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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Rose and Silver, by Myrtle Reed
+#2 in our series by Myrtle Reed
+
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+*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!*****
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+Title: Old Rose and Silver
+
+Author: Myrtle Reed
+
+Release Date: April, 2004 [EBook #5401]
+[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule]
+[This file was first posted on July 6, 2002]
+[Date last updated: August 16, 2005]
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+Edition: 10
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ASCII
+
+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK OLD ROSE AND SILVER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Charles Franks
+and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD ROSE AND SILVER
+
+BY MYRTLE REED
+
+
+
+
+Author's Note
+
+The music which appears in the following pages is from an unpublished
+piano arrangement, by Grant Weber, of Wilson G. Smith's
+"Entreaty," published by G. Schirmer, New York.
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+I      A FALLING STAR
+
+II     WELCOME HOME
+
+III    THE VOICE OF THE VIOLIN
+
+IV     THE CROSBY TWINS
+
+V      AN AFTERNOON CALL
+
+VI     THE LIGHT ON THE ALTAR
+
+VII    FATHER AND SON
+
+VIII   "THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING"
+
+IX     A KNIGHT-ERRANT
+
+X      "SWEET-AND-TWENTY"
+
+XI     KEEPING THE FAITH
+
+XII    AN ENCHANTED HOUR
+
+XIII   WHITE GLOVES
+
+XIV    THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE
+
+XV     "HOW SHE WILL COME TO ME"
+
+XVI    HOW ISABEL CAME
+
+XVII   PENANCE
+
+XVIII  "LESS THAN THE DUST"
+
+XIX    OVER THE BAR
+
+XX     RISEN FROM THE DEAD
+
+XXI    SAVED--AND LOST
+
+XXII   A BIRTHDAY PARTY
+
+XXIII  "TEARS, IDLE TEARS"
+
+XXIV   THE HOUSE WHERE LOVE LIVED
+
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+A FALLING STAR
+
+[Illustration: Musical Notation]
+
+The last hushed chord died into silence, but the woman lingered,
+dreaming over the keys. Firelight from the end of the room brought red-
+gold gleams into the dusky softness of her hair and shadowed her profile
+upon the opposite wall. No answering flash of jewels met the questioning
+light--there was only a mellow glow from the necklace of tourmalines,
+quaintly set, that lay upon the white lace of her gown.
+
+She turned her face toward the fire as a flower seeks the sun, but her
+deep eyes looked beyond it, into the fires of Life itself. A haunting
+sense of unfulfilment stirred her to vague resentment, and she sighed as
+she rose and moved restlessly about the room. She lighted the tall
+candles that stood upon the mantel-shelf, straightened a rug, moved a
+chair, and gathered up a handful of fallen rose-petals on her way to the
+window. She was about to draw down the shade, but, instead, her hand
+dropped slowly to her side, her fingers unclasped, and the crushed
+crimson petals fluttered to the floor.
+
+Outside, the purple dusk of Winter twilight lay soft upon the snow.
+Through an opening in the evergreens the far horizon, grey as mother-of-
+pearl, bent down to touch the plain in a misty line that was definite
+yet not clear. At the left were the mountains, cold and calm, veiled by
+distances dim with frost.
+
+There was a step upon the stair, but the strong, straight figure in
+white lace did not turn away from the window, even when the door opened.
+The stillness was broken only by the cheerful crackle of the fire until
+a sweet voice asked:
+
+"Are you dreaming, Rose?"
+
+Rose turned away from the window then, with a laugh. "Why, I must have
+been. Will you have this chair, Aunt Francesca?"
+
+She turned a high-backed rocker toward the fire and Madame Bernard
+leaned back luxuriously, stretching her tiny feet to the blaze. She wore
+grey satin slippers with high French heels and silver buckles. A bit of
+grey silk stocking was visible between the buckle and the hem of her
+grey gown.
+
+Rose smiled at her in affectionate appreciation. The little old lady
+seemed like a bit of Dresden china; she was so dainty and so frail. Her
+hair was lustreless, snowy white, and beautifully, though simply,
+dressed in a bygone fashion. Her blue eyes were so deep in colour as to
+seem almost purple in certain lights, and the years had been kind to
+her, leaving few lines. Her hands, resting on the arms of her chair, had
+not lost their youthful contour, but around her eyes and the corners of
+her mouth were the faint prints of many smiles.
+
+"Rose," said Madame Bernard, suddenly, "you are very lovely to-night."
+
+"I was thinking the same of you," responded the younger woman, flushing.
+"Shall we organise ourselves into a mutual admiration society?"
+
+"We might as well, I think. There seems to be nobody else."
+
+A shadow crossed Rose's face and her beauty took on an appealing
+wistfulness. She had been sheltered always and she hungered for Life as
+the sheltered often do. Madame Bernard, for the thousandth time, looked
+at her curiously. From the shapely foot that tapped restlessly on the
+rug beneath her white lace gown, to the crown of dusky hair with red-
+gold lights in it, Rose was made for love--and Madame wondered how she
+had happened to miss it.
+
+"Aunt Francesca," said Rose, with a whimsical sadness, "do you realise
+that I'm forty to-day?"
+
+"That's nothing," returned the other, serenely. "Everybody has been
+forty, or will be, if they live."
+
+"I haven't lived yet," Rose objected. "I've only been alive."
+
+"'While there's life there's hope,'" quoted Madame lightly. "What do you
+want, dear child? Battle, murder, and sudden death?"
+
+"I don't know what I want."
+
+"Let's take an inventory and see if we can find out. You have one
+priceless blessing--good health. You have considerably more than your
+share of good looks. Likewise a suitable wardrobe; not many clothes, but
+few, and those few, good. Clothes are supposed to please and satisfy
+women. You have musical talent, a love of books and flowers, a fine
+appreciation of beauty, a host of friends, and that one supreme gift of
+the gods--a sense of humour. In addition to all this, you have a
+comfortable home and an income of your own that enables you to do
+practically as you please. Could you ask for more?"
+
+"Not while I have you, Aunt Francesca. I suppose I'm horrid."
+
+"You couldn't be, my dear. I've left marriage out of the question,
+since, if you'd had any deep longing for it, you'd have chosen some one
+from the horde that has infested my house for fifteen years and more.
+You've surely been loved."
+
+Rose smiled and bit her lip. "I think that's it," she murmured. "I've
+never cared for anybody--like that. At least, I don't think I have."
+
+"'When in doubt, don't,'" resumed the other, taking refuge in a
+platitude. "Is there any one of that faithful procession whom you
+particularly regret?"
+
+"No," answered Rose, truthfully.
+
+"Love is like a vaccination," continued the little lady in grey, with
+seeming irrelevance. "When it takes, you don't have to be told."
+
+Her tone was light, almost flippant, and Rose, in her turn, wondered at
+the woman and her marvellous self-control. At twenty-five, Madame
+Bernard married a young French soldier, who had chosen to serve his
+adopted country in the War of the Rebellion. In less than three months,
+her gallant Captain was brought home to her--dead.
+
+For a long time, she hovered uncertainly between life and death. Then,
+one day, she sat up and asked for a mirror. The ghost of her former self
+looked back at her, for her colour was gone, her hair was quickly
+turning grey, and the light had vanished from her eyes. Yet the valiant
+spirit was not broken, and that day, with high resolve, she sent her
+soul forward upon the new way.
+
+"He was a soldier," she said, "and I, his wife, will be a soldier too.
+He faced Death bravely and I shall meet Life with as much courage as God
+will give me. But do not, oh, do not even speak his name to me, or I
+shall forget I am a soldier and become a woman again."
+
+So, gradually, it became understood that the young soldier's name was
+not to be mentioned to his widow. She took up her burden and went on,
+devoting herself to the army service until the war was over. Then she
+ceased to labour with lint and bandages and betook herself to new
+surroundings. Her husband's brother offered her a home, but she was
+unable to accept, for the two men looked so much alike that she could
+not have borne it. Sometimes, even now, she turned away in pain from
+Rose, who resembled her father.
+
+"'Rich man, poor man, beggar man, thief,'" Madame Bernard was saying. "I
+seem to run to conversational antiques tonight. 'Doctor, lawyer,
+merchant, chief--' which will you have, Rose? If I remember rightly,
+you've had all but the thief already. Shall I get you a nice embezzler,
+or will a plain burglar do?"
+
+"Neither," laughed Rose. "I'm safe from embezzlers, I think, but I live
+in nightly fear of being burgled, as you well know."
+
+"None the less, we've got to take the risk. Isabel will not be contented
+with you and me. She'll want other hats on the rack besides the
+prehistoric relic we keep there as a warning to burglars."
+
+"I'd forgotten Isabel," answered Rose, with a start. "What is she
+doing?"
+
+"Dressing for dinner. My dear, that child brought three trunks with her
+and I understand another is coming. She has enough clothes to set up a
+modest shop, should she desire to 'go into trade' as the English say."
+
+"I'd forgotten Isabel," said Rose, again. "We must find some callow
+youths to amuse her. A girl of twenty can't appreciate a real man."
+
+"Sometimes a girl of forty can't, either," laughed Madame, with a sly
+glance at Rose. "Cheer up, my dear--I'm nearing seventy, and I assure
+you that forty is really very young."
+
+"It's scarcely infantile, but I'll admit that I'm young--comparatively."
+
+"All things are comparative in this world, and perhaps you and Isabel,
+with your attendant swains, may enable me to forget that I'm no longer
+young, even comparatively."
+
+The guest came in, somewhat shyly. She was a cousin of Rose's, on the
+mother's side, and had arrived only that afternoon on a visit.
+
+"Bless us," said Madame Bernard; "how pretty we are! Isabel, you're a
+credit to the establishment."
+
+Isabel smiled--a little, cool smile. She was almost as tall as Rose and
+towered far above the little lady in grey who offered her a welcoming
+hand and invited her to sit by the fire. Isabel's gown was turquoise
+blue and very becoming, as her hair and eyes were dark and her skin was
+fair. Her eyes were almost black and very brilliant; they literally
+sparkled when she allowed herself to become interested in anything.
+
+"I'm not late, am I?" she asked.
+
+"No," answered Rose, glancing at the clock. "It's ten minutes to seven."
+
+"I couldn't find my things. It was like dressing in a dream, when, as
+soon as you find something you want, you immediately lose everything
+else."
+
+"I know," laughed Rose. "I had occasion to pack a suit-case myself last
+night, during my troubled slumbers."
+
+A large yellow cat appeared mysteriously out of the shadows and came,
+yawning, toward the fire. He sat down on the edge of Madame's grey gown,
+and blinked.
+
+Isabel drew her skirts away. "I don't like cats," she said.
+
+"There are cats and cats," remarked Madame Bernard in a tone of gentle
+rebuke. "Mr. Boffin is not an ordinary cat. He is a gentleman and a
+scholar and he never forgets his manners."
+
+"I've wondered, sometimes," said Rose, "whether he really knows
+everything, or only pretends that he does. He looks very wise."
+
+"Silence and reserve will give anyone a reputation for wisdom," Madame
+responded. She bent down to stroke the yellow head, but, though Mr.
+Boffin gratefully accepted the caress, he did not condescend to purr.
+Presently he stalked away into the shadows, waving his yellow tail.
+
+"What a lovely room this is," observed Isabel, after a pause.
+
+"It's comfortable," replied Madame. "I couldn't live in an ugly place."
+
+Everything in the room spoke eloquently of good taste, from the deep-
+toned Eastern rug at the hearth to the pictures upon the grey-green
+walls. There was not a false note anywhere in the subtle harmony of
+line, colour, and fabric. It was the sort of room that one comes back
+to, after long absence, with renewed appreciation.
+
+"I love old mahogany," continued Isabel. "I suppose you've had this a
+long, long time."
+
+"No, it's new. To me--I mean. I have some beautiful old French mahogany,
+but I don't use it."
+
+Her voice was very low at the end of the sentence. She compressed her
+lips tightly and, leaning forward, vigorously poked the fire. A stream
+of sparks went up the chimney and quick flames leaped to follow.
+
+"Don't set the house on fire, Aunt Francesca," cautioned Rose. "There's
+the dinner gong."
+
+The three went out, Madame Bernard a little ahead and the two younger
+women together. Rose sat opposite the head of the table and Isabel was
+placed at Madame's right. In a single glance, the guest noted that the
+table was perfectly appointed. "Are you making company of me?" she
+asked.
+
+"Not at all," smiled Madame. "None the less, there is a clear
+distinction between eating and dining and we endeavour to dine."
+
+"If Aunt Francesca were on a desert island," said Rose, "I believe she
+would make a grand affair of her solitary dinner, and have her coffee in
+the morning before she rolled out of the sand."
+
+The little old lady dimpled with pleasure. "I'd try to," she laughed. "I
+think I'd--"
+
+She was interrupted by a little exclamation of pleasure from Rose, who
+had just discovered a small white parcel at her plate. She was untying
+it with eager fingers, while her colour came and went. A card fluttered
+out, face upward. "To my dear Rose, with love from Aunt Francesca," was
+written in a small, quaint hand.
+
+It was a single magnificent ruby set in a ring which exactly fitted.
+Rose seldom wore rings and wondered, vaguely, how Aunt Francesca knew.
+
+"I filled a finger of one of your gloves," said Madame, as though she
+had read the thought, "and had it fitted. Simple, wasn't it?"
+
+"Oh," breathed Rose, "it's beautiful beyond words! How shall I ever
+thank you!"
+
+"Wear it, dear. I'm so glad you're pleased!"
+
+"It's lovely," said Isabel, but the tone was cold and she seemed to
+speak with an effort. With a swift little stab at the heart, Rose saw
+that the girl envied her the gift.
+
+"It reconciles me to my years," Rose went on, quickly. "I'm willing to
+be forty, if I can have a ring like this."
+
+"Why, Cousin Rose!" cried Isabel, in astonishment. "Are you forty?"
+
+"Yes, dear. Don't be conventional and tell me I don't look it, for I
+feel it--every year."
+
+"I should never have thought it," Isabel murmured.
+
+Rose turned the ring slowly upon her finger and the ruby yielded the
+deep crimson glow of its heart to the candlelight that softly filled the
+room. "I've never had a ruby," she said, "and yet I feel, someway, as
+though I'd always had this. It seems as if it belonged to me."
+
+"That's because it suits you," nodded Madame Bernard. "I hope that
+sometime our civilisation may reach such a point of advancement that
+every woman will wear the clothes and jewels that suit her personality,
+and make her home a proper setting for herself. See how women break
+their hearts for diamonds--and not one woman in a hundred can wear
+them."
+
+"Could I wear diamonds?" asked Isabel. She was interested now and her
+eyes sparkled.
+
+Madame Bernard studied her for a moment before replying. "Yes," she
+admitted, "you could wear them beautifully, but they do not belong to
+Rose, or to me."
+
+"What else could I wear?"
+
+"Turquoises, if they were set in silver."
+
+"I have one," Isabel announced with satisfaction. "A lovely big
+turquoise matrix set in dull silver. But I have no diamonds."
+
+"They'll come," Rose assured her, "if you want them. I think people
+usually get things if they want them badly enough."
+
+Isabel turned to Madame Bernard. "What stones do you wear?" she
+inquired, politely.
+
+"Only amethysts," she laughed. "I have a pearl necklace, but it doesn't
+quite 'belong,' so I don't wear it. I won't wear anything that doesn't
+'belong.'"
+
+"How can you tell?"
+
+"By instinct." "I can walk into a shop, look around for a moment, and
+say: 'please bring me my hat.' The one I ask for is always the right
+one. It is invariably becoming and suitable, and it's the same with
+everything else."
+
+"It's a wonderful experience to go shopping with Aunt Francesca," put in
+Rose. "She knows what she wants and goes straight to it, without loss of
+time. Utterly regardless of fashion, for its own sake, she always
+contrives to be in the mode, though I believe that if hoop skirts were
+suited to her, she'd have the courage of her crinoline, and wear one."
+
+"Let us be thankful they're not," remarked Madame. "It's almost
+impossible to believe it, but they must have looked well upon some
+women. Every personality makes its own demand for harmony and it is
+fascinating to me to observe strange people and plan for them their
+houses and clothes and belongings. You can pick out, from a crowd, the
+woman who would have a crayon portrait of herself upon an easel in her
+parlour, and quite properly, too, since her nature demands it. After you
+are experienced, you can identify the man who eats sugar and vinegar on
+lettuce, and group those who keep parrots--or are capable of it."
+
+The seventy years sat lightly upon Madame Francesca now. Her deep eyes
+shone with inward amusement, and little smiles hovered unexpectedly
+about the corners of her mouth. A faint pink tint, like a faded rose,
+bloomed upon her cheeks. Rose watched her with adoring eyes, and
+wondered whether any man in the world, after fifteen years of close
+association, could be half so delightful.
+
+Coffee was brought into the living-room, when they went back, preceded
+by Mr. Boffin, emanating the dignified satisfaction of a cat who has
+supped daintily upon chicken and cream. He sat down before the fire and
+methodically washed his face.
+
+"I believe I envy Mr. Boffin his perfect digestion," remarked Madame, as
+she sipped her coffee from a Royal Canton cup. She and Rose stood for
+half an hour after dinner, always.
+
+Isabel finished her coffee and set the cup upon the table. She slipped
+the Sheffield tray from under the embroidered doily and took it to the
+light, where she leaned over it, studying the design. Rose thought that
+the light from the tray was reflected upon the girl's face, she became
+at once so brilliant, so sparkling.
+
+"Speaking of harmony--" said Madame Bernard, in a low tone, glancing at
+Rose and inclining her head toward Isabel.
+
+"Yes," replied Isabel, returning the tray to its place; "it is a lovely
+one, isn't it?"
+
+Madame turned toward the window to hide a smile. Rose followed, and drew
+the little grey lady into the circle of her strong arm.
+
+"Dear Aunt Francesca!" she said softly. "I thank you so much!"
+
+The older woman patted the hand that wore the ruby, then turned to
+Isabel. "Come," she said, "and be glad you're indoors."
+
+The three women stood at the wide window, looking out across the snow,
+lighted only by the stars and a ghostly crescent of moon. The evergreens
+were huddled closely together as though they kept each other warm.
+Beyond, the mountains brooded in their eternal sleep, which riving
+lightnings and vast, reverberating thunders were powerless to change.
+
+Suddenly, across the purple darkness between the pale stars, flamed a
+meteor--an uncharted voyager through infinite seas of space. It left a
+trail of fire across the heavens, fading at last into luminous mist, the
+colour of the stars. When the light had quite died out, Madame Bernard
+spoke.
+
+"A passing soul," she sighed.
+
+"A kiss," breathed Rose, dreamily.
+
+"Star-dust!" laughed Isabel.
+
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+WELCOME HOME
+
+"Great news, my dears, great news!" cried Madame Bernard, gaily waving an
+open letter as she came into the room where Rose was sewing and Isabel
+experimenting with a new coiffure. "I'll give you three guesses!"
+
+"Somebody coming for a visit?" asked Isabel.
+
+"Wrong!"
+
+"Somebody coming, but not for a visit?" queried Rose.
+
+"You're getting warmer."
+
+"How can anybody come, if not for a visit?" inquired Isabel, mildly
+perplexed. "That is, unless it's a messenger?"
+
+"The old Kent house is to be opened," said Madame, "and we're to open
+it. At last we shall have neighbours!"
