken harmony: +some idle musician down in the city, playing fragments of some +old, sweet air, heavy with love and regret. It may have been +chance: yet, let us think it was not chance; let us believe that +He, who had made the world warm and happy for her, chose that +this best voice of all should bid her good-bye at the last. + +So the Old Year went out in that music. The dull eyes, loving to +the end, wandered vaguely as the sounds died away, as if losing +something,--losing all, suddenly. She sighed as the clock +struck, and then a strange calm, unknown before, stole over her +face; her eyes flashed open with a living joy. Margret stooped +to close them, kissing the cold lids; and Tiger, who had climbed +upon the bed, whined and crept down. + +"It is the New Year," said Holmes, bending his head. + +The cripple was dead; but LOIS, free, loving, and beloved, +trembled from her prison to her Master's side in the To-Morrow. + +I can show you her grave out there in the hills,--a short, +stunted grave, like a child's. No one goes there, although there +are many firesides where they speak of "Lois" softly, as of +something holy and dear: but they think of her always as not +there; as gone home; even old Yare looks up, when he talks of "my +girl." Yet, knowing that nothing in God's just universe is lost, +or fails to meet the late fulfilment of its hope, I like to think +of her poor body lying there: I like to believe that the great +mother was glad to receive the form that want and crime of men +had thwarted,--took her uncouth child home again, that had been +so cruelly wronged,--folded it in her warm bosom with tender, +palpitating love. + +It pleased me in the winter months to think that the worn-out +limbs, the old scarred face of Lois rested, slept: crumbled into +fresh atoms, woke at last with a strange sentience, and, when God +smiled permission through the summer sun, flashed forth in a wild +ecstasy of the true beauty that she loved so well. In no +questioning, sad pallor of sombre leaves or gray lichens: +throbbed out rather in answering crimsons, in lilies, white, +exultant in a chordant life! + +Yet, more than this: I strive to grope, with dull, earthy sense, +at her freed life in that earnest land where souls forget to +hunger or to hope, and learn to be. And so thinking, the +certainty of her aim and work and love yonder comes with a new, +vital reality, beside which the story of the yet living men and +women of whom I have told you grows vague and incomplete, like +unguessed riddles. I have no key to solve them with,--no right +to solve them. + +My story is but a mere groping hint? It lacks determined truth, +a certain yea and nay? It has no conduit of God's justice running +through it, awarding apparent good and ill? I know: it is a +story of To-Day. The Old Year is on us yet. Poor old Knowles +will tell you it is a dark day; bewildered at the inexplicable +failure of the cause for which his old blood ran like water that +dull morning at Ball's Bluff. He doubts everything in the +bitterness of wasted effort; doubts sometimes, even, if the very +flag he fights for, be not the symbol of a gigantic selfishness: +if the Wrong he calls his enemy, have not caught a certain truth +to give it strength. A dark day, he tells you: that the air is +filled with the cry of the slave, and of nations going down into +darkness, their message untold, their work undone: that now, as +eighteen centuries ago, the Helper stands unwelcome in the world; +that your own heart, as well as the great humanity, asks an +unrendered justice. Does he utter all the problems of To-Day? +Vandyke, standing higher, perhaps, or, at any rate, born with +hopefuller brain, would show you how, by the very instant peril +of the hour, is lifted clearer into view the eternal prophecy of +coming content: could tell you that the unquiet earth, and the +unanswering heaven are instinct with it: that the ungranted +prayer of your own life should teach it to you: that in that Book +wherein God has not scorned to write the history of America, he +finds the quiet surety that the rescue of the world is near at +hand. + +Holmes, like most men who make destiny, does not pause in his +cool, slow work for their prophecy or lamentation. "Such men +will mould the age," old Knowles says, drearily, for he does not +like Holmes: follows him unwillingly, even knowing him nearer the +truth than he. "Born for mastership, as I told you long ago: +they strike the blow, while----. I'm tired of theorists, +exponents of the abstract right: your Hamlets, and your Sewards, +that let occasion slip until circumstance or--mobs drift them as +they will." + +But Knowles's growls are unheeded, as usual. + +What is this To-Day to Margret? She has no prophetic insight, +cares for none, I am afraid: the common things of every-day wear +their old faces to her, dear and real. Her haste is too eager to +allay the pain about her, her husband's touch too strong and +tender, the Master beside her too actual a presence, for her to +waste her life in visions. Something of Lois's live, universal +sympathy has come into her narrow, intenser nature; through its +one love, it may be. What is To-Morrow until it comes? This +moment the evening air thrills with a purple of which no painter +as yet has caught the tint, no poet the meaning; no silent face +passes her on the street on which a human voice might not have +charm to call out love and power: the Helper yet waits near her. +Here is work, life: the Old Year you despise holds beauty, pain, +content yet unmastered: let us leave Margret to master them. + +It does not satisfy you? Child-souls, you tell me, like that of +Lois, may find it enough to hold no past and no future, to accept +the work of each moment, and think it no wrong to drink every +drop of its beauty and joy: we, who are wiser, laugh at them. It +may be: yet I say unto you, their angels only do always behold +the face of our Father in the New Year. + + + + +End of A Project Gutenberg Etext of A Story of To-day + diff --git a/old/mhday10.zip b/old/mhday10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..c7300c6 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/mhday10.zip |