+
+"How exciting," Rose answered. She did not wholly share the old lady's
+pleasure, and wondered with a guilty consciousness of the long hours she
+spent at her music, whether Aunt Francesca had been lonely.
+
+"Listen, girls!" Madame's cheeks were pink with excitement as she sat
+down with the letter, which had been written in Paris.
+
+"MY DEAR MADAME FRANCESCA:
+
+"'At last we are coming home--Allison and I. The boy has a fancy to see
+Spring come again on his native heath, so we shall sail earlier than we
+had otherwise planned.
+
+"'I wonder, my dear friend, if I dare ask you to open the house for us?
+I am so tired of hotels that I want to go straight back. You have the
+keys and if you will engage the proper number of servants and see that
+the place is made habitable, I shall be more than ever your debtor. I
+will cable you when we start.
+
+"'Trusting that all is well with you and yours and with many thanks,
+believe me, my dear Madame,
+
+"'Most faithfully yours,
+
+"'RICHARD KENT.'"
+
+"How like a man," smiled Rose. "That house has been closed for over ten
+years, and he thinks there is nothing to be done but to unlock the front
+door and engage two or three servants who may or may not be
+trustworthy."
+
+"What an imposition!" Isabel said. "Aunt Francesca, didn't I meet
+Allison Kent when I was here before?"
+
+"I've forgotten."
+
+"Don't you remember? Mother brought me here once when I was a little
+tot. We stayed about a week and the roses were all in bloom. I can see
+the garden now. Allison used to come over sometimes and tell me fairy
+stories. He told me that the long, slender gold-trimmed bottles filled
+with attar of roses came from the roots of the rose bushes--don't you
+remember? And I pulled up rose bushes all over the garden to find out."
+
+"Dear me, yes," smiled Aunt Francesca. "How time does fly!"
+
+"You were very cross with Allison--that is, as cross as you ever could
+be. It seemed so queer for you to be angry at him and not at me, for I
+pulled up the bushes."
+
+"You were sufficiently punished, Isabel. I believe the thorns hurt your
+little hands, didn't they?"
+
+"They certainly did," responded the girl, with a little shudder at the
+recollection. "I have a scar still. That was--let me see--why, it was
+fifteen years ago!"
+
+"Just before I came to live with Aunt Francesca," said Rose. "You and
+your mother went away the same day."
+
+"Yes, we went in the morning," Isabel continued, "and you were to come
+in the afternoon. I remember pleading with my mother to let me stay long
+enough to see 'Cousin Wose.'"
+
+"Fifteen years!" Madame repeated. "Allison went abroad, then, to study
+the violin, and the house has been open only once since. Richard came
+back for a Summer, to attend to some business, then returned to Europe.
+How the time goes by!"
+
+The letter fell to the floor and Francesca sat dreaming over the
+interlude of years. Colonel Kent had been her husband's best friend, and
+after the pitiless sword had cleaved her life asunder, had become hers.
+At forty the Colonel had married a young and beautiful girl. A year
+later Francesca had gone to him with streaming eyes, carrying his new-
+born son in her arms, to tell him that his wife was dead.
+
+Drawn together by sorrow, the two had been as dear to each other as
+friends may be but seldom are. Though childless herself, Francesca had
+some of the gifts of motherhood, and, at every step, she had aided and
+counselled the Colonel in regard to his son, who had his mother's eyes
+and bore his mother's name. Discerning the boy's talent, long before his
+father suspected it, she had chosen the violin for him rather than the
+piano, and had herself urged the Colonel to take him abroad for study
+though the thought of separation caused her many a pang.
+
+When the two sailed away, Francesca had found her heart strangely empty;
+her busy hands strangely idle. But Life had taught her one great lesson,
+and when one door of her heart was closed, she opened another, as
+quickly as possible. So she sent for Rose, who was alone in the world,
+and, for fifteen years, the two women had lived happily together.
+
+As she sat there, thinking, some of her gay courage failed her. For the
+moment her mask was off, and in the merciless sunlight, she looked old
+and worn. Rose, looking at her with tender pity, marvelled at the
+ignorance of man, in asking a frail little old lady to open and make
+habitable, in less than a fortnight, a house of fifteen large rooms.
+
+"Aunt Francesca," she said, "let me open the house. Tell me what you
+want done, and Isabel and I will see to it."
+
+"Certainly," agreed Isabel without enthusiasm. "We'll do it."
+
+"No," Madame replied stubbornly. "He asked me to do it."
+
+"He only meant for you to direct," said Rose. "You surely don't think he
+meant you to do the scrubbing?"
+
+Madame smiled at that, and yielded gracefully. "There must be infinite
+scrubbing, after all these years. I believe I'll superintend operations
+from here. Then, when it's all done, I'll go over and welcome them
+home."
+
+"That is as it should be. Isabel and I will go over this afternoon, and
+when we come back, we can tell you all about it."
+
+"You'd better drive--I'm sure the paths aren't broken."
+
+So, after luncheon, the two started out with the keys, Madame waving
+them a cheery good-bye from the window.
+
+"Everything about this place seems queer to me," said Isabel. "It's the
+same, and yet not the same."
+
+"I know," Rose answered. "Things are much smaller, aren't they?"
+
+"Yes. The rooms used to be vast and the ceilings very far away. Now,
+they're merely large rooms with the ceilings comfortably high. The
+garden used to seem like a huge park, but now it's only a large garden.
+There used to be a great many steps in the stairway, and high ones at
+that. Now it's nothing compared with other flights. Only Aunt Francesca
+remains the same. She hasn't changed at all."
+
+"She's a saint," said Rose with deep conviction, as the carriage turned
+into the driveway.
+
+The house, set far back from the street, was of the true Colonial type,
+with stately white pillars at the dignified entrance. The garden was a
+tangled mass of undergrowth--in spite of the snow one could see that--
+but the house, being substantially built, had changed scarcely at all.
+
+"A new coat of paint will freshen it up amazingly," said Rose, as they
+went up the steps. She was thrilled with a mysterious sense of adventure
+which the younger woman did not share. "I feel like a burglar," she
+continued, putting the key into the rusty lock.
+
+"I feel cold," remarked Isabel, shivering in her furs.
+
+At last the wide door swung on its creaking hinges and they went into
+the loneliness and misery of an empty house. The dust of ages had
+settled upon everything and penetrated every nook and cranny. The floors
+groaned dismally, and the scurrying feet of mice echoed through the
+walls. Cobwebs draped the windows, where the secret spinners had held
+high carnival, undisturbed. An indescribable musty odour almost stifled
+them and the chill dampness carried with it a sense of gloom and
+foreboding.
+
+"My goodness!" Isabel exclaimed. "Nobody can ever live here again."
+
+"Don't be discouraged," laughed Rose. "Soap, water, sunshine, and fire
+can accomplish miracles."
+
+At the end of the hall a black, empty fireplace yawned cavernously.
+There was another in the living-room and still another in the library
+back of it. Isabel opened the door on the left. "Why, there's another
+fireplace in the dining-room," she said. "Do you suppose they have one
+in the kitchen, too?"
+
+"Go in and see, if you like."
+
+"I'm afraid to go alone. You come, too."
+
+There was no fireplace in the kitchen, but the rusty range was sadly in
+need of repair.
+
+"I'm going down cellar," Rose said. "Are you coming?"
+
+"I should say not. Hurry back, won't you?"
+
+Rose went cautiously down the dark, narrow stairway. The light was dim
+in the basement but she could see that there was no coal. She went back
+and forth several times from bin to window, making notes in a small
+memorandum book. She was quite determined that Aunt Francesca should be
+able to find no fault with her housekeeping.
+
+When she went back, there were no signs of Isabel. She went from room to
+room, calling, then concluded that she had gone back to the carriage,
+which was waiting outside.
+
+Rose took measurements for new curtains in all the rooms on the lower
+floor, then climbed the creaking stairway. She came upon Isabel in the
+sitting-room, upstairs, standing absorbed before an open desk. In her
+hand she held something which gleamed brightly, even in the gathering
+shadow.
+
+"Isabel!" she cried, in astonishment.
+
+The girl turned and came forward. Her eyes were sparkling. "Look!
+There's a secret drawer in the desk and I found this in it. I love
+secret drawers, don't you?"
+
+"I never have looked for them in other people's houses," Rose answered,
+coldly.
+
+"I never have either," retorted Isabel, "except when I've been invited
+to clean other people's houses."
+
+There was something so incongruous in the idea of Isabel cleaning a
+house that Rose laughed and the awkward moment quickly passed.
+
+"Look," said Isabel, again.
+
+Rose took it from her hand--a lovely miniature framed in brilliants. A
+sweet, old-fashioned face was pictured upon the ivory in delicate
+colours--that of a girl in her early twenties, with her smooth, dark
+hair drawn back over her ears. A scarf of real lace was exquisitely
+painted upon the dark background of her gown. The longing eyes held Rose
+transfixed for an instant before she noted the wistful, childish droop
+of the mouth. The girl who had posed for the miniature, if she had been
+truthfully portrayed, had not had all that she asked from life.
+
+"Look at this," Isabel continued.
+
+She offered Rose a bit of knitting work, from which the dust of years
+fell lightly. It had once been white, and the needles were still there,
+grey and spotted with rust. Rose guessed that the bit had been intended
+for a baby's shoe, but never finished. The little shoe had waited, all
+those years, for hands that never came back from the agony in which they
+wrung themselves to death in the room beyond.
+
+The infinite pity of it stirred Rose to quick tears, but Isabel was
+unmoved. "Here's something else," she said.
+
+She shook the dust from an old-fashioned daguerreotype case, then opened
+it. On the left side was a young soldier in uniform, full length--a
+dashing, handsome figure with one hand upon a drawn sword. Printed in
+faded gilt upon the dusty red satin that made up the other half of the
+case, the words were still distinct: "To Colonel Richard Kent, from his
+friend, Jean Bernard."
+
+"Jean Bernard!" Isabel repeated, curiously. "Who was he?"
+
+"Aunt Francesca's husband," answered Rose, with a little catch in her
+voice, "and my uncle. He died in the War."
+
+"Oh," said Isabel, unmoved. "He was nice looking, wasn't he? Shall we
+take this to Aunt Francesca?"
+
+"You forget that it isn't ours to take," Rose reminded her. "And, by the
+way, Isabel, you must never speak to Aunt Francesca of her husband. She
+cannot bear it."
+
+"All right," assented the girl. "What is this?"
+
+From the back of the drawer she took out a bronze medal, with a faded
+ribbon of red, white, and blue attached to it. She took it to the light,
+rubbed it with her handkerchief, and slowly made out the words: "Awarded
+to Colonel Richard Kent, for conspicuous bravery in action at
+Gettysburg."
+
+"Put the things back," Rose suggested, gently. This tiny, secret drawer,
+Colonel Kent's holy of holies, symbolised and epitomised the best of a
+man's life. The medal for military service, the miniature of his wife,
+the picture of his friend, and the bit of knitting work that
+comprehended a world of love and anguish and bereavement--these were the
+hidden chambers of his heart.
+
+Isabel took up the miniature again before she closed the drawer. "Do you
+suppose those are diamonds?"
+
+"No; only brilliants."
+
+"I thought so. If they'd been diamonds, he would never have left them
+here."
+
+"On the contrary," answered Rose, "I'm very sure he would." She had met
+Colonel Kent only a few times, years ago, during the Summer he had spent
+at home while Allison was still abroad, but she knew him now,
+nevertheless.
+
+They went on through the house, making notes of what was needed, while
+their footsteps echoed and re-echoed through the empty rooms. "I'm glad
+there are no carpets, except on the stairs," said Rose, "for rugs are
+much easier to clean. It resolves itself simply into three C's--coal,
+curtains, and cleaning. It won't take long, if we can get enough people
+to work at it."
+
+It was almost dusk when they went downstairs, but the cold slanting
+sunbeams of a Winter afternoon came through the grimy windows and
+illumined the gloomy depths of the open fireplace in the hall. Motes
+danced in the beam, and the house somehow seemed less despairing, less
+alone. A portrait of Colonel Kent, in uniform, hung above the great
+mantel. Rose smiled at it with comprehension, but the painted lips did
+not answer, nor the unseeing eyes swerve from their steady searching of
+Beyond.
+
+"How was it?" asked Madame, when they reached home. "Dirty and bad?"
+
+"Rather soiled," admitted Rose.
+
+"And colder than Greenland," Isabel continued, warming her hands at the
+open fire.
+
+"We'll soon change all that," Madame said. "I've ordered coal and
+engaged people to do the cleaning since you've been gone, and I have my
+eye upon two permanent retainers, provided their references are
+satisfactory."
+
+"I've measured for all the curtains," Rose went on. "Shall we make them
+or buy them?"
+
+"We'll make them. If we have help enough we can get them done in time."
+
+The following day a small army, with Rose at the head of it, took
+possession of the house. Every night she came home exhausted, not from
+actual toil, but from the effort to instill the pride of good service
+into unwilling workers who seemed to rejoice in ignorance.
+
+"I'm tired," Rose remarked, one night. "I've cerebrated all day for
+seven bodies besides my own and I find it wearing."
+
+"I don't wonder," answered Madame. "I'll go over to-morrow and let you
+rest."
+
+"Indeed you won't," declared Rose, with emphasis. "I've begun it and I'm
+going to finish it unless the Seven Weary Workers fail me absolutely."
+
+At last the task was completed, and even Rose could find no speck of
+dust in the entire establishment. The house was fresh with the smell of
+soap-suds and floor wax and so warm that several windows had to be kept
+open. The cablegram had come while the curtains were being made, but
+everything was ready two days before the wayfarers could possibly reach
+home.
+
+On the appointed day, Rose and Isabel were almost as excited as Madame
+Bernard herself. She had chosen to go over alone to greet the Colonel
+and his son. They were expected to arrive about four in the afternoon.
+
+At three, Madame set forth in her carriage. She wore her best gown, of
+lavender crepe, trimmed with real lace, and a bunch of heliotrope at her
+belt. Rose had twined a few sprays of heliotrope into her snowy hair and
+a large amethyst cross hung from her neck by a slender silver chain. She
+wore no other jewels except her wedding ring.
+
+Fires blazed cheerily in every fireplace on the lower floor, and there
+was another in the sitting-room upstairs. She had filled the house with
+the flowers of Spring--violets, daffodils, and lilies of the valley. A
+silver tea-kettle with a lamp under it waited on the library table.
+
+When she heard the wheels creaking in the snowy road, Madame lighted the
+lamp under the kettle with her own hands, then opened the door wide.
+Followed by their baggage, the two men came up the walk--father and son.
+
+The Colonel was a little older, possibly, but still straight and tall--
+almost as tall as the son who walked beside him, carrying a violin case
+under his arm. He wore the familiar slouch hat, the same loose overcoat,
+and the same silvery goatee, trimmed most carefully. His blue eyes
+lighted up warmly at the sight of the figure in the doorway.
+
+"Welcome home!" cried Madame Francesca, stretching a hand toward each.
+"Welcome home!"
+
+Allison only smiled, taking the little hand in his strong young clasp,
+but his father bent, hat in hand, to kiss the one she offered him.
+
+"Oh," cried Madame, "I'm so glad to see you both. Come in!"
+
+They entered their own hospitable house, where fires blazed and the
+kettle sang. "Say," said Allison, "isn't this great! Why did we ever
+leave it? Isn't it fine, Father?"
+
+But "father" still had his eyes upon the dainty little lady who had
+brought forth the miracle of home from a wilderness of dust and ashes.
+He bent again over the small, white hand.
+
+"A woman, a fire, and a singing kettle," he said. "All the dear,
+familiar spirits of the house to welcome us home."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+THE VOICE OF THE VIOLIN
+
+Madame Bernard and Isabel had not yet come down when Rose entered the
+living-room, half an hour before dinner. The candles were lighted, and
+in the soft glow of the reading lamp was a vase of pink roses, sent by
+Colonel Kent to his old friend. The delicate sweetness filled the room
+and mingled with the faint scent of attar of roses and dried rose petals
+which, as always, hung about the woman who stood by the table, idly
+rearranging the flowers.
+
+The ruby ring caught the light and sent tiny crimson gleams dancing into
+the far shadows. Her crepe gown was almost the colour of the ruby; warm
+and blood-red. It was cut low at the throat, and an old Oriental
+necklace of wonderfully wrought gold was the only ornament she wore,
+aside from the ring. The low light gave the colour of the gown back to
+her face, beautiful as always, and in her dusky hair she had a single
+crimson rose.
+
+Aunt Francesca had said that the Colonel was very much pleased with the
+house and glad to be at home again. She had sent over her own cook to
+prepare their first dinner, which, however, she had declined to share,
+contenting herself with ordering a feast suited to the Colonel's taste.
+To-night, they were to dine with her and meet the other members of her
+household.
+
+Madame came in gowned in lustreless white, with heliotrope at her belt
+and in her hair. She wore a quaintly wrought necklace of amethysts set
+in silver, and silver buckles, set with amethysts, on her white shoes.
+More than once Rose had laughingly accused her of being vain of her
+feet.
+
+"Why shouldn't I be vain?" she had retorted, in self-defence. "Aren't
+they pretty?"
+
+"Of course they are," smiled Rose, bending down to kiss her. "They're
+the prettiest little feet in all the world."
+
+Madame's fancy ran seriously to shoes and stockings, of which she had a
+marvellous collection. Silk stockings in grey and white, and in all
+shades of lavender and purple, embroidered and plain, with shoes to
+match in satin and suede, occupied a goodly space in her wardrobe. At
+Christmas-time and on her birthday, Rose always gave her more, for it
+was the one gift which could never fail to please.
+
+"How lovely the house is," said Madame, looking around appreciatively.
+"I hope the dinner will be good."
+
+"I've never known it to be otherwise," Rose assured her.
+
+"Am I all right? Is my skirt even?"
+
+"You are absolutely perfect, Aunt Francesca."
+
+"Then play to me, my dear. If my outward semblance is in keeping, please
+put my mind into a holiday mood."
+
+Rose ran her fingers lightly over the keys. "What shall I play?"
+
+"Anything with a tune to it, and not too loud."
+
+Smiling, Rose began one of the simple melodies that Aunt Francesca
+loved:
+
+[Illustration: musical notation]
+
+Suddenly, she turned away from the piano. Her elbow, falling upon the
+keys, made a harsh dissonance. "Isabel, my dear!" she cried. "Aren't you
+almost too gorgeous?"
+
+The girl stood in the open door, framed like a portrait, against the
+dull red background of the hall. Her gown was white net, shot and
+spangled with silver, over lustrous white silk. A comb, of filagree
+silver, strikingly lovely in her dark hair, was her only ornament except
+a large turquoise, set in dull silver, at her throat.
+
+"I'm not overdressed, am I?" she asked, with an eager look at Madame.
+
+"Not if it suits you. Come here, dear."
+
+Isabel obeyed, turning around slowly for inspection. Almost instantly it
+was evident that Madame approved. So did Rose, after she saw how the
+gown made Isabel's eyes sparkle and brought out the delicate fairness of
+her skin.
+
+"You do suit yourself; there's no question about that, but you're
+gorgeous, nevertheless." Thus Rose made atonement for her first
+impulsive speech.
+
+Mr. Boffin came in, with a blue ribbon around his neck, and helped
+himself to Aunt Francesca's chair. Isabel rocked him and he got down,
+without undue haste. He marched over to a straight-backed chair with a
+cushion in it; glared at Isabel for a moment with his inscrutable topaz
+eyes, then began to purr.
+
+The clock chimed seven silvery notes. Madame Bernard waved her white
+lace fan impatiently. "It's the psychological moment," Rose observed.
+"Why don't they come?"
+
+"It's Allison's fault, if they're late," Madame assured her. "I could
+always set my watch by the Colonel. He--there, what did I tell you?" she
+concluded triumphantly, as footsteps sounded outside.
+
+When the guests were ushered in, Madame advanced to meet them. The
+firelight had brought a rosy glow to her lovely face, and her deep eyes
+smiled. Allison put his violin case in a corner before he spoke to her.
+
+"Did you really?" asked Madame. "How kind you are!"
+
+"I brought it," laughed the young man, "just because you didn't ask me
+to."
+
+"Do you always," queried Rose, after he had been duly presented to her,
+"do the things you're not asked to do?"
+
+"Invariably," he replied.
+
+"Allison," said Madame, "I want you to meet my niece once removed--Miss
+Ross." The Colonel had already bowed to Isabel and was renewing his old
+acquaintance with Rose.
+
+"Not Isabel," said Allison, in astonishment.
+
+"Yes," answered the girl, her eyes sparkling with excitement, "it's
+Isabel."
+
+"Why, little playmate, how did you ever dare to grow up?"
+
+"I had nothing else to do." "But I didn't want you to grow up," he
+objected.
+
+"You've grown up some yourself," she retorted.
+
+"I suppose I have," he sighed. "What a pity that the clock won't stand
+still!"
+
+Yet, to Madame, he did not seem to have changed much. He was taller, and
+more mature in every way, of course. She noted with satisfaction that he
+had gained control of his hands and feet, but he had the same boyish
+face, the same square, well-moulded chin, and the same nice brown eyes.
+Only his slender, nervous hands betrayed the violinist.
+
+"Well, are you pleased with me?" he asked of Madame, his eyes twinkling.
+
+"Yes," she answered with a faint flush. "If you had worn long hair and a
+velvet collar, I should never have forgiven you."
+
+Colonel Kent laughed outright. "I should never have dared to bring him
+back to you, Francesca, if he had fallen so low. We're Americans, and
+please God, we'll stay Americans, won't we, lad?"
+
+"You bet," answered Allison, boyishly, going over to salute Mr. Boffin.
+"'But in spite of all temptations to belong to other nations, I'm an Am-
+er-i-can,'" he sang, under his breath. Through the mysterious workings
+of some sixth sense, Mr. Boffin perceived approaching trouble and made a
+hurried escape.
+
+"Will you look at that?" asked Allison, with a hearty laugh. "I hadn't
+even touched him and he became suspicious of me."
+
+"As I remember," Madame said, "my cats never got on very well with you."
+
+"I don't like them either," put in Isabel.
+
+"I like 'em," Allison said. "I like 'em a whole lot, but it isn't
+mutual, and I never could understand why."
+
+At dinner, it seemed as though they all talked at once. Madame and the
+Colonel had a separate conversation of their own, while Allison
+"reminisced" with Isabel, as he said, and asked numerous questions of
+Rose in regard to the neighbours.
+
+"Please tell me," he said, "what has become of the Crosby twins?"
+
+"They're flourishing," Rose answered.
+
+"You don't mean it! What little devils they were!"
+
+"Are," corrected Rose.
+
+"Who are the Crosby twins?" inquired Isabel.
+
+"They'll probably call on you," Rose replied, "so I won't spoil it by
+endeavouring to describe them. The language fails to do them justice."
+
+"What were their names?" mused Allison. "Let me see. Oh, yes, Romeo and
+Juliet."
+
+"'Romie' and 'Jule' by affectionate abbreviation, to each other," Rose
+added. Did you know that an uncle died in Australia and left them a
+small fortune ?"
+
+"No, I didn't. What are they doing with it?"
+
+"Do you remember, when you were a child, how you used to plan what you'd
+do with unlimited wealth?"
+
+Allison nodded.
+
+"Well," Rose resumed, "that's just what they're doing with it. They have
+only the income now, but this Fall, when they're twenty-one, they'll
+come into possession of the principal. I prophesy bankruptcy in five
+years."
+
+"Even so," he smiled, "they'll doubtless have pleasant memories."
+
+"What satisfaction do you think there will be in that?" queried Isabel.
+
+"I can't answer just now," Allison replied, "but the minute I'm
+bankrupt, I'll come and tell you. It's likely to happen to me at any
+time."
+
+Meanwhile Colonel Kent was expressing the pleasure he had found in his
+well-appointed household. "Was it very much trouble, Francesca?"
+
+"None at all--to me."
+
+"You always were wonderful."
+
+"You see," she smiled, "I didn't do it. Rose did everything. I merely
+went over at the last to arrange the flowers, make the tea, and receive
+the credit."
+
+"And to welcome us home," he added. "They say a fireplace is the heart
+of a house, but I think a woman is the soul of it."
+
+"Then the soul of it was there, waiting, wasn't it?"
+
+"But only for a little while," he sighed. "I am very lonely sometimes,
+in spite of the boy."
+
+Francesca's blue eyes became misty. "When a door in your heart is
+closed," she said, "turn the key and go away. Opening it only brings
+pain."
+
+"I know," he answered, clearing his throat. "You've told me that before
+and I've often thought of it. Yet sometimes it seems as though all of
+life was behind that door."
+
+"Ah, but it isn't. Your son and at least one true friend are outside.
+Listen!"
+
+"No," Allison was saying, "I got well acquainted with surprisingly few
+people over there. You see, I always chummed with Dad."
+
+"Bless him," said Francesca, impulsively.
+
+"Have I done well?" asked the Colonel, anxiously. "It was hard work,
+alone."
+
+"Indeed you have done well. I hear that he is a great artist."
+
+"He's more than that--he's a man. He's clean and a good shot, and he
+isn't afraid of anything. Someway, to me, a man who played the fiddle
+always seemed, well--lady-like, you know. But Allison isn't."
+
+"No," answered Francesca, demurely, "he isn't. Do I infer that it is a
+disgrace to be ladylike?"
+
+"Not for a woman," laughed the Colonel. "Why do you pretend to
+misunderstand me? You always know what I mean."
+
+After dinner, when the coffee had been served, Allison took out his
+violin, of his own accord. "You haven't asked me to play, but I'm going
+to. Who is going to play my accompaniment? Don't all speak at once."
+
+Rose went to the piano and looked over his music. "I'll try. Fortunately
+I'm familiar with some of this."
+
+His first notes came with a clearness and authority for which she was
+wholly unprepared. She followed the accompaniment almost perfectly, but
+mechanically, lost as she was in the wonder and delight of his playing.
+The exquisite harmony seemed to be the inmost soul of the violin,
+speaking at last, through forgotten ages, of things made with the world
+--Love and Death and Parting. Above it and through it hovered a spirit of
+longing, infinite and untranslatable, yet clear as some high call.
+
+Subtly, Rose answered to it. In some mysterious way, she seemed set free
+from bondage. Unsuspected fetters loosened; she had a sense of
+largeness, of freedom which she had never known before. She was
+quivering in an ecstasy of emotion when the last chord came.
+
+For an instant there was silence, then Isabel spoke. "How well you
+play!" she said politely.
+
+"I ought to," Allison replied, modestly. "I've worked hard enough."
+
+"How long have you been studying?"
+
+"Thirty years," he answered. "That is, I feel as if I had been at work
+all my life."
+
+"How funny!" exclaimed Isabel. "Are you thirty?"
+
+"Just," he said.
+
+"Then Cousin Rose and I are like steps, with you half way between us.
+I'm twenty and she's forty," smiled Isabel, with childlike frankness.
+
+Rose bit her lips, then the colour flamed into her face. "Yes," she
+said, to break an awkward pause, "I'm forty. Old Rose," she added, with
+a forced smile.
+
+"Nonsense," said Allison quickly. "How can a rose be old?"
+
+"Or," continued the Colonel, with an air of old-world gallantry, "how
+can earth itself be any older, having borne so fair a rose upon its
+breast for forty years?"
+
+"Thank you both," responded Rose, her high colour receding. "Shall we
+play again?"
+
+While they were turning over the music Madame grappled with a temptation
+to rebuke Isabel then and there. "Not fit for a parlour yet," she
+thought. "Ought to be in the nursery on a bread and milk diet and put to
+bed at six."
+
+For her part, Isabel dimly discerned that she had said something
+awkward, and felt vaguely uncomfortable. She was sorry if she had made a
+social mistake and determined to apologise afterward, though she
+disliked apologies.
+
+Allison was playing again, differently, yet in the same way. Through the
+violin sounded the same high call to Rose. Life assumed a new breadth
+and value, as from a newly discovered dimension. She had been in it, yet
+not of it, until now. She was merged insensibly with something vast and
+universal, finite yet infinite, unknown and undreamed-of an hour ago.
+
+She was quite pale when they finished. "You're tired," he said. "I'm
+sorry."
+
+"I'm not," she denied, vigorously.
+
+"But you are," he insisted. "Don't you suppose I can see?" His eyes met
+hers for the moment, clearly, and, once more, she answered an unspoken
+summons in some silent way. The room turned slowly before her; their
+faces became white spots in a mist.
+
+"You play well," Allison was saying. "I wish you'd let me work with
+you."
+
+"I'll be glad to," Rose answered, with lips that scarcely moved.
+
+"Will you help me work up my programs for next season?"
+
+"Indeed I will. Don't stop now, please--really, I'm not tired."
+
+While she was still protesting, he led her away from the piano to an
+easy chair. "Sit there," he said, "and I'll do the work. Those
+accompaniments are heavy."
+
+He went back to his violin, tightened a string, and began to play,
+alone. The melody was as delicate in structure as the instrument itself,
+yet strangely full of longing. Slowly the violin gave back the music of
+which it was made; the wind in the forest, the sound of many waters,
+moonlight shimmering through green aisles of forest, the mating calls of
+Spring. And again, through it all, surged some great question to which
+Rose thrilled in unspoken answer; a great prayer, which, in some secret
+way, she shared.
+
+It came to an end at last when she felt that she could bear no more.
+"What is it?" she forced herself to ask.
+
+"I haven't named it," he replied, putting down his violin.
+
+"Is--is it--yours?"
+
+"Of course. Why not?"
+
+Isabel came to the piano and took up the violin. "May I look at it?"
+
+"Certainly."
+
+She stroked the brown breasts curiously and twanged the strings as
+though it were a banjo. "What make is it?"
+
+"Cremona. Dad gave it to me for Christmas, a long time ago. It belonged
+to an old man who died of a broken heart."
+
+"What broke his heart?" queried Isabel, carelessly.
+
+"One of his hands was hurt in some way, and he could play no more."
+
+"Not much to die of," Isabel suggested, practically.
+
+"Ah, but you don't know," he answered, shaking his head.
+
+Francesca had leaned forward and was speaking to Colonel Kent in a low
+tone. "I think that somewhere, in the House not Made with Hands, there
+is a young and lovely mother who is very proud of her boy to-night."
+
+The Colonel's fine face took on an unwonted tenderness. "I hope so. She
+left me a sacred trust."
+
+Francesca crossed the room, drew the young man's tall head down, and
+kissed him. "Well done, dear foster-child. Your adopted mother, once
+removed, is fully satisfied with you, and very much pleased with
+herself, being, vicariously, the parent of a great artist."
+
+"I hope you don't consider me 'raised,'" replied Allison. "You're not
+going to stop 'mothering' me, are you?"
+
+"I couldn't," was her smiling assurance. "I've got the habit."
+
+He seemed very young as he looked down at her. Woman-like she loved him,
+through the man that he was, for the child that he had been.
+
+"Come, lad," the Colonel suggested, "it's getting late and we want to be
+invited again."
+
+Allison closed his violin case with a snap, said good-night to Aunt
+Francesca, then went over to Rose. "I don't feel like calling you 'Miss
+Bernard," he said. "Mayn't I say 'Cousin Rose,' as we rejoice in the
+possession of the same Aunt?"
+
+"Surely," she answered, colouring faintly.
+
+"Then good-night, Cousin Rose. I'll see you soon again, and we'll begin
+work. Your days of leisure are over now."
+
+Isabel offered him a small, cool hand. Her eyes were brilliant, brought
+out by the sparkling silver of her gown. She glittered even in the low
+light of the room. "Good-night, Silver Girl," he said. "You haven't
+really grown up after all."
+
+When the door closed, Rose gathered up the music he had forgotten, and
+put it away. Isabel came to her contritely. "Cousin Rose, I'm so sorry I
+said that! I didn't think!"
+
+"Don't bother about it," Rose replied, kindly. "It was nothing at all,
+and, besides, it's true."
+
+"'Tell the truth and shame the--family,'" misquoted Madame Bernard. "Age
+and false hair are not things to be flaunted, Isabel, remember that."
+
+Isabel flushed at the rebuke, and her cheeks were still burning when she
+went to her room.
+
+"I don't care," she said to herself, with a swift change of mood. "I'm
+glad I told him. They'd never have done it, and it's just as well for
+him to know."
+
+Madame Bernard and Rose soon followed her example, but Rose could not
+sleep. Through the night the voice of the violin sounded through her
+consciousness, calling, calling, calling--heedless of the answer that
+thrilled her to the depths of her soul.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+THE CROSBY TWINS
+
+The Crosby twins were making a formal call upon Isabel. They had been
+skating and still carried their skates, but Juliet wore white gloves and
+had pinned her unruly hair into some semblance of order while they
+waited at the door. She wore a red tam-o'-shanter on her brown curls and
+a white sweater under her dark green skating costume, which was short
+enough to show the heavy little boots, just now filling the room with
+the unpleasant odour of damp leather.
+
+"Won't you take off your coat?" asked Isabel. "You'll catch cold when
+you go out, if you don't take it off."
+
+"Thanks," responded Juliet, somewhat stiffly. Then she stretched out
+both hands to her hostess, laughing as she did so. "Look!" The sweater
+sleeves had crept up to her elbows, displaying several inches of bare,
+red arm between the sleeves and the short white gloves.
+
+"That's just like us," remarked Romeo. "If we try to be elegant,
+something always happens."
+
+The twins looked very much alike. They were quite tall and still
+retained the dear awkwardness of youth, in spite of the near approach of
+their twenty-first birthday. They had light brown curly hair, frank blue
+eyes that met the world with interest and delight, well-shaped mouths,
+not too small, and stubborn little chins. A high colour bloomed on their
+cheeks and they fairly radiated the joy of living.
+
+"Can you skate?" inquired Romeo.
+
+"No," smiled Isabel.
+
+"Juliet can. She can skate as far as I can, and almost as fast."
+
+"Romie taught me," observed Juliet, with becoming modesty.
+
+"Do you play hockey? No, of course you don't, if you don't skate," he
+went on, answering his own question. "Can you swim?"
+
+"No," responded Isabel, sweetly.
+
+"Jule's a fine swimmer. She saved a man's life once, two Summers ago."
+
+"Romie taught me," said Juliet, beaming at her brother.
+
+"Can you row?" he asked, politely.
+
+"No," replied Isabel, shortly. "I'm afraid of the water."
+
+"Juliet can row. She won the women's canoe race in the regatta last
+Summer. The prize was twenty-five dollars in gold."
+
+"Romie taught me," put in Juliet.
+
+"We'll teach you this Summer," said Romeo, with a frank, boyish smile
+that showed his white teeth.
+
+"Thank you," responded Isabel, inwardly vowing that they wouldn't.
+
+"Juliet can do most everything I can," went on Romeo, with the teacher's
+pardonable pride in his pupil. "She can climb a tree in her knickers,
+and fish and skate and row and swim and fence, and play golf and tennis,
+and shoot, and dive from a spring board, and she can ride anything that
+has four legs."
+
+"Romeo taught me," chanted Juliet, in a voice surprisingly like his own.
+
+There was an awkward pause, then Romeo turned to his hostess. "What can
+you do?" he asked, meaning to be deferential. Isabel thought she
+detected a faint trace of sarcasm, so her answer was rather tart.
+
+"I don't do many of the things that men do," she said, "but I speak
+French and German, I can sing and play a little, sew and embroider, and
+trim hats if I want to, and paint on china, and do two fancy dances. And
+when I go back home, I'm going to learn to run an automobile."
+
+The twins looked at each other. "We never thought of it," said Juliet,
+much crestfallen.
+
+"Wonder how much they cost," remarked Romeo, thoughtfully.
+
+"Where can you buy 'em?" Juliet inquired. "Anywhere in town?"
+
+"I suppose so," Isabel assented. "Why?"
+
+"Why?" they repeated together. "We're going to buy one and learn to run
+it!"
+
+"You must have lots of money," said Isabel, enviously.
+
+"Loads," replied Romeo, with the air of a plutocrat. "More than we can
+spend."
+
+"We get our income the first day of every month," explained Juliet, "and
+put it into the bank, but when the next check comes, there's always some
+left." They seemed to consider it a mild personal disgrace.
+
+"Why don't you save it?" queried Isabel.
+
+"What for?" Romeo demanded, curiously.
+
+"Why, so you'll have it if you ever need it."
+
+"It keeps right on coming," Juliet explained, pulling down her sweater.
+"Uncle died in Australia and left it to us. He died on the thirtieth of
+June, and we always celebrate."
+
+"Why don't you celebrate his birthday?" suggested Isabel, "instead of
+the day he died?"
+
+"His birthday was no good to us," replied Romeo, "but his death-day
+was."
+
+"But if he hadn't been born, he couldn't have died," Isabel objected,
+more or less logically.
+
+"And if he hadn't died, his being born wouldn't have helped us any,"
+replied Juliet, with a dazzling smile.
+
+There was another pause. "Will you have some tea?" asked Isabel.
+
+"With rum in it?" queried Juliet.
+
+"I don't think so," said Isabel, doubtfully. "Aunt Francesca never
+does."
+
+"We don't, either," Romeo explained, "except when it's very cold, and
+then only a teaspoonful."
+
+"The doctor said we didn't need stimulants. What was it he said we
+needed, Romie?"
+
+"Sedatives."
+
+"Yes, that was it--sedatives. I looked it up in the dictionary. It means
+to calm, or to moderate. I think he got the word wrong himself, for we
+don't need to be calmed, or moderated, do we, Romie?"
+
+"I should say not!"
+
+The twins sipped their tea in silence and nibbled daintily at wafers
+from the cracker jar. Then, feeling that their visit was over, they rose
+with one accord.
+
+"We've had a dandy time," said Juliet, crushing Isabel's hand in hers.
+
+"Bully," supplemented Romeo. "Come and see us."
+
+"I will," Isabel responded, weakly. "How do you get there?"
+
+"Just walk up the main road and turn to the left. It's about three
+miles."
+
+"Three miles!" gasped Isabel. "I'll drive out."
+
+"Just so you come," Romeo said, graciously. "It's an awful old place.
+You'll know it by the chimney being blown over and some of the bricks
+lying on the roof. Good-bye."
+
+Juliet turned to wave her hand at Isabel as they banged the gate, and
+Romeo awkwardly doffed his cap. Their hostess went up-stairs with a sigh
+of relief. She had the sensation of having quickly closed a window upon
+a brisk March wind.
+
+The twins set their faces toward home. The three-mile walk was nothing
+to them, even after a day of skating. The frosty air nipped Juliet's
+cheeks to crimson and she sniffed at it with keen delight.
+
+"It's nice to be out," she said, "after being in that hot house. What do
+you think of her, Romie?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know," he replied carelessly. "Say, how did she have her
+hair done up?"
+
+"She had rats in it, and it was curled on a hot iron."
+
+"Rats? What in thunder is--or are--that, or they?"
+
+"Little wads of false hair made into cushiony rolls."
+
+"Did she tell you?"
+
+"No," laughed Juliet. "Don't you suppose I can see a rat?"
+
+"I thought rats had to be smelled."
+
+"Not this kind."
+
+"She smelled of something kind of sweet and sticky. What was it?'
+
+"Sachet powder, I guess, or some kind of perfume."
+
+"I liked the smell. Can we get some?"
+
+"I guess so--we've got the price."
+
+"Next time you see her, ask her what it is, will you?"
+
+"All right," answered Juliet, unperturbed by the request.
+
+The rest of the way was enlivened by a discussion of automobiles. Romeo
+had a hockey match on for the following day, which was Saturday, so they
+were compelled to postpone their investigations until Monday. It seemed
+very long to wait.
+
+"It's no good now, anyhow," said Romeo. "We can't run it until the roads
+melt and dry up."
+
+"That's so," agreed his twin, despondently. "Why did she tell us now?
+Why couldn't she wait until we had some chance?"
+
+"I guess we can learn something about it before we try to run it," he
+observed, cheerfully. "If we can get it into the barn, we can take it
+all apart and see how it's put together."
+
+"Oh, Romie!" cried Juliet, with a little skip. "How perfectly
+fascinating! And we'll read all the automobile literature we can get
+hold of. I do so love to be posted!"
+
+Upon the death of their father, several years ago, the twins had
+promptly ceased to go to school. The kindly old minister who had been
+appointed executor of their father's small estate and guardian of the
+tumultuous twins had been unable to present any arguments in favour of
+systematic education which appealed to them even slightly.
+
+"What good is Latin?" asked Romeo, apparently athirst for information.
+
+"Why--er--mental discipline, mostly," the harassed guardian had
+answered.
+
+"Isn't there anything we'd like that would discipline our minds?"
+queried Juliet.
+
+"I fear not," replied the old man, who lacked the diplomacy necessary to
+deal with the twins. Shortly after that he had died with so little
+warning that he had only time to make out a check in their favour for
+the balance entrusted to him. The twins had held high carnival until the
+money was almost gone. The bequest from the Australian uncle had reached
+them just in time, so, with thankful hearts, they celebrated and had
+done so annually ever since.
+
+Untrammelled by convention and restraint, they thrived like weeds in
+their ancestral domicile, which was now sadly in need of repair.
+Occasionally some daring prank set the neighbourhood by the ears, but,
+for the most part, the twins behaved very well and attended strictly to
+their own affairs. They ate when they were hungry, slept when they were
+sleepy, and, if they desired to sit up until four in the morning,
+reading, they did so. A woman who had a key to the back door came in
+every morning, at an uncertain hour, to wash the dishes, sweep, dust,
+and to make the beds if they chanced to be unoccupied.
+
+As Romeo had said, the chimney had blown down and several loose bricks
+lay upon the roof. They had a small vegetable garden, fenced in, and an
+itinerant gardener looked after it, in Summer, but they had no flowers,
+because they maintained a large herd of stray dogs, mostly mongrels,
+that would have had no home had it not been for the hospitable twins.
+Romeo bought the choicest cuts of beef for them and fed them himself.
+Occasionally they added another to their collection and, at the last
+census, had nineteen.
+
+Their house would have delighted Madame Bernard--it was so eminently
+harmonious and suitable. The ragged carpets showed the floor in many
+places, and there were no curtains at any of the windows. Romeo
+cherished a masculine distaste for curtains and Juliet did not trouble
+herself to oppose him. The furniture was old and most of it was broken.
+The large easy chair in the sitting room was almost disembowelled, and
+springs showed through the sofa, except in the middle, where there was a
+cavernous depression. Several really fine paintings adorned the walls,
+and the dingy mantel was glorified by exquisite bits of Cloisonne and
+iridescent glass, for which Juliet had a pronounced fancy.
+
+"Set the table, will you, Romie?" called Juliet, tying a large blue
+gingham apron over her sweater. "I'm almost starved."
+
+"So'm I, but I've got to feed the dogs first."
+
+"Let 'em wait," pleaded Juliet. "Please do!"
+
+"Don't be so selfish! They're worse off than we are, for they haven't
+even had tea."
+
+While the pack fought, outside, for rib bones and raw steak, Juliet
+opened a can of salmon, fried some potatoes, put a clean spoon into a
+jar of jam, and cut a loaf of bread into thick slices. When Romeo came
+in, he set the table, made coffee, and opened a can of condensed milk.
+They disdained to wash dishes, but cleared off the table, after supper,
+lighted the lamp, and talked automobile until almost midnight.
+
+In less than an hour, Romeo had completed the plans for remodelling the
+barn. They had no horse, but as a few bits of harness remained from the
+last equine incumbent, they usually alluded to the barn as "the bridle
+chamber."
+
+"We'll have to name the barn again," mused Juliet, "and we can name the
+automobile, too."
+
+"Wait until we get it. What colour shall we have?"
+
+"They're usually red or black, aren't they?" she asked, doubtfully.
+
+"I guess so. We want ours different, don't we?"
+
+"Sure. We want something that nobody ever had before--something bright
+and cheerful. Oh, Romie," she continued, jumping up and down in
+excitement, "let's have it bright yellow and call it 'The Yellow
+Peril'!"
+
+Her twin offered her a friendly hand. "Jule," he said solemnly, "you're
+a genius!"
+
+"We'll have brown leather inside, and get brown clothes to match. Brown
+hats with yellow bands on 'em--won't it be perfectly scrumptious?"
+
+"Scrumptious is no word for it. Shall we have two seats or four?"
+
+"Four, of course. A two-seated automobile looks terribly selfish."
+
+"Stingy, too," murmured Romeo, "and we can afford the best."
+
+"Do you know," Juliet suggested, after deep thought, "I think it would
+be nice of us if we waited to take our first ride until we celebrate for
+Uncle?"
+
+"It would," admitted Romeo, gloomily, "but it's such a long time to
+wait."
+
+"We can learn to run it here in the yard--there's plenty of room. And on
+the thirtieth of June, we'll take our first real ride in it. Be a sport,
+Romie," she urged, as he maintained an unhappy silence.
+
+"All right--I will," he said, grudgingly. "But I hope Uncle appreciates
+what we're doing for him."
+
+"That's settled, then," she responded, cheerfully. "Then, on our second
+ride, we'll take somebody with us. Who shall we invite?"
+
+"Oughtn't she to go with us the first time?"
+
+"She? Who's 'she'?"
+
+"Miss Ross--Isabel. She suggested it, you know. We might not have
+thought of it for years."
+
+Juliet pondered. "I don't believe she ought to go the first time,
+because the day that Uncle died doesn't mean anything to her, and it's
+everything to us. But we'll take her on the second trip. Shall I write
+to her now and invite her?"
+
+"I don't believe," Romeo responded, dryly, "that I'd stop to write an
+invitation to somebody to go out four months from now in an automobile
+that isn't bought yet."
+
+"But it's as good as bought," objected Juliet, "because our minds are
+made up. We may forget to ask her."
+
+"Put it on the slate," suggested Romeo.
+
+In the hall, near the door, was a large slate suspended by a wire. The
+pencil was tied to it. Here they put down vagrant memoranda and things
+they planned to acquire in the near future.
+
+Juliet observed that there was only one entry on the slate: "Military
+hair brushes for R." Underneath she wrote: "Yellow automobile, four-
+seated. Name it 'The Yellow Peril.' Brown leather inside. Get brown
+clothes to match and trim with yellow. First ride, June thirtieth, for
+Uncle. Second ride, July first, for ourselves. Invite Isabel Ross."
+
+"Anything else?" she asked, after reading it aloud.
+
+"Dog biscuit," yawned Romeo. "They're eating too much meat."
+
+It was very late when they went up-stairs. Their rooms were across the
+hall from each other and they slept with the doors open. The attic had
+been made into a gymnasium, where they exercised and hardened their
+muscles when the weather kept them indoors. A trapeze had been recently
+put up, and Juliet was learning to swing by her feet.
+
+She lifted her face up to his and received a brotherly peck on the lips.
+"Good-night, Jule."
+
+"Good-night, Romie. Pleasant dreams."
+
+It was really morning, but there was no clock to tell them so, for the
+timepieces in the Crosby mansion were seldom wound.
+
+"Say," called Romeo.
+
+"What?"
+
+"What do you think of her?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Miss--you know. Isabel."
+
+"Oh, I don't know," responded Juliet, sleepily. "I guess she's kind of a
+sissy-girl."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+AN AFTERNOON CALL
+
+"Aunt Francesca," asked Isabel, "is Colonel Kent rich?"
+
+"Very," responded Madame. She had a fine damask napkin stretched upon
+embroidery hoops and was darning it with the most exquisite of stitches.
+
+"Then why don't they live in a better house and have more servants? That
+place is old and musty."
+
+"Perhaps they like to live there, and, again, perhaps they haven't
+enough money to change. Besides, that has been Colonel Kent's home ever
+since he was married. Allison was born there."
+
+Isabel fidgeted in her chair. "If they're very rich, I should think
+they'd have enough money to enable them to move into a better house."
+
+"Oh," replied Madame, carefully cutting her thread on the underside, "I
+wasn't thinking of money when I spoke. I don't know anything about their
+private affairs. But Colonel Kent has courage, sincerity, an old-
+fashioned standard of honour, many friends, and a son who is a great
+artist."
+
+The girl was silent, for intangible riches did not appeal to her
+strongly.
+
+"Allison is like him in many ways," Madame was saying. "He is like his
+mother, too."
+
+"When is he going away?"
+
+"In September or October, I suppose--the beginning of the season."
+
+"Is he going to play everywhere?"
+
+"Everywhere of any importance."
+
+"Perhaps," mused Isabel, "he will make a great deal of money himself."
+
+"Perhaps," Madame responded, absently. "I do hope he will be
+successful." She had almost maternal pride in her foster son.
+
+"Is Cousin Rose going, too?"
+
+"Going where? What do you mean, dear?"
+
+"Why, nothing. Only I heard him ask her if she would go with him on his
+concert tour and play his accompaniments, providing you or the Colonel
+went along for chaperone, and Cousin Rose laughed and said she didn't
+need a chaperone--that she was old enough to make it quite respectable."
+
+"And---" suggested Madame.
+
+"Allison laughed, too, and said: 'Nonsense!'"
+
+"If they are going," said Madame, half to herself, "and decide to take
+me along, I hope they'll give me sufficient time to pack things
+decently."
+
+"Would the Colonel go, if you went?"
+
+"I hardly think so. It wouldn't be quite so proper."
+
+"I don't understand," remarked Isabel, wrinkling her pretty brows.
+
+"I don't either," Madame replied, confidentially. "However, I've lived
+long enough to learn that the conventions of society are all in the
+interests of morality. If you're conventional, you'll be good, in a
+negative sense, of course."
+
+"How do you mean, Aunt Francesca?"
+
+"Perfect manners are diametrically opposed to crime. For instance, it is
+very bad form for a man to shoot a lady, or even to write another man's
+name on a check and cash it. It saves trouble to be conventional, for
+you're not always explaining things. Most of the startling items we read
+in the newspapers are serious lapses from conventionality and good
+manners."
+
+"The Crosbys aren't very conventional," Isabel suggested.
+
+"No," smiled Madame, "they're not, but their manners proceed from the
+most kindly and friendly instincts, consequently they're seldom in
+error, essentially."
+
+"They have lots of money, haven't they?"
+
+"I have sometimes thought that the Crosbys had more than their age and
+social training fitted them to use wisely, but I've never known them to
+go far astray. They've done foolish things, but I've never known either
+to do a wrong or selfish thing. Money is a terrible test of character,
+but I think the twins will survive it."
+
+"I suppose they've done lots of funny things with it."
+
+Madame's eyes danced and little smiles wrinkled the corners of her
+mouth. "On the Fourth of July, last year, they presented every orphan in
+the Orphans' Home with two dollars' worth of fireworks, carefully
+chosen. Of course the inevitable happened and the orphans managed to set
+fire to the home, but, after two hours of hard work, the place was
+saved. Some of the children were slightly injured during the
+celebration, but that didn't matter, because as Juliet said, they'd had
+a good time, anyway, and it would give them something to talk about in
+years to come."
+
+"It would have been better to spend the money on shoes, wouldn't it?"
+
+"I don't know, my dear. The finest gift in the world is pleasure.
+Sometimes I think it's better to feed the soul and let the body fast.
+There is a time in life when one brief sky-rocket can produce more joy
+than ten pairs of shoes."
+
+Isabel smiled and glanced at Madame Bernard's lavender satin slipper.
+The old lady laughed and the soft colour came into her pretty face.
+
+"I frankly admit that I've passed it," she said. "Better one pair of
+shoes than ten sky-rockets, if the shoes are the sort I like."
+
+"Do they come often?" queried Isabel, reverting to the subject of the
+twins.
+
+"Not as often as I'd like to have them, but it doesn't do to urge them.
+I can only keep my windows open and let the wind from the clover field
+blow in as it will."
+
+"Do they live near a clover field?" inquired Isabel, perplexed.
+
+"No, but they remind me of it--they're so breezy and wholesome, so free
+and untrammelled, and, at heart, so sweet."
+
+"I hope they'll come again soon."
+
+"So do I, for I don't want you to be lonely, Isabel. It was good of your
+mother to let you come."
+
+"Mamma doesn't care what I do," observed Isabel, placidly. "She's always
+busy."
+
+Madame Bernard checked the sharp retort that rose to her lips. What
+Isabel had said was quite true. Mrs. Ross was so interested in what she
+called "The New Thought" and "The Higher World Service" that she had
+neither time nor inclination for the old thought and simple service that
+make--and keep--a home.
+
+From the time she could dress herself and put up her own hair, Isabel
+had been left much to herself. Her mother supplied her liberally with
+money for clothes and considered that her duty to her daughter ended
+there. They lived in an apartment hotel and had their coffee served in
+their rooms in the morning. After that, Isabel was left to her own
+devices, for committees and directors' meetings without number claimed
+her mother.
+
+More often than not, Isabel dined alone in the big dining-room
+downstairs, and spent a lonely evening with a novel and a box of
+chocolates. On pleasant days, she amused herself by going through the
+shops and to the matinee. She did not make friends easily and the
+splendid isolation common to hotels and desert islands left her
+stranded, socially. She had been very glad to accept Aunt Francesca's
+invitation, and the mother, looking back through her years of "world
+service" to the quiet old house and dream-haunted garden, had thought it
+would be a good place for Isabel for a time, and had hoped she might not
+find it too dull to endure.
+
+Madame Bernard had no patience with Mrs. Ross. When she had come for a
+brief holiday, fifteen years before, bringing her child with her, she
+had just begun to be influenced by the modern feminine unrest. Later she
+had definitely allied herself with those whose mission it is to
+emancipate Woman--with a capital W--from her chains, forgetting that
+these are of her own forging, and anchor her to the eternal verities of
+earth and heaven.
+
+A single swift stroke had freed Mrs. Ross from her own "bondage."
+Isabel's father had died, while her mother was out upon a lecturing
+tour--in a hotel, which is the most miserable place in the world to die
+in. The housekeeper and chambermaids had befriended Isabel until the
+tour came to its triumphant conclusion. Mrs. Ross had seemed to consider
+the whole affair a kindly and appropriate recognition of her abilities,
+on the part of Providence. She attempted to fit Isabel for the duties of
+a private secretary, but failed miserably, and, greatly to Isabel's
+relief, gave up the idea.
+
+Madame Bernard had looked forward to Isabel's visit with a certain
+apprehension, remembering Mrs. Ross's unbecoming gowns and careless
+coiffures. But the girl's passion for clothes, amounting almost to a
+complete "reversion to type," had at once relieved and alarmed her. "If
+I can strike a balance for her," she had said to herself in a certain
+midnight musing, "I shall do very well."
+
+As yet, however, Isabel had failed to "balance." She dressed for morning
+and luncheon and afternoon, and again for dinner, changing to street
+gowns when necessary and doing her hair in a different way for each
+gown. Still, as Rose had said, she "suited herself," for she was always
+immaculate, beautifully clad, and a joy to behold.
+
+Madame Bernard greatly approved of the lovely white wool house gown
+Isabel was wearing. She had no fault to find with the girl's taste, but
+she wished to subordinate, as it were, the thing to the spirit; the
+temple to the purpose for which it was made.
+
+Isabel smiled at her sweetly as she folded up her work--a little
+uncomprehending smile. "Are you going away now for your 'forty winks,'
+Aunt Francesca?"
+
+"Yes, my dear. Can you amuse yourself for an hour or so without playing
+upon the piano?"
+
+"Certainly. I didn't know that you and Cousin Rose were asleep
+yesterday, or I wouldn't have played."
+
+"Of course not." Madame leaned over her and stroked the dark hair, waved
+and coiled in quite the latest fashion. "There are plenty of books and
+magazines in the library."
+
+Madame went upstairs, followed at a respectful distance by Mr. Boffin,
+waving his plumed tail. He, too, took his afternoon nap, curled up
+cosily upon the silken quilt at the foot of his mistress's couch. In the
+room adjoining, Rose rested for an hour also, though she usually spent
+the time with a book.
+
+Left to herself, Isabel walked back and forth idly, greatly allured by
+the forbidden piano. She looked over, carelessly, the pile of violin
+music Allison had left there. Some of the sheets were torn and had been
+pasted together, all were marked in pencil with hieroglyphics, and most
+of them were stamped, in purple, "Allison Kent," with a Berlin or Paris
+address written in below.
+
+Isabel had met very few men, in the course of her twenty years. For this
+reason, possibly, she remembered every detail of the two weeks she had
+spent at Aunt Francesca's and the hours with Allison, on the veranda,
+when he chose to amuse himself with the pretty, credulous child. It
+seemed odd to have him coming to the house again, though, unless he came
+to dinner, he usually spent the time playing, to Rose's accompaniment.
+She had not seen him alone.
+
+She surveyed herself in the long, gilt-framed mirror, and was well
+pleased with the image of youth and beauty the mirror gave back. The
+bell rang and she pinned up a stray lock carefully. It was probably
+someone to see Aunt Francesca, but there was a pleasing doubt. It might
+be the twins, though she had not returned their call.
+
+Presently Allison came in, his cheeks glowing from his long walk in the
+cold. "Silver Girl," he smiled, "where are the spangles, and are you
+alone?"
+
+"The spangles are upstairs waiting for candlelight," answered Isabel, as
+he took her small, cool hand, "and I'm very much alone--or was."
+
+"Where are the others?"
+
+"Taking naps."
+
+"I hope I haven't tired Rose out," said Allison, offering Isabel a
+chair. He had unconsciously dropped the prefix of "Cousin." "We've been
+working hard lately."
+
+"Is she going with you on your tour?"
+
+"I don't know. I wish she could go, but I haven't the heart to drag
+father or Aunt Francesca along with us, and otherwise, it would be--
+well, unconventional, you know. The conventions make me dead tired," he
+added, with evident sincerity.
+
+"And yet," said Isabel, looking into the fire, "they are all in the
+interests of morality. If you're conventional, you'll be good,
+negatively. It isn't good manners for a man to shoot a lady or to sign a
+check with another man's name and get it cashed. If you're conventional,
+you're not always explaining things."
+
+"Very true," laughed Allison, "but sometimes 'the greatest good for the
+greatest number' bears heavily upon the few."
+
+"Of course," Isabel agreed, after a moment's pause. "Your friends, the
+Crosby twins, have called," she continued.
+
+"Really?" Allison asked, with interest. "How do you like them?"
+
+"I wish they'd come often," she smiled. "They remind me of a field of
+red clover, they're so breezy and so wholesome."
+
+"I must hunt 'em up," he returned, absently. "They used to be regular
+little devils. It's a shame for them to have all that money."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they'll waste it. They don't know how to use it."
+
+"Perhaps they do, in a way. One Fourth of July they gave every orphan in
+the Orphans' Home two dollars' worth of fireworks. Anybody else would
+have wasted the money on shoes, or hats."
+
+"I see you haven't grown up. Would you rather have fireworks than
+clothes?"
+
+"There is a time in life when one sky-rocket can give more pleasure than
+a pair of shoes, and the gift of pleasure is the finest gift in the
+world."
+
+Allison was agreeably surprised, for hitherto Isabel's conversation had
+consisted mainly of monosyllables and platitudes, or the hesitating echo
+of someone's else opinion. Now he perceived that it was shyness; that
+Isabel had a mind of her own, and an unusual mind, at that. He looked at
+her quickly and the colour bloomed upon her pale, cold face.
+
+"Tell me, little playmate, what have the years done for you since you
+went out and pulled up the rose bushes to find the scent bottles?"
+
+"Nothing," she answered, not knowing what else to say.
+
+"Still looking for the unattainable?"
+
+"Yes, if you like to put it that way."
+
+"Where's your mother?"
+
+"Out lecturing."
+
+"What about?"
+
+"The Bloodless Revolution, or the Gradual Emancipation of Woman," she
+repeated, parrot-like.
+
+"Her work must keep her away from home a great deal," he ventured, after
+a pause.
+
+"Yes. I seldom see her."
+
+"You must be lonely."
+
+She turned her dark eyes to his. "I live in a hotel," she said.
+
+In the simple answer, Allison saw an unmeasured loneliness, coupled with
+a certain loyalty to her mother. He changed the subject.
+
+"You like it here, don't you?"
+
+"Yes, indeed. Aunt Francesca is lovely and so is Cousin Rose. I wish,"
+she went on, with a little sigh as she glanced about the comfortable
+room, "that I could always stay here." The child-like appeal in her tone
+set Allison's heart to beating a little faster.
+
+"I wish you could," he said. Remorsefully, he remembered the long hours
+he had spent with Rose at the piano, happily oblivious of Isabel.
+
+"Are you fond of music?" he asked.
+
+"Yes, indeed! I always sit outside and listen when you and Cousin Rose
+play."
+
+"Come in whenever you want to," he responded, warmly.
+
+"Won't I be in the way? Won't I be a bother?"
+
+"I should say not. How could you be?"
+
+"Then," Isabel smiled, "I'll come sometimes, if I may. It's the only
+pleasure I have."
+
+"That's too bad. Sometime we'll go into town to the theatre, just you
+and I. Would you like to go?"
+
+"I'd love to," she answered, eagerly.
+
+The clock ticked industriously, the fire crackled merrily upon the
+hearth, and the wind howled outside. In the quiet room, Allison sat and
+studied Isabel, with the firelight shining upon her face and her white
+gown. She seemed much younger than her years.
+
+"You're only a child," he said, aloud; "a little, helpless child."
+
+"How long do you think it will be before I'm grown up?"
+
+"I don't want you to grow up. I can remember now just how you looked the
+day I told you about the scent bottles. You had on a pink dress, with a
+sash to match, pink stockings, little white shoes with black buttons,
+and the most fetching white sunbonnet. Your hair was falling in curls
+all round your face and it was such a warm day that the curls clung to
+your neck and annoyed you. You toddled over to me and said: 'Allison,
+please fix my's turls.' Don't you remember?"
+
+She smiled and said she had forgotten. "But," she added, truthfully,
+"I've often wondered how I looked when I was dressed up."
+
+"Then," he continued, "I told you how the scent bottles grew on the
+roots of the rose bushes, and, after I went home, you went and pulled up
+as many as you could. Aunt Francesca was very angry with me."
+
+"Yes, I remember that. I felt as though you were being punished for my
+sins. It was years afterward that I saw I'd been sufficiently punished
+myself. Look!"
+
+She leaned toward him and showed him a narrow white line on the soft
+flesh between her forefinger and her thumb, extending back over her
+hand.
+
+"A thorn," she said. "I shall carry the scar to my dying day."
+
+With a little catch in his throat, Allison caught the little hand and
+pressed it to his lips. "Forgive me!" he said.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+THE LIGHT ON THE ALTAR
+
+Colonel Kent had gone away on a short business trip and Allison was
+spending his evenings, which otherwise would have been lonely, at Madame
+Bernard's. After talking for a time with Aunt Francesca and Isabel, it
+seemed natural for him to take up his violin and suggest, if only by a
+half-humorous glance, that Rose should go to the piano.
+
+Sometimes they played for their own pleasure and sometimes worked for
+their own benefit. Neither Madame nor Isabel minded hearing the same
+thing a dozen times or more in the course of an evening, for, as Madame
+said, with a twinkle in her blue eyes, it made "a pleasant noise," and
+Isabel did not trouble herself to listen.
+
+Both Rose and Allison were among the fortunate ones who find joy in
+work. Rose was so keenly interested in her music that she took no count
+of the hours spent at the piano, and Allison fully appreciated her. It
+had been a most pleasant surprise for him to find a good accompanist so
+near home.
+
+The discouraging emptiness of life had mysteriously vanished for Rose.
+Her restlessness disappeared as though by magic and her indefinite
+hunger had been, in some way, appeased. She had unconsciously emerged
+from one state into another, as the tiny dwellers of the sea cast off
+their shells. She had a sense of freedom and a large vision, as of
+dissonances resolved into harmony.
+
+Clothes, also, which, as Madame had said, are "supposed to please and
+satisfy women," had taken to themselves a new significance. Rose had
+made herself take heed of her clothes, but she had never had much real
+interest. Now she was glad of the time she had spent in planning her
+gowns, merely with a view to pleasing Aunt Francesca.
+
+To-night, she wore a clinging gown of deep green velvet, with a spray of
+green leaves in her hair. Her only ornament was a pin of jade, in an
+Oriental setting. Allison looked at her admiringly.
+
+"There's something about you," he said, "that I don't know just how to
+express. I have no words for it, but, in some way, you seem to live up
+to your name."
+
+"How so?" Rose asked, demurely.
+
+"Well, I've never seen you wear anything that a rose might not wear.
+I've seen you in red and green and yellow and pink and white, but never
+in blue or purple, or any of those soft-coloured things that Aunt
+Francesca wears."
+
+"That only means," answered Rose, flushing, "that blue and grey and tan
+and lavender aren't becoming to me."
+
+"That isn't it," Allison insisted, "for you'd be lovely in anything.
+You're living up to your name."
+
+"Go on," Rose suggested mischievously. "This is getting interesting."
+"You needn't laugh. I assure you that men know more about those things
+than they're usually given credit for. Your jewels fit in with the whole
+idea, too. That jade pin, for instance, and your tourmaline necklace,
+and your ruby ring, and the topazes you wear with yellow, and the faint
+scent of roses that always hangs about you."
+
+"What else?" she smiled.
+
+"Well, I had a note from you the other day. It was fragrant with rose
+petals and the conventionalised rose, in gold and white, that was
+stamped in place of a monogram, didn't escape me. Besides, here's this."
+
+He took from his pocket a handkerchief of sheerest linen, delicately
+hemstitched. In one corner was embroidered a rose, in palest shades of
+pink and green. The delicate, elusive scent filled the room as he shook
+it out.
+
+"There," he continued, with a laugh. "I found it in my violin case the
+other day. I don't know how it came there, but it was much the same as
+finding a rose twined about the strings."
+
+Aunt Francesca was on the other side of the room, by the fire. Her face,
+in the firelight, was as delicate as a bit of carved ivory. Her thoughts
+were far away--one could see that. Isabel sat near her, apparently
+absorbed in a book, but, in reality, listening to every word.
+
+"I wish," Allison was saying, "that people knew how to live up to
+themselves. That's an awkward phrase, but I don't know of anything
+better. Even their names don't fit 'em, and they get nicknames."
+
+"'Father calls me William,'" murmured Rose.
+
+"'And Mother calls me Will,'" Allison went on. "That's it, exactly. See
+how the 'Margarets' are adjusted to themselves by their friends. Some
+are 'Margie' and more of 'em are 'Peggy.' 'Margaret' who is allowed to
+wear her full name is very rare."
+
+"I'm glad my name can't be changed, easily," she said, thoughtfully.
+
+"It could be 'Rosie,' with an 'ie,' and if you were that sort, it would
+be. Take Aunt Francesca, for instance. She might be 'Frances' or 'Fanny'
+or even 'Fran,' but her name suits her, so she gets the full benefit of
+it, every time."
+
+Madame turned away from the fire, with the air of one who has been away
+upon a long journey. "Did I hear my name? Did someone speak to me?"
+
+"Only of you," Allison explained. "We were talking of names and
+nicknames and saying that yours suited you."
+
+"If it didn't," observed Madame Bernard, "I'd change it. When we get
+civilised, I believe children will go by number until they get old
+enough to choose their own names. Fancy a squirming little imp with a
+terrible temper being saddled with the name of 'William,' by authority
+of Church and State. Except to his doting parents, he'll never be
+anything but 'Bill.'"
+
+"Does my name fit me?" queried Isabel, much interested.
+
+"It would," said Allison, "if you weren't quite so tall. Does my name
+fit me?"
+
+He spoke to Madame Bernard but he looked at Rose. It was the older woman
+who answered him. "Yes, of course it does. How dare you ask me that when
+I named you myself?"
+
+"I'd forgotten," Allison laughed. "I can't remember quite that far
+back."
+
+They began to play once more and Isabel, pleading a headache, said good-
+night. She made her farewells very prettily and there was a moment's
+silence after the door closed.
+
+"I'm afraid," said Madame, "that our little girl is lonely. Allison,
+can't you bestir yourself and find some young men to call upon her? I
+can't think of anybody but the Crosby twins."
+
+"What's the matter with me?" inquired Allison, lightly. "Am I not
+calling? And behold, I give her a headache and she goes to bed."
+
+"You're not exactly in her phase of youth," Madame objected. "She's my
+guest and she has to be entertained."
+
+"I'm willing to do my share. I'll take her into town to the theatre some
+night, and to supper afterward, in the most brilliantly lighted place I
+can find."
+
+"That's very nice of you," responded Rose, with a look of friendly
+appreciation. "I know she would enjoy the bright lights."
+
+"We all do, in certain moods," he said. "Are you ready now?"
+
+The voice of the violin rose to heights of ecstasy, sustained by full
+chords in the accompaniment. Mingled with the joy of it, like a breath
+of sadness and longing, was a theme in minor, full of question and
+heartbreak; of appeal that was almost prayer. And over it all, as
+always, hovering like some far light, was the call to which Rose
+answered. Dumbly, she knew that she must always answer it, though she
+were dead and the violin itself mingled with her dust.
+
+Madame Bernard, still seated by the fire, stirred uneasily. Something
+had come into her house that vaguely troubled her, because she had no
+part in it. The air throbbed with something vital, keen, alive; the room
+trembled as from invisible wings imprisoned.
+
+Old dreams and memories came back with a rush, and the little old lady
+sitting in the half light looked strangely broken and frail. The sound
+of marching and the steady beat of a drum vibrated through her
+consciousness and the singing violin was faint and far. She saw again
+the dusty street, where the blue column went forward with her Captain at
+the head, his face stern and cold, grimly set to some high Purpose that
+meant only anguish for her. The picture above the mantel, seen dimly
+through a mist, typified, to her, the ways of men and women since the
+world began--the young knight riding forward in his quest for the Grail,
+already forgetting what lay behind, while the woman knelt, waiting,
+waiting, waiting, as women always have and always must.
+
+At last the music reached its end in a low chord that was at once a
+question and a call. Madame rose, about to say good-night, and go up-
+stairs where she might be alone. On the instant she paused. Her heart
+waited almost imperceptibly, then resumed its beat.
+
+Still holding the violin, Allison was looking at Rose. Subconsciously,
+Madame noted his tall straight figure, his broad well-set shoulders, his
+boyish face, and his big brown eyes. But Rose had illumined as from some
+inward light; her lovely face was transfigured into a beauty beyond all
+words.
+
+Francesca slipped out without speaking and went, unheard, to her own
+room. She felt guilty because she had discerned something of which Rose
+herself was as yet entirely unconscious. With the instinctive sex-
+loyalty that distinguishes fine women from the other sort, Madame hoped
+that Allison did not know.
+
+"And so," she said to herself, "Love has come back to my house, after
+many years of absence. I wonder if he cares? He must, oh, he must!"
+Francesca had no selfish thought of her own loneliness, if her Rose
+should go away. Though her own heart was forever in the keeping of a
+distant grave, she could still be glad of another's joy.
+
+Rose turned away from the piano and Allison put his violin into the
+case. "It's late," he said, regretfully, "and you must be tired."
+
+"Perhaps I am, but I don't know it."
+
+"You respond so fully to the music that it is a great pleasure to play
+with you. I wish I could always have you as my accompanist."
+
+"I do, too," murmured Rose, turning her face away. The deep colour
+mounted to the roots of her hair and he studied her impersonally, as he
+would have studied any other lovely thing.
+
+"Why?" he began, then laughed.
+
+"Why what?" asked Rose, quickly.
+
+"I was about to ask you a very foolish question."
+
+"Don't hesitate," she said. "Most questions are foolish."
+
+"This is worse--it's idiotic. I was going to ask you why you hadn't
+married."
+
+With a sharp stab at the heart, Rose noted the past tense. "Why haven't
+you?" she queried, forcing a smile.
+
+"There is only one answer to that question, and yet people keep on
+asking it. They might as well ask why you don't buy an automobile."
+
+"Well?" continued Rose, inquiringly.
+
+"Because 'the not impossible she,' or 'he,' hasn't come, that's all."
+
+"Perhaps only one knows," she suggested.
+
+"No," replied Allison, "in any true mating, they both know--they must."
+
+There was a long pause. A smouldering log, in the fireplace, broke and
+fell into the embers. The dying flame took new life and the warm glow
+filled the room.
+
+"Is that why people don't buy automobiles?" queried Rose, chiefly
+because she did not know what else to say.
+
+"The answer to that is that they do."
+
+"Sounds as if you might have taken it from Alice in Wonderland," she
+commented. "Maybe they've had to give each other up," she concluded,
+enigmatically.
+
+"People who will give each other up should be obliged to do it," he
+returned. "May I leave my violin here? I'll be coming again so soon."
+
+"Surely. I hope you will."
+
+"Good-night." He took her hand for a moment, in his warm, steady clasp,
+and subtly, Rose answered to the man--not the violin. She was deathly
+white when the door closed, and she trembled all the way up-stairs.
+
+When she saw herself in the mirror, she was startled, for, in her
+ghostly pallor, her deep eyes burned like stars. She knew, now. The
+woman who had so hungered for Life had suddenly come face to face with
+its utmost wonder; its highest gift of joy--or pain.
+
+ The heart of a man is divided into many compartments, mostly isolated.
+Sometimes there is a door between two of them, or even three may be
+joined, but usually, each one is complete in itself. Within the
+different chambers his soul sojourns as it will, since immeasurably
+beyond woman, he possesses the power of detachment, of intermittence.
+
+Once in a lifetime, possibly, under the influence of some sweeping
+passion, all the doors are flung wide and the one beloved woman may
+enter in. Yet she is wise, with the wisdom of the Sphinx, if she refuses
+to go. Let her say to him: "Close all these doors, except that which
+bears my name. In that chamber and in that alone, we shall dwell
+together." For, with these words, the memories housed in the other
+chambers crumble to dust and ashes, blown only by vagrant winds of Fate.
+
+In the heart of a woman there are few chambers and still fewer doors.
+Instead of business-like compartments, neatly labelled, there are long,
+labyrinthine passages, all opening into one another and inextricably
+bound together. To shut out one, or even part of one, requires the
+building of a wall, but it takes a long time and the barrier is never
+firm.
+
+At a single strain of music, the scent of a flower, or even one glimpse
+of a path of moonlight lying fair upon a Summer sea, the barriers
+crumble and fall. Through the long corridors the ghosts of the past walk
+unforbidden, hindered only by broken promises, dead hopes, and dream-
+dust.
+
+Even while the petals of long-dead roses rustle through the winding
+passages, where the windows are hung with cobwebs, greyed at last from
+iridescence to despairing shadows, a barrier may fall at the sound of a
+talismanic name, for the hands of women are small and slow to build and
+the hearts of women are tender beyond all words.
+
+Hidden in the centre of the labyrinth is one small secret chamber, and
+the door may open only at the touch of one other hand. The woman herself
+may go into it for peace and sanctuary, when the world goes wrong, but
+always alone, until the great day comes when two may enter it together.
+
+As Theseus carried the thread of Ariadne through the labyrinth of Crete,
+there are many who attempt to find the secret chamber, but vainly, for
+the thread will always break in the wrong heart.
+
+When the door is opened, at last, by the one who has made his way
+through the devious passages, there is so little to be seen that
+sometimes even the man himself laughs the woman to scorn and despoils
+her of her few treasures.
+
+The secret chamber is only a bare, white room, where is erected the high
+altar of her soul, served through life, by her own faith. Upon the altar
+burns steadfastly the one light, waiting for him who at last has come
+and consecrated in his name. The door of the sanctuary is rock-ribbed
+and heavy, and he who has not the key may beat and call in vain, while
+within, unheeding, the woman guards her light.
+
+Pitifully often the man does not care. Sometimes he does not even
+suspect that he has been admitted into the inmost sanctuary of her
+heart, for there are men who may never know what sanctuary means, nor
+what the opening of the door has cost. But the man who is worthy will
+kneel at the altar for a moment, with the woman beside him, and
+thereafter, when the outside world has been cruel to him, he may go in
+sometimes, with her, to warm his hands at those divine fires and kindle
+his failing courage anew.
+
+When the sanctuary is not profaned by him who has come hither, its
+blessedness is increased ten-fold; it takes on a certain divinity by
+being shared, and thereafter, they serve the light together.
+
+And yet, through woman's eager trustfulness, the man who opens the door
+is not always the one divinely appointed to open it. Sometimes the light
+fails and the woman, weeping in the darkness, is left alone in her
+profaned temple, never to open its door again, or, after many years, to
+set another light high upon the altar, and, in the deepening shadows,
+pray.
+
+So, because the door had never been opened, and because she knew the man
+had come at last who might enter the sanctuary with her, Rose lifted her
+ever-burning light that night to the high altar of her soul, and set
+herself to wait until he should find his way there.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+FATHER AND SON
+
+The house seemed very quiet, though steadily, from a distant upper room,
+came the sound of a violin. For more than an hour, Allison had worked
+continuously at one difficult phrase. Colonel Kent smiled whimsically as
+he sat in the library, thinking that, by this time, he could almost play
+it himself.
+
+Looking back over the thirty years, he could see where he had made
+mistakes in moulding the human clay entrusted to his care, yet, in the
+end, the mistakes had not mattered. Back in the beginning, he had
+formulated certain cherished ideals for his son, and had worked steadily
+toward them, unmindful of occasional difficulties and even failures.
+
+Against his own judgment, he had yielded to Francesca in the choice of
+the boy's career. "Look at his hands," she had said. "You couldn't put
+hands like his at work in an office. If he isn't meant for music, we'll
+find it out soon enough."
+
+But Allison had gone on, happily, along the chosen path, with never a
+question or doubt of his ultimate success. Just now, the Colonel was
+deeply grateful to Francesca, for the years abroad had been pleasant
+ones, and would have been wholly impossible had Allison been working in
+an office.
+
+With a sigh, he began to pace back and forth through the hall, his hands
+in his pockets, and his grey head bowed. Before him was his own
+portrait, in uniform, his hand upon his sword. The sword itself, hanging
+in a corner of the hall, was dull and lifeless now. He had a curious
+sense that his work was done.
+
+The tiny stream, rising from some cool pool among the mountains, is not
+unlike man's own beginning, for, at first, it gives no hint of its
+boundless possibilities. Grown to a river, taking to itself the water
+from a thousand secret channels, it leaps down the mountain, heedless of
+rocky barriers, with all the joy of lusty youth.
+
+The river itself portrays humanity precisely, with its tortuous
+windings, its accumulation of driftwood, its unsuspected depths, and its
+crystalline shallows, singing in the Summer sun. Barriers may be built
+across its path, but they bring only power, as the conquering of an
+obstacle is always sure to do. Sometimes when the rocks and stone-clad
+hills loom large ahead, and eternity itself would be needed to carve a
+passage, there is an easy way around. The discovery of it makes the
+river sing with gladness and turns the murmurous deeps to living water,
+bright with ripples and foam.
+
+Ultimately, too, in spite of rocks and driftwood, of endless seeking for
+a path, of tempestuous nights and days of ice and snow, man and the
+river reach the eternal sea, to be merged forever with the Everlasting.
+
+Upstairs the music ceased. A door opened, then closed, and presently
+Allison came down, rubbing his hands. "It's a little cool up there," he
+said, "and yet, by the calendar, it's Spring. I wish this climate could
+be averaged up."
+
+"Even then, we wouldn't be satisfied," the Colonel returned. "Who wants
+all his days to be alike?"
+
+"Nobody. Still, it's a bit trying to freeze your nose one day and be
+obliged to keep all the windows open the next."
+
+There was a long pause. The Colonel tapped his fingers restlessly upon
+the library table. Allison went over to the open fire and stood with his
+back to it, clasping his hands behind him. "What have you been doing all
+the morning, Dad?"
+
+"Nothing. Just sitting here, thinking."
+
+"Pretty hopeless occupation unless you have something in particular to
+think about."
+
+"It's better to have nothing to think about than to be obliged to think
+of something unpleasant, isn't it?"
+
+"I don't know," Allison responded, smothering a yawn. "Almost anything
+is better than being bored."
+
+"You're not bored, are you?" asked the Colonel, quickly.
+
+"Far from it, but I have my work. I was thinking of you."
+
+"I can work, too," the Colonel replied. "I think as soon as the ground
+thaws out, I'll make a garden. A floral catalogue came yesterday and the
+pictures are very inspiring."
+
+"Does it give any directions for distinguishing between the flowers and
+weeds?"
+
+"No," laughed the Colonel, "but I've thought of trying the ingenious
+plan of the man who pulled up the plants and carefully watered the
+weeds, expecting the usual contrary results."
+
+Luncheon was announced and they went out together, shivering at the
+change in temperature between the library and the dining-room, where
+there would be no cheerful open fire until the dinner hour.
+
+"What are you going to do this afternoon?" queried the Colonel.
+
+"Why, work, I suppose--at least until I get too tired to work any more."
+
+"You seem to believe in an eight-hour day."
+
+Something in the tone gave Allison an inkling of the fact that his
+father was lonely and restless in the big house. When they were abroad,
+he had managed to occupy himself pleasantly while Allison was busy, and,
+for the first time, the young man wondered whether it had been wise to
+come back.
+
+The loneliness of the great rooms was evident, if one looked for it, and
+the silence was literally to be felt, everywhere. It is difficult for
+two people to be happy in a large house; they need the cosiness
+established by walls not too far apart, ceilings not too high, and the
+necessary furniture not too widely separated. A single row of books,
+within easy reach, may hint of companionship not possible to the great
+bookcase across a large room.
+
+"I think," said Allison, "that perhaps this house is too large for us.
+Why should we need fifteen rooms?"
+
+"We don't, but what's the use of moving again just now, when we're all
+settled."
+
+"It's no trouble to move," returned the young man.
+
+"It might be, if we did it ourselves. I fancy that Miss Rose could give
+us a few pointers on the subject of opening an old house."
+
+"There may be something in that," admitted Allison. "What charming
+neighbours they are!" he added, in a burst of enthusiasm.
+
+"Madame Bernard," replied the Colonel, with emphasis, "is one of the
+finest women I have ever had the good fortune to meet. Miss Rose is like
+her, but I have known only one other of the same sort."
+
+"And the other was--"
+
+"Your mother."
+
+The Colonel pushed back his plate and went to the window. Beyond the
+mountains, somewhere in "God's acre," was the little sunken grave still
+enfolding a handful of sacred dust. With a sudden throb of pain, Allison
+realised, for the first time in his life, that his father was an old
+man. The fine, strong face, outlined clearly by the pitiless afternoon
+sun, was deeply lined: the broad shoulders were stooped a little, and
+the serene eyes dimmed as though by mist. In the moment he seemed to
+have crossed the dividing line between maturity and age.
+
+Allison was about to suggest that they take a walk after luncheon,
+having Madame Bernard's household in mind as the ultimate object, but,
+before he could speak, the Colonel had turned away from the window.
+
+"Some day you'll marry, lad," he said, in a strange tone.
+
+Allison smiled and shrugged his shoulders doubtfully.
+
+"And then," the Colonel continued, with a little catch in his voice,
+"the house will be none too large for two--for you two."
+
+Very rarely, and for a moment only, Allison looked like his mother. For
+an instant she lived again in her son's eyes, then vanished.
+
+"Dad," he said, gently, "I'm sure you wouldn't desert me even if I did
+marry. You've stood by me too long."
+
+The stooped shoulders straightened and the Colonel smiled. "Do you mean
+that--if you married, you'd still--want me?"
+
+"Most assuredly."
+
+"She wouldn't."
+
+"If she didn't," returned Allison, lightly, "she wouldn't get me. Not
+that I'm any prize to be wrangled over by the fair sex, individually or
+collectively, but you and I stand together, Dad, and don't you forget
+it."
+
+The Colonel cleared his throat, tried to speak, then stopped abruptly.
+"I have been thinking," he continued, with a swift change of mood and
+subject, "that we might manage a dinner party. We're much indebted to
+Madame Bernard."
+
+"Good idea! I don't know what sort of party it would prove to be, but,
+if we did our best, it would be all right with them. Anyhow, Aunt
+Francesca would give an air to it."
+
+"So would the others, Miss Rose especially."
+
+"I wonder why Aunt Francesca didn't marry again," mused Allison.
+
+"Because her heart is deep enough to hold a grave."
+
+"You knew her husband, didn't you?"
+
+"He was my best friend," answered the Colonel, a little sadly. "How the
+years separate and destroy, and blot out the things that count for the
+most!"
+
+"I wonder how she happened to be named 'Francesca.' It isn't an American
+name."
+
+"She wasn't. Her name was 'Mary Frances,' and he changed it to 'Marie
+Francesca.' So she has been 'Marie Francesca' ever since, though she
+never uses the 'Marie.' That was his name for her."
+
+"The change suits her someway. Queer idea she has about names fitting
+people, and yet it isn't so queer, either, when you come to think of it.
+Rose might have been named Abigail or Jerusha, yet I believe people
+would have found out she was like a rose and called her by her proper
+name."
+
+Colonel Kent flashed a quick glance at him, but the expression of his
+face had not changed. "And Isabel?" he queried, lightly.
+
+"Isabel's only a kid and it doesn't matter so much whether things fit
+her or not. I've promised to take her to the theatre," he continued,
+irrelevantly, "because Aunt Francesca wants her guest to be amused. I'm
+also commissioned to find some youths about twenty and trot 'em round
+for Isabel's inspection. Do you know of anybody?"
+
+"I've seen only one who might do. There's a lanky boy with unruly hair
+and an expansive smile whom I've seen at the post-office a time or two.
+He usually has a girl with him, but she may be his sister. They look
+astonishingly alike."
+
+"Bet it's the Crosby twins. I'd like to see the little devils, if
+they've grown up."
+
+"They're grown up, whoever they are. The boy is almost as tall as I am
+and his sister doesn't lack much of it."
+
+"I must hunt 'em up. They've already called on Isabel, and perhaps, when
+she returns the call, she'll take me along."
+
+"Who brought them up?" asked the Colonel idly.
+
+"They've brought themselves up, for the last five or six years, and I'm
+of the opinion that they've always done it."
+
+"Let's invite them to the dinner party."
+
+Allison's eyes danced at the suggestion. "All right, but we'll have to
+see 'em first. They may not want to come."
+
+"I've often wondered," mused the Colonel, "why it is so much more
+pleasant to entertain than it is to be entertained. I'd rather have a
+guest any day than to be one."
+
+"And yet," returned Allison, "if you are a guest, you can get away any
+time you want to, within reasonable limits. If you're entertaining,
+you've got to keep it going until they all want to go."
+
+"In that case, it might be better for us if we went to Crosbys'."
+
+"We can do that, too. I think it would be fun, though, to have 'em here.
+We need another man in one sense, though not in another."
+
+"I have frequently had occasion to observe," remarked the Colonel, "that
+many promising dinners are wholly spoiled by the idea that there must be
+an equal number of men and women. One uncongenial guest can ruin a
+dinner more easily than a poor salad--and that is saying a great deal."
+
+"Your salad days aren't over yet, evidently."
+
+"I hope not."
+
+The hour of talk had done the Colonel a great deal of good, and he was
+quite himself again. Some new magazines had come in the afternoon mail
+and lay on the library table. He fingered the paper knife absently as he
+tore off the outer wrappings and threw them into the fire.
+
+"I believe I'll go up and work for a couple of hours," said Allison,
+"and then we'll go out for a walk."
+
+"All right, lad. I'll be ready."
+
+Even after the strains of the violin sounded faintly from upstairs,
+accompanied by a rhythmic tread as Allison walked to and fro, Colonel
+Kent did not begin to cut the leaves.
+
+Instead, he sat gazing into the fire, thinking. Quite unconsciously, for
+years, he had been carrying a heavy burden--the fear that Allison would
+marry and that his marriage would bring separation. Now he was greatly
+reassured. "And yet," he thought, "there's no telling what a woman may
+do."
+
+The sense that his work was done still haunted him, and, resolutely, he
+tried to push it aside. "While there's life, there's work," he said to
+himself. He knew, however, as he had not known before, that Allison was
+past the need of his father, except for companionship.
+
+The old house seemed familiar, yet as though it belonged to another
+life. He remembered the building of it, when, with a girl's golden head
+upon his shoulder, they had studied plans together far into the night.
+As though it were yesterday, their delight at the real beginning came
+back. There was another radiant hour, when the rough flooring for the
+first story was laid, and, with bare scantlings reared, skeleton-like,
+all around them, they actually went into their own house.
+
+One by one, through the vanished years, he sought out the links that
+bound him to the past. The day the bride came home from the honeymoon,
+and knelt, with him, upon the hearth-stone, to light their first fire
+together; the day she came to him, smiling, to whisper to him the secret
+that lay beneath her heart; the long waiting, half fearful and half
+sweet, then the hours of terror that made an eternity of a night, then
+the dawn, that brought the ultimate, unbroken peace which only God can
+change.
+
+Over there, in front of the fireplace in the library, the little mother
+had lain in her last sleep. The heavy scent of tuberoses, the rumble of
+wheels, the slow sound of many feet, and the tiny, wailing cry that
+followed them when he and she went out of their house together for the
+last time--it all came back, but, mercifully, without pain.
+
+Were it not for this divine forgetting, few of us could bear life. One
+can recall only the fact of suffering, never the suffering itself. When
+a sorrow is once healed, it leaves only a tender memory, to come back,
+perhaps, in many a twilight hour, with tears from which the bitterness
+has been distilled.
+
+Slowly, too, by the wonderful magic of the years, unknown joys reveal
+themselves and stand before us, as though risen from the dead. At such
+and such a time, we were happy, but we did not know it. In the midst of
+sorrow, the joy comes back, not reproachfully, but to beckon us on, with
+clearer sight, to those which lie on the path beyond.
+
+He remembered, too, that after the first sharp agony of bereavement was
+over; when he had learned that even Death does not deny Love, he had
+seemed to enter some mysterious fellowship. Gradually, he became aware
+of the hidden griefs of others, and from many unsuspected sources came
+consolation. Even those whom he had thought hard and cold cherished some
+holy of holies--some sacred altar where a bruised heart had been healed
+and the bitterness taken away.
+
+He had come to see that the world was full of kindness; that through the
+countless masks of varying personalities, all hearts beat in perfect
+unison, and that joy, in reality, is immortal, while pain dies in a day.
+
+"And yet," he thought, "how strange it is that life must be nearly over,
+before one fully learns to live."
+
+The fire crackled cheerily on the hearth, the sunbeams danced gaily
+through the old house, spending gold-dust generously in corners that
+were usually dark, and the uncut magazine slipped to the floor. Above,
+the violin sang high and clear. The Colonel leaned back in his chair and
+closed his eyes.
+
+When Allison came down, he was asleep, with the peace of Heaven upon his
+face, and so quiet that the young man leaned over him, a little
+frightened, to wait for the next deep breath. Reassured, he did not wake
+him, but went for his walk alone.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+"THE YEAR'S AT THE SPRING"
+
+Outside, in the grey darkness, the earth was soft with snow. Upon the
+illimitable horizon beyond the mountain peaks were straying gleams of
+dawn, colourless, but none the less surely a promise of daybreak.
+
+Rose had been awake for some time, listening to the ice-clad branches
+that clattered with every passing breeze. A maple bough, tapping on her
+window as ghostly fingers might, had first aroused her from a medley of
+dreams.
+
+She went to the window, shivering a little, and, while she stood there,
+watching the faint glow in the East, the wind changed in quality, though
+it was still cool. Hints of warmth and fragrance were indefinably
+blended with the cold, and Rose laughed as she crept back to bed, for
+she had chanced upon the mysterious hour when the Weaver of the Seasons
+changed the pattern upon the loom.
+
+Having raised another window shade, she could see the dawn from where
+she lay. Tints of gold and amethyst came slowly upon the grey and made
+the horizon delicately iridescent, like mother-of-pearl. Warm and soft
+from the Southland, the first wind of Spring danced merrily into Madame
+Francesca's sleeping garden, thrilling all the life beneath the sod.
+With the first beam of sun, the ice began to drip from the imprisoned
+trees and every fibre of shrub and tree to quiver with aspiration, as
+though a clod should suddenly find a soul.
+
+In the watcher's heart, too, had come another Spring, for once in time
+and tune with the outer world. The heart's seasons seldom coincide with
+the calendar. Who among us has not been made desolate beyond all words
+upon some golden day when the little creatures of the air and meadow
+were life incarnate, from sheer joy of living? Who among us has not come
+home, singing, when the streets were almost impassable with snow, or met
+a friend with a happy, smiling face, in the midst of a pouring rain?
+
+The soul, too, has its own hours of Winter and Spring. Gethsemane and
+Calvary may come to us in the time of roses and Easter rise upon us in a
+December night. How shall we know, in our own agony, of another's
+gladness, or, on that blessed to-morrow when the struggle is over, help
+someone else to bear our own forgotten pain?
+
+True sympathy is possible only when the season of one soul accords with
+that of another, or else when memory, divinely tender, brings back a
+vivid, scarlet hour out of grey, forgotten days, to enable us to share,
+with another, his own full measure of sorrow or of joy.
+
+Ah, but the world was awake at last! Javelin-like, across a field of
+melting snow, went a flash of blue wings, and in Madame Francesca's own
+garden a robin piped his cheery strain upon the topmost bough of a
+dripping tree.
+
+The woman, too, was awake, in every fibre of body and soul. Even her
+finger-tips seemed sentient and alive; her heart was strangely lifted,
+as though by imprisoned wings. She had no doubt of the ultimate hour,
+when he would know also, yet, half-afraid, she shrank from it, as she
+would not have shrunk from pain.
+
+Madame had once remarked that civilisation must have begun not earlier
+than nine in the morning, or later than noon. She had a horror of the
+early breakfast, when the family, cold, but clean, gathers itself around
+the board which only last night was festive and strives valiantly to be
+pleasant. It was almost an axiom with her that human, friendly
+conversation was not possible before nine in the morning.
+
+So, as there was no one else to be pleased, the three women breakfasted
+when and where they chose. If Rose preferred to robe herself
+immaculately in white linen and have her coffee in the dining-room at
+seven, she was at liberty to do so. If she wanted it in her own room, at
+ten, that also was easily managed, but this was the only "movable feast"
+Madame would permit. Luncheon and dinner went precisely by tae clock,
+year in and year out.
+
+Too happy to sleep and yearning to be outdoors, Rose dressed quietly and
+tiptoed down-stairs. She smiled whimsically as the heavy front door
+slammed behind her, wondering if it would wake the others and if they,
+too, would know that it was Spring.
+
+Tips of green showed now and then where the bulbs were planted, and,
+down in the wild garden, when she brushed aside the snow, Rose found a
+blushing hepatica in full bloom. "How indiscreet," she thought, then
+added, to herself, "but what sublime courage it must take to blossom
+now!"
+
+The plump robin, whose winter had evidently been pleasant, hopped about
+the garden after her, occasionally seeking shelter on the lower bough of
+a tree if she turned, or came too near. "Don't be afraid," she called,
+aloud, then laughed, as with a farewell chirp and a flutter of wings,
+the robin took himself beyond the reach of further conversational
+liberties.
+
+Her pulses leaped with abundant life; the wet road lured her eager feet.
+She went out, leaving the gate open, and turned toward the woods, where
+a flock of wild geese, breasting the chill winds far above the river,
+was steadily cleaving a passage to the friendly North.
+
+When she reached the woods, where the white birches stood like shy
+dryads among the oaks, she heard once more the robin's flutelike call.
+It was answered by another, exactly upon the same notes, yet wholly
+different as to quality. Presently, among the trees, she caught a
+glimpse of a tall man, and she paused for an instant, frightened. Then
+her heart leaped and her cheeks burned, as she saw who it was.
+
+"Boy!" she called, clearly. "Oh, Boy!"
+
+Allison turned, startled, then came to her, smiling, hat in hand. "Upon
+my word," he said. "I didn't think there was anyone else mad enough to
+come out at this hour."
+
+"Why it's Spring! Didn't you know?"
+
+"Yes. It came this morning just before sunrise."
+
+"Were you awake?"
+
+"Yes, were you?"
+
+"Of course," she answered. "I couldn't stay in."
+
+"Nor could I."
+
+    "The year's at the spring,
+     And day's at the morn;
+     Morning's at seven;
+     The hill-side's dew-pearled,"
+
+Rose quoted. "You know the rest, don't you?"
+
+"The rest doesn't matter. 'Morning waits at the end of the world--Gypsy,
+come away!'"
+
+"I'll go," she breathed, her eyes fixed on his, "anywhere!"
+
+"To the river, then. The last time I saw it, ice and snow had hidden it
+completely."
+
+The path was narrow until they got out of the woods, so Rose went ahead.
+"I don't believe I fooled that robin by whistling to him," Allison
+continued. "He pretended I did, but I believe he was only trying to be
+polite."
+
+"He wasn't, if it was the same robin I saw in our garden this morning. I
+spoke to him most pleasantly and told him not to be afraid of me, but he
+disappeared with a very brief, chirpy good-bye."
+
+"Don't hurry so," he said, as he came up beside her and assisted her
+over a fallen tree. "We've got the whole day, haven't we?"
+
+"We have all the time there is," laughed Rose. "Everybody has, for that
+matter."
+
+"Have you had your breakfast?"
+
+"No, have you?"
+
+"Far from it. Everybody was asleep when I came out."
+
+"Then you'll have breakfast with me," she said, quickly.
+
+"Thank you," he smiled, "for taking the hint."
+
+"But won't your father miss you?" she queried, with mock seriousness.
+
+"He pays no attention whatever to my irregular habits, and I think
+that's one reason why we get on so well together. It's a wise father who
+knows his own child."
+
+"Especially if it is a wise child," she replied. Her eyes were dancing
+with mirth, a scarlet signal burned on either cheek, and her parted lips
+were crimson. She seemed lovelier to him than ever before.
+
+"Honestly, Rose, you seem to get prettier every day."
+
+"Then," she smiled, "if I were younger, I might eventually become
+dangerous."
+
+"Rose--"
+
+"Old Rose," she interrupted. The high colour faded from her face as she
+spoke and left her pale.
+
+Allison put his hand on her arm and stopped. "Rose, please don't. You're
+not a day older than I am."
+
+"Ten years," she insisted stubbornly, for women are wont to lean upon
+the knife that stabs them and she was in a reckless mood. "When you're
+forty, I'll be fifty."
+
+A shadow crossed his face. "It hurts me, someway, to have you talk so. I
+don't know how--nor why."
+
+In a single swift surge her colour came back. "All right," she answered,
+quietly, "hereafter I'm thirty, also. Thanking you for giving me ten
+more years of life, for I love it so!"
+
+The sun was well up in the heavens when they came to the river, and the
+dark, rippling surface gave back the light in a thousand little dancing
+gleams. The ice was broken, the snow was gone, and fragments of
+shattered crystal went gently toward the open sea, lured by the song of
+the river underneath.
+
+"It doesn't look deep," remarked Rose.
+
+"But it is, nevertheless. I nearly drowned myself here when I was a kid,
+trying to dive to the bottom."
+
+"I'm glad you didn't succeed. What a heavy blow it would have been to
+your father!"
+
+"Dear old Dad," said Allison, gently. "I'm all he has."
+
+"And all he wants."
+
+"It's after eight," Allison complained, looking at his watch, "and I'm
+starving."
+
+"So am I. Likewise my skirts are wet, so we'd better go."
+
+When they reached Madame Bernard's, Rose ordered breakfast in the
+dining-room, for two, then excused herself to put on dry clothing.
+Allison waited before the open fire until she came down, fresh and
+tailor-made, in another gown and a white linen collar.
+
+"I thought women always wore soft, fluffy things in the morning," he
+observed, as they sat down.
+
+"Some do--the fluffy ones, always."
+
+"Who, for instance, are the fluffy ones?"
+
+"Aunt Francesca for one and Isabel for another."
+
+"How long is the kid going to stay?"
+
+"Until she gets ready to go home, I suppose."
+
+"I thought she had no home."
+
+"She hasn't. Poor Isabel is a martyr to the Cause of Woman."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"Her mother is Emancipated, with a large E, and has no time for trifles
+like a daughter. She devotes herself to what she calls the Higher World
+Service."
+
+"So Isabel is stranded, on a desert island."
+
+"Yes, except for us."
+
+"How good you are!" he exclaimed, with honest admiration.
+
+"It was Aunt Francesca," returned Rose, flushing slightly. "I had
+nothing to do with it. She took me from a desert island, too."
+
+"Is Isabel emancipated?"
+
+"Not in the sense that her mother is."
+
+"I don't see but what she is free."
+
+"She is. She can do exactly as she pleases and there is no one to say
+her nay."
+
+"I thought all women did as they please."
+
+"They do, in the sense that we all do as we please. If you make a
+sacrifice, you do it because you can get more pleasure out of making it
+than you would otherwise."
+
+"You've been reading Spencer."
+
+"I plead guilty," she laughed.
+
+"If it's true," he went on, after a moment's pause, "a genuine New
+England conscience must be an unholy joy to its proud possessor."
+
+"It's unholy at all events. One lump, or two?" she asked, as the coffee
+was brought in.
+
+"Two, please."
+
+It seemed very pleasant to Allison to sit there in the warm, sunny room,
+with Rose opposite him, pouring his coffee. There was an air of cosiness
+and domestic peace about it hitherto outside his experience. For the
+first time he was conscious of the peculiar graciousness and sense of
+home that only a home-loving woman may give to a house.
+
+"I like this," he said, as he took the steaming cup. "I'd like to do it
+often."
+
+"We'd like to have you," she returned, hospitably.
+
+"I thought you all had breakfast together at some fixed hour, and early
+at that."
+
+"How little you know Aunt Francesca! You can have breakfast in this
+house in any room you choose, at any hour before noon, all the year
+round. Sometimes we're all together, sometimes only two. Usually,
+however I'm alone, as I seem to get up a little earlier than the
+others."
+
+"I think I'll drop in occasionally, then. It looks as if there'd always
+be somebody to bear me company. Perhaps I'll bring Dad, too. He'd like
+to have you pour his coffee."
+
+There was no mistaking the admiration in Allison's eyes and Rose turned
+hers away. He sat with his back to the dining-room door and she, across
+from him, faced it squarely. For the merest fraction of a second Isabel,
+in a pink silk negligee, stood in the doorway, then vanished, as
+noiselessly as she had come. Her eyes were full of mysterious meaning
+that Rose was powerless to translate.
+
+"I'd enjoy it," Rose said quickly. "I love to pour the coffee and Aunt
+Francesca always lets me on the rare occasions when we breakfast
+together."
+
+If her colour was a little brighter, if her voice was in a higher key,
+if her eyes had changed their expression, Allison did not notice it.
+Yet, in the instant, she had attained a certain dual consciousness--
+there seemed to be two of her. One was the woman of the world, well-
+schooled in self-control, tactful, watchful, ready to smooth any
+awkwardness, and, at every point, to guard her guest. The other was
+Primitive Woman; questioning, curious, and watchful in the sense of
+rivalry. She put it resolutely aside to think about later, and was very
+glad that Allison did not know.
+
+She was greatly relieved when he went home, promising to return later
+for a few hours of work upon a difficult concerto. "We'll do it again,"
+he said, laughing, as he went down the steps. "Ask Aunt Francesca to
+give me a meal ticket, to be used solely for breakfasts, will you?"
+
+Rose only smiled in answer, but waved her hand to him as he went out of
+the gate. She stood pensively in the hall for a moment or two after she
+had closed the door, and would have gone up to her own room had she not
+heard a step at the head of the stairs.
+
+Isabel was coming down, also fresh and tailor-made, with a white linen
+collar and a dashing crimson tie. Rose strolled into the library, took
+up a magazine, sat down, and pretended to read.
+
+"I'm so sorry to be late to breakfast," remarked Isabel, following her.
+"But perhaps it's just as well, as I wasn't invited."
+
+"Nobody was invited," returned Rose, coolly. "I went out for an early
+walk, chanced to meet Mr. Kent, and he invited himself here to
+breakfast."
+
+"I didn't know you were in the habit of taking early walks."
+
+"I'm trying to acquire the habit," answered Rose, with icy sweetness.
+
+"It won't be hard," Isabel said, maliciously, "if they're all equally
+pleasant." She slammed the door as she went out, shutting Rose in the
+library.
+
+For an instant Rose was angry, then her sense of humour triumphed and
+she laughed quietly until the tears came. There was no need now to
+meditate upon that mysterious look in the girl's eyes, for she had
+translated it herself.
+
+"The idea," said Rose to herself. "That foolish little child!" She tried
+to recall the conversation at the breakfast table, and remembered, with
+regret, that they had discussed Isabel quite freely. The thought that
+Isabel might have been listening before she made her presence known came
+forward persistently, though Rose hated herself for it.
+
+Then, with swift resolution, she put all annoying thoughts aside to
+dwell, happily, upon the perfect hour that nothing could ever change or
+spoil. She went into the hall by another door opening out of the
+library, thus avoiding Isabel, and sought her own room, singing to
+herself:
+
+"The year's at the spring,
+  And day's at the morn,
+ The morning's at seven,
+   The hillside's dew-pearled,
+ The lark's on the wing,
+   The snail's on the thorn;
+ God's in His heaven--
+   All's right with the world!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+A KNIGHT-ERRANT
+
+Another mongrel had been added to the Crosby collection, so the canine
+herd now numbered twenty, all in the best of health and spirits. Some
+unpleasantness had been caused at the breakfast table by a gentle hint
+from Juliet to the effect that the dog supply seemed somewhat in excess
+of the demand. She had added insult to injury by threatening to
+chloroform the next dog her brother brought home.
+
+"Huh!" Romeo sneered, "they're as much yours as mine. You brought home
+the spotted one yourself."
+
+"That was only because the boys were teasing him. I didn't want him."
+
+"I've never brought home any without good reasons, and you know it.
+Besides, we've got room here for forty dogs, and they're all fenced in.
+They don't bother anybody."
+
+"Except by barking," complained Juliet.
+
+"They don't bark much unless somebody goes by, and there aren't any
+neighbours near enough to hear 'em, even then."
+
+"They do bark," Juliet put in fretfully. "They bark all the time at
+something. They bark when they're hungry and when they've eaten too
+much, and they bark at the sun and moon and stars, and when they're not
+barking, some or all of 'em are fighting. They drive me crazy."
+
+"Jule," said Romeo, sternly, "I don't see what's the matter with you
+lately. You act like a sissy girl. Go up into the attic and work on the
+trapeze for an hour or two, and you'll feel better. It wouldn't surprise
+me now if you got so sissy that you were afraid of mice and snakes."
+
+Juliet's anger rose to the point of tears. "I'm not afraid of mice," she
+sobbed, "and you know it. And I'll hold a little green snake by the tail
+just as long as you will, so there!"
+
+Man-like, Romeo hated tears. "Shut up, Jule," he said, not unkindly,
+"and we'll arbitrate."
+
+When her sobs ceased and she had washed her face in cold water, they
+calmly argued the question at issue. Romeo candidly admitted that twenty
+dogs might well be sufficient for people of simple tastes and Juliet did
+not deny that only a "sissy girl" would be annoyed by barking.
+Eventually, Romeo promised not to bring home any more dogs unless the
+present supply should be depleted by disappearance or accident, and
+Juliet promised not to chloroform any without his consent. With one
+accord, they decided to fit out the dogs with brown leather collars
+trimmed with yellow and to train the herd to follow the automobile.
+
+"They ought to be trained by the thirtieth of June," observed Romeo. "It
+would make more of a celebration for Uncle if we took 'em along."
+
+"Did you order the monogram put on the automobile?"
+
+"Sure. I told 'em to put 'The Yellow Peril' on each door and on the
+back, and the initials, 'C. T.' above it everywhere." The twins had
+adopted a common monogram, signifying "Crosby Twins." It adorned their
+stationery and their seal, but, as they seldom wrote letters, it had not
+been of much use.
+
+"We might have the initials put on the dogs' collars, too," Juliet
+suggested.
+
+"Sure," assented Romeo, cordially. "Then, if we lose any of 'em on the
+road, we can identify 'em when they're found, and get 'em back."
+
+Juliet saw that she had made a mistake and hoped Romeo would forget
+about it, but vainly, for he lounged over and made a memorandum on the
+slate that hung in the hall.
+
+"I wonder," continued Romeo, thoughtfully, "if the yard is big enough to
+train 'em in. We ought not to go out on the road until the thirtieth."
+
+"That's easy enough," Juliet answered, with a superior air.
+
+"How'd you go about it?" he demanded.
+
+"If they were my dogs and I wanted 'em to follow me in an automobile,
+I'd let 'em fast for a day or two and fill the back seat of the machine
+with raw meat. They'd follow quick enough and be good and lively about
+it, too. They wouldn't need to be trained."
+
+"Jule," said Romeo, solemnly, "will you please forgive me for calling
+you a 'sissy girl'?"
+
+"Sure!" Juliet had learned long before she was twenty, that "forgive
+me," from a man's lips, indicates the uttermost depths of abasement and
+devotion.
+
+"The fasting won't hurt 'em," Romeo continued, eager to change the
+subject. "They're all in good condition now."
+
+"Except the last one. You can see some of his ribs yet."
+
+"You can't by June."
+
+"No, I guess not. Say, Romie, oughtn't she to be coming to see us by
+now?"
+
+"Who?"
+
+"Isabel--what's-her-name. You know, up at Bernard's."
+
+Happy-hearted comrade though she was, Juliet had a secret longing for
+feminine association, at rare intervals. It would be pleasant she
+thought, to go skating sometimes with a girl or two instead of the usual
+crowd of boys. She hated herself fiercely for disloyalty, but the idea
+recurred persistently.
+
+"I'm not up on etiquette," Romeo replied, casually, "but I should think,
+if she wanted to come, she could do it by now. We made a polite call as
+far as I know."
+
+"We didn't leave any cards."
+
+"Cards? What kind of cards?"
+
+"Why, little cards with our names on 'em. People always leave 'em, in
+the books, when they make calls."
+
+Romeo went over to the slate again and made another memorandum. "I'll
+get 'em. What'll we have on 'em?"
+
+"We always go together," Juliet suggested, "so I think one will do. Just
+put on it 'The Crosby Twins,' with our address."
+
+"No need of the address. Everybody who knows us knows where we live."
+
+"Perhaps," Juliet went on, meditatively, "she doesn't like me."
+
+"If she doesn't," Romeo retorted, "I'll know the reason why. Do you
+remember what I did to the red-headed boy from the Ridge who said he
+wouldn't skate with the crowd if there was a girl in it?"
+
+Juliet nodded with satisfaction. "But you know, Romie, you can't hit a
+girl."
+
+"That's so," he admitted disconsolately. "That fresh kid had to wear
+beefsteak over one eye for almost a week."
+
+Juliet laughed at the idea of Isabel with beefsteak bandaged over one
+eye. "We won't worry about things we can't help," she said,
+philosophically. "We've done the proper thing and now it's up to her. If
+she doesn't come before we get the automobile, she doesn't get invited
+to go out in it."
+
+"You bet she doesn't."
+
+The talk quickly turned to the unfailing subject of automobiles. "The
+Yellow Peril" had been ordered and half paid for, but there was delay in
+delivery. The brown clothes trimmed with tan leather had also been
+ordered, as well as the brown felt hats, exactly alike, with yellow
+ribbon bands. They had the goggles and enjoyed glaring fiercely at each
+other through them, especially at meals. Juliet had thought of making a
+veil of yellow chiffon, but Romeo had objected violently. He thought
+they should look as much alike as possible, so she had yielded.
+
+They had decided to make a wide track through the yard and around the
+barn to practise on. Suitable space for the, automobile had already been
+set aside in the barn and safely fenced in beyond the reach of canine
+interference. Romeo had not seen the necessity of the fence until Juliet
+had pointed out that some of the dogs would want to sleep on the leather
+cushions. "It would make it smell so doggy," she had said, "that we'd
+have to call it 'The Yellow Dog' instead of 'The Yellow Peril.'"
+
+Romeo, with true masculine detachment, could talk automobile with
+unfailing enthusiasm, and yet think continually about something else.
+The thought that Isabel might not like Juliet had not occurred to him.
+It seemed impossible that anybody should not like Juliet, for, in the
+fond eyes of her twin, she was the most sane and sensible girl in the
+world.
+
+"Anyhow," thought Romeo as he went to sleep that night, "if Jule wants
+her to come here, she's got to do it, that's all."
+
+He meditated upon the problem for several days without reaching any
+satisfactory conclusion. At last he determined to go up to see Isabel
+himself, and, as he phrased it in his own mind, "see how the land lays."
+It would be difficult to elude Juliet, but, in Romeo's experience, the
+things one determined to do could nearly always be done.
+
+It was an easy matter to make an errand to the City, "to poke 'em up a
+bit about the machine," and to get the visiting cards, which had
+promptly been ordered by mail. Juliet rather insisted upon going along,
+but was easily dissuaded by the fact that "there might be a row, and
+anyway, it's a man's job."
+
+He came home about dusk with several packages, one of which he carefully
+concealed under a pile of leaves in the fence corner just inside the
+yard. He could easily reach through the palings and lift it over the
+fence as he passed.
+
+Juliet admired the cards, was delighted with a box of chocolates and two
+new novels, and condescended to approve of Romeo's new red tie. He had
+gloves in his pocket, but feared to show them to her, gloves being her
+pet object of scorn.
+
+After they had cleared off the table, Romeo strolled over to the window.
+Five of the dogs were gathered about some small object and the yard was
+littered with bits of white. Under his breath Romeo said something that
+sounded like profanity, and Juliet pricked up her ears.
+
+"What's the matter?" she demanded.
+
+"I brought home some flowers," explained Romeo, carefully, for it was
+written in the covenant that the twins should never, under any
+circumstances, lie to each other, "and I must have dropped 'em. The dogs
+have torn 'em to pieces, box and all."
+
+Juliet clapped her hands gleefully. "I'm glad of it!"
+
+"Why?" he asked quickly, with an uneasy sense that she was a mind-
+reader.
+
+"Because we've got so many dogs."
+
+Romeo chose to take offence at the innocent remark and relapsed into
+gloomy silence. Disdaining to speak, Juliet curled up on the decrepit
+sofa with a book and the chocolates, and presently went to sleep.
+
+"Fortune favours the brave," he quoted to himself, as he tiptoed into
+the kitchen, cautiously closing the door. A subtle perfume filled the
+room and he sniffed appreciatively. An open bottle of vanilla extract
+stood on the kitchen table, where a pan of fudges was cooling, marked
+off into neat squares. He wrapped the pan in a newspaper, anointed his
+handkerchief liberally with the fragrant extract, and softly stole out
+into the night.
+
+The dogs followed him to the back fence, but did not bark. Only a few
+soft whines followed him as he sped down the road, thrilled with a sense
+of adventure and romance. If Juliet should happen to wake, she would
+think he had gone away because he was angry, and never need know that
+like some misunderstood knight of old, he was merely upon an errand of
+chivalry for her. The fudges would do as well as the calla lilies,
+probably, though he felt instinctively that they were not quite as
+elegant.
+
+It was a long way to Madame Bernard's, and Juliet's knight-errant was
+weary, after an exhausting day in town. He paused outside the gate long
+enough to clean the dust from his shoes with the most soiled of his two
+handkerchiefs, then went boldly up the steps and rang the bell.
+
+He was embarrassed to find Colonel Kent and Allison there, though the
+younger man's tact speedily set him at ease again, and enabled him to
+offer Isabel the pan of fudges with unwonted grace of manner. Then he
+went over to Madame Bernard.
+
+"Juliet couldn't come to-night," he said, "but here's our card."
+
+Madame could not repress a smile as she read "The Crosby Twins" engraved
+in the fashionable script of the moment. "How very original," she said,
+kindly. "Nobody but you and Juliet would have thought of it."
+
+"Jule thought of it," he replied, with evident pride. "She's more up on
+etiquette than I am."
+
+"If it's proper for husband and wife to have their names engraved on the
+same card," Madame went on, "it must be all right for twins."
+
+"It's more proper," Romeo returned, "because nobody is so much related
+as twins are. Husband and wife are only relatives by marriage."
+
+Colonel Kent laughed appreciatively. "Good! May I have some of Miss
+Isabel's candy?"
+
+Isabel, convulsed with secret mirth, informally passed the pan, and only
+Romeo refused. "I can have 'em any time," he said, generously. "Doesn't
+Jule make dandy fudges, though?"
+
+Everybody agreed that she did. Madame Francesca expressed something more
+than conventional regret that Juliet had not been able to come. "She was
+asleep," Romeo explained, with studied indifference.
+
+"After she wakes," suggested Colonel Kent, "we'd like very much to have
+you both come to our house to dinner."
+
+"Thank you," replied Romeo, somewhat stiffly. "We'd be very much
+pleased." Then to himself, he added: "That was a lie, but it wasn't to
+Jule, so it doesn't matter."
+
+Rose made friendly inquiries about the dogs and told Allison that Romeo
+was said to have the finest collection of fishing tackle in the State.
+Much gratified, Romeo invited Allison to go fishing with him as soon as
+the season opened, and, as an afterthought, politely included the
+Colonel.
+
+"I've never been fishing," remarked Isabel, as she could think of
+nothing else to say.
+
+"Girls are an awful bother in a boat," Romeo returned, with youthful
+candour. "That is, except Juliet."
+
+Isabel flushed faintly and bit her lips. To relieve an awkward pause,
+Madame Francesca asked Allison to play something.
+
+"Yes," said Romeo, "go on and play." He meant to be particularly
+courteous, but his tone merely indicated that he would not be seriously
+annoyed by music.
+
+As the first strains came from the piano and violin, Romeo established
+himself upon the couch beside Isabel, and, in a low, guarded tone, began
+to talk automobile. Isabel was so much interested that she wholly forgot
+Aunt Francesca's old-fashioned ideas about interrupting a player, and
+the conversation became animated.
+
+Both Rose and Allison had too much good sense to be annoyed, but
+occasionally, until the last chord, they exchanged glances of amusement.
+When they stopped, Isabel was saying: "Your suits must be just lovely."
+
+Romeo turned with a lordly wave of the hand. "You don't need to stop. Go
+on!"
+
+"How can you expect us to play properly?" inquired Rose, tactfully,
+"when you're talking about automobiles? We'd much rather listen to you."
+
+"Begin over again, won't you?" asked Allison. He added, with a trace of
+sarcasm wholly lost upon Romeo: "We've missed a good deal of it."
+
+Thus encouraged, Romeo began again, thoughtfully allowing Isabel the
+credit of the original suggestion. He dwelt at length upon the fine
+points involved in the construction of "The Yellow Peril," described the
+brown leather and the specially designed costumes, and was almost
+carried away by enthusiasm when he pictured the triumphant progress of
+the yellow car, followed by twenty dogs in appropriate collars.
+
+"Can you," he inquired of Allison, "think of anything more like a
+celebration that we could do for Uncle?"
+
+"No," replied Allison, choking back a laugh, "unless you went out at
+night, too, and had fireworks."
+
+Romeo's expressive face indicated displeasure. "Uncle was such a good
+man," he said, in a tone of quiet rebuke, "that I don't believe it would
+be appropriate."
+
+Allison coughed and Colonel Kent hastily went to the window. Madame hid
+her face for an instant behind her fan and Isabel laughed openly. "I'm
+sure he was," said Rose, quickly. "Can you remember him at all?"
+
+"No," Romeo responded, "we've never seen him, but he was a brick all the
+same."
+
+"Are you going to run the car yourself?" queried Rose.
+
+"Of course. Some day I'll take you out," he suggested, kindly, then
+turned to Isabel and played his highest trump. "Juliet said something
+about asking you to go with us the second time we went out. Of course
+it's her place to do it."
+
+"I'd love to go," murmured Isabel.
+
+"She'll ask you when you come out to return her call," Romeo continued.
+
+"I've been meaning to come, but I've been waiting for good roads."
+
+"When you come," he answered, "don't say anything about my having been
+here. It might make her feel bad to think I went out calling and left
+her asleep."
+
+"All right--I won't."
+
+As soon as it was possible, without obvious effort, Romeo made his
+escape, after shaking hands with everyone and promising to come again
+very soon. "I'll bring Jule next time. Good-night!"
+
+Once outside, he ran toward home like a hunted wild animal, hoping with
+all his heart that Juliet was still asleep. It was probable, for more
+than once she had slept on the sofa all night.
+
+But the kindly fate that had hitherto guided him suddenly failed him
+now. When he reached home, panting and breathless, having discovered
+that it was almost midnight, a drooping little figure in a torn kimona
+opened the door and fell, weeping into his arms.
+
+"Oh, Romie! Romie!" cried Juliet, hysterically. "Where have you been?"
+
+"There," he said, patting her shoulder awkwardly. "Don't take on so,
+Jule. You were asleep, so I went out for a walk. I met Colonel Kent and
+Allison and I've been with them all the evening. I'm sorry I stayed so
+long."
+
+"I haven't lied," he continued, to himself, exultantly. "Every word is
+the literal truth."
+
+"Oh, Romie," sobbed Juliet, with a fresh burst of tears, "I don't care
+where you've been as long as I've got you back! We're twins and we've
+got to stand by each other!"
+
+Romeo gently extricated himself from her clinging arms, then stooped to
+kiss her wet cheek. "You bet!" he whispered.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+SWEET-AND-TWENTY
+
+Contrary to the usual custom of woman, Isabel was ready fully an hour
+before the appointed time. She stood before the fire, buttoning a new
+glove with the sense of abundant leisure that new gloves demand. The
+dancing flames picked out flashes of light from the silver spangles of
+her gown and sent them into the farthest corners of the room. A long
+white plume nestled against her dark hair and shaded her face from the
+light, but, even in the shadow, she was brilliant, for her eyes sparkled
+and the high colour bloomed upon her cheeks.
+
+Madame Bernard and Rose sat near by, openly admiring her. She was almost
+childish in her delight at the immediate prospect and could scarcely
+wait for Allison to call for her. She went to the window and peered
+eagerly into the darkness, waiting.
+
+"Isabel, my dear," said Madame, kindly, "never wait at the window for an
+unmarried man. Nor," she added as an afterthought, "for a married man,
+unless he happens to be your own husband."
+
+Isabel turned back into the room, smiling, her colour a little brighter
+than before. "Why not?"
+
+"Men keep best," returned Madame, somewhat enigmatically, "in a cool,
+dry atmosphere. If you'll remember that fact, it may save you trouble in
+the years to come."
+
+"Such worldly wisdom," laughed Rose, "from such an unworldly woman!"
+
+"I do love the theatre," Isabel sighed, "and I haven't seen a play for a
+long time."
+
+"I'm afraid we haven't done as much as we might to make it pleasant for
+you," Madame continued, regretfully, "but we'll try to do better and
+doubtless can, now that the weather is improving."
+
+"It's been lots nicer than staying alone in a hotel," the girl answered.
+"I used to go to the matinee a good deal, but I didn't know very many
+people and it's no fun to go alone. Don't you and Rose ever go, Aunt
+Francesca?"
+
+"I go sometimes," said Rose, "but I can't even get her started."
+
+The little grey lady laughed and tapped the arm of her chair with her
+folded fan. "I fully agree with the clever man who said that 'life would
+be very endurable were it not for its pleasures.' Far back, somewhere,
+there must be a strain of Scotch ancestry in me, for I 'take my pleasure
+sadly.'"
+
+"Which means," commented Rose, "that the things other people find
+amusing do not necessarily amuse you."
+
+"Possibly," Madame assented, with a shrug of her delicate shoulders,
+"but unless I'm obliged to, I won't sit in an uncomfortable chair, in a
+crowd, surrounded by many perfumes unhappily mixed, be played to by a
+bad orchestra, walked on at will by rude men, and, in the meantime,
+watch the exaggerated antics of people who cannot make themselves heard,
+even in a room with only three sides to it."
+
+"I took her to a 'musical comedy' once, in a frivolous moment,"
+explained Rose, "and she's never forgiven me."
+
+"Why remind me of it?" questioned Madame. "I've been endeavouring for
+years to forget it."
+
+Isabel's eyes wandered anxiously to the clock. She had a strong impulse
+to go to the window again, but remembered that Madame would not approve.
+
+Presently there was the sound of wheels outside, and Allison, very
+handsome in his evening clothes, came in with an apology for his
+tardiness. After greeting Madame Bernard and Rose, he bowed to Isabel,
+with a mock deference which, none the less, contained subtle flattery.
+
+"Silver Girl," he said, "you do me too much honour. I'm not at all sure
+that one escort is sufficient for so much loveliness."
+
+Isabel smiled, then dimpled irresistibly. She had a secret sense of
+triumph which she did not stop to analyse.
+
+"Come," he said. "In the words of the poet, 'the carriage waits.'"
+
+They said good-night to the others, and went out. There was silence in
+the room until the sound of wheels had quite died away, then Rose
+sighed. With a swift pang, she envied Isabel's glorious youth, then the
+blood retreated from her heart in shame.
+
+Madame sighed too, but for a different reason. "I suppose I shouldn't
+say it," she remarked, "but it's a relief to have that dear child out of
+the house for a little while."
+
+"It's kind of Allison to take her," Rose answered, trying not to wish
+that she might change places with Isabel.
+
+"Very kind. The Kents are singularly decent about everything. I suppose
+it was Allison who managed to have Romeo Crosby call upon her the other
+evening."
+
+"I hardly think so. You remember that Allison hadn't seen him since he
+grew up."
+
+"Shot up, you mean. How rapidly weeds grow!"
+
+"Are the twins weeds?"
+
+"I think so. Still, they're a wholesome and stimulating sort, even
+though they have done just as they pleased."
+
+The fire died down into embers. The stillness would have been unbearable
+had it not been for the steady ticking of the clock. Madame leaned back
+in her chair and closed her eyes. Rose tried to read, but could not
+concentrate her mind upon the page.
+
+Her thoughts were far away, with the two who had so recently left the
+house. In fancy she saw the brilliantly lighted streets, the throng of
+pleasure seekers and pretty women in gay attire. She heard the sound of
+wheels, the persistent "honk-honk" of motor cars, and, in the playhouse,
+the crash of cymbals and drums. Somewhere in the happy crowd were
+Allison and Isabel, while she sat in silence at home.
+
+Madame Francesca stirred in her chair. "I've been asleep, I think."
+
+"You're not going to wait until they come home, are you?"
+
+"Why should I? Isabel has a key."
+
+Rose remembered how Aunt Francesca had invariably waited for her, when
+some gallant cavalier had escorted her to opera or play, and was
+foolishly glad, for no discoverable reason.
+
+"I was dreaming," Madame went on, drowsily, "of the little house where
+Love lived."
+
+"Where was it?" asked Rose gently.
+
+"You know. I've told you of the little house in the woods where I went
+as a bride, when I was no older than Isabel. When we turned the key and
+went away, we must have left some of our love there. I've never been
+back, but I like to think that some of the old-time sweetness is still
+in the house, shut away like a jewel of great price, safe from meddling
+hands."
+
+Only once before, in the fifteen years they had lived together, had
+Madame Bernard spoken of her brief marriage, yet Rose knew, by a
+thousand little betrayals, that the past was not dead, but vitally
+alive.
+
+"I can bear it," said Madame, half to herself, "because I have been his
+wife. If he had been taken away before we were married, I should have
+gone, too. But now I have only to wait until God brings us together
+again."
+
+Outwardly, Rose was calm and unperturbed; inwardly, tense and unstrung.
+She wondered if, at last, the sorrow had been healed enough for speech.
+Upstairs there was a room that was always locked. No one but Aunt
+Francesca ever entered it, and she but rarely. Once or twice, Rose had
+chanced to see her coming through the open door, transfigured by some
+spiritual exaltation too great for words. For days afterward there was
+about her a certain uplift of soul, fading gradually into her usual
+serenity.
+
+Mr. Boffin stalked in, jumped into Madame's lap, and began to purr
+industriously. She laughed as she stroked his tawny head and the purr
+increased rapidly in speed and volume.
+
+"Don't let him burst himself," cautioned Rose, welcoming the change of
+mood. "I never knew a cat to purr so--well, so thoroughly, did you?"
+
+"He's lost his hold of the brake," Madame answered. "Are you going to
+wait until Isabel comes home?"
+
+"Of course not."
+
+"Then let's go up and read for a little while."
+
+Rose waited until Madame was half way up the long flight before she
+turned down the lights and followed her. It made a pretty picture--the
+little white-haired lady in grey on the long stairway, with the yellow
+cat upon her shoulder, looking back with the inscrutable calmness of the
+Sphinx.
+
+Rose felt that, for herself, sleep would be impossible until Isabel
+returned. She hoped that Aunt Francesca would not want her to read
+aloud, but, as it chanced, she did. However, the chosen book was of the
+sort which banishes insomnia, and, in less than an hour, Madame was
+sound asleep, with Mr. Boffin purring in his luxurious silk-lined basket
+at the foot of her bed.
+
+Alone in her own room, Rose waited, frankly jealous of her young cousin
+and fiercely despising herself for it. She recalled the happy hours she
+and Allison had spent with their music and berated herself bitterly for
+her selfishness, but to no avail. As the hours dragged by, every moment
+seemed an eternity. Worn by her unaccustomed struggle with self, she
+finally slept.
+
+Meanwhile, Isabel was the gayest of the gay. The glittering lights of
+the playhouse formed a fitting background for her, and Allison watched
+her beautiful, changing face with an ever-increasing sense of delight.
+The play itself was an old story to him, but the girl was a new
+sensation, and while she watched the mimic world beyond the footlights,
+he watched her.
+
+The curtain of the first act descended upon a woman, waiting at the
+window for a man who did not come, and, most happily, Isabel remembered
+the conversation at home in the earlier part of the evening.
+
+"Foolish woman," she said, "to wait at the window."
+
+"Why?" asked Allison, secretly amused.
+
+"I wouldn't wait at the window for an unmarried man, nor for a married
+man, either, unless he was my own husband."
+
+"Why?" he asked, again.
+
+"Because men keep best in a cool dry atmosphere. Didn't you know that?"
+
+"How did you happen to discover it, Sweet-and-Twenty?"
+
+Isabel answered with a smile, which meant much or little, as one chose.
+Presently she remembered something else that happened to be useful.
+
+"Look," she said, indicating a man in the front seat who had fallen
+asleep. "He's taking his pleasure sadly."
+
+"Perhaps he's happier to be asleep. He may not care for the play."
+
+"Somebody once said," she went on hastily, seeing that she was making a
+good impression, "that life would be very endurable were it not for its
+pleasures."
+
+Allison laughed. He had the sense of discovering a bright star that had
+been temporarily overshadowed by surrounding planets.
+
+"I didn't know you could talk so well," he observed, with evident
+admiration.
+
+Isabel flushed with pleasure--not guilt. She had no thought of sailing
+under false colours, but reflected the life about her as innocently as a
+mirror might, if conveniently placed.
+
+Repeated curtain calls for the leading woman, at the end of the third
+act, delayed the final curtain by the few minutes that would have
+enabled them to catch the earlier of the two theatre trains. Allison was
+not wholly displeased, though he feared that Aunt Francesca and Rose
+might be unduly anxious about Isabel. As they had more than an hour and
+a half to wait, before the last train, he suggested going to a popular
+restaurant.
+
+Thrilled with pleasure and excitement, she eagerly consented.
+Fortunately, she did not have to talk much, for the chatter of the gay
+crowd, and the hard-working orchestra made conversation difficult, if
+not impossible.
+
+"I've never been in a place like this before," she ventured. "So late, I
+mean."
+
+"But you enjoy it, don't you?"
+
+"Oh, yes! So much!" The dark eyes that turned to his were full of happy
+eagerness, like a child's.
+
+Allison's pulses quickened, with man's insatiable love of Youth. "We'll
+do it again," he said, "if you'll come with me."
+
+"I will, if Aunt Francesca will let me."
+
+"She's willing to trust you with me, I think. She's known me ever since
+I was born and she helped father bring me up. Aunt Francesca has been
+like a mother to me."
+
+"She says she doesn't care for the theatre," resumed Isabel, who did not
+care to talk about Aunt Francesca, "but I love it. I believe I could go
+every night."
+
+"Don't make the mistake of going too often to see what pleases you, for
+you might tire of it. Perhaps plays 'keep best in a cool, dry
+atmosphere,' as you say men do."
+
+"You're laughing at me," she said, reproachfully.
+
+"Indeed I'm not. I knew a man once who fell desperately in love with a
+woman, and, as soon as he found that she cared for him, he started for
+the uttermost ends of the earth."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"That they might not risk losing their love for each other, through
+satiety. You know it's said to die more often of indigestion than
+starvation."
+
+"I don't know anything about it," she murmured with downcast eyes.
+
+"You will, though, before long. Some awkward, half-baked young man about
+twenty will come to you, bearing the divine fire."
+
+"I don't know any," she answered.
+
+"How about the pleasing child who called upon you the other night, with
+the imported bonbons?" Allison's tone was not wholly kind, for he had
+just discovered that he did not like Romeo Crosby.
+
+Isabel became fairly radiant with smiles.
+
+"Wasn't he too funny?"
+
+"He's all right," returned Allison, generously, "I'm afraid, however,
+that he'll be taking you out so much that I won't have a chance."
+
+"Oh, no!" said Isabel, softly. Then she added with frankness utterly
+free from coquetry, "I like you much better."
+
+"Really? Why, please?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know. You're so much more, well, grown-up, you know, and
+more refined."
+
+"Thank you, I'm glad the slight foreign polish distinguishes me
+somewhat"
+
+"Cousin Rose said you were very distinguished." She watched him narrowly
+as she spoke.
+
+"So is Cousin Rose. In fact, no one could be more so," he answered, with
+evident approval.
+
+"Is she going to play your accompaniments for you, when you begin the
+season?"
+
+A shadow crossed his face. "I'm afraid not. I wish she could."
+
+"Why can't she?"
+
+"On account of Madame Grundy. It wouldn't be proper."
+
+"I don't see why," objected Isabel, daringly. "She's ten years older
+than you are."
+
+Allison bit his lips and the expression of his face subtly changed.
+"You're ten years younger," he replied, coldly, "and I couldn't take
+you. That doesn't make any difference."
+
+Seeing that she had made a mistake, Isabel sat quietly in her chair and
+watched the people around her until it was time to go. Greatly to her
+delight, they went to the station in an automobile.
+
+"Isn't this glorious!" she cried. "I'm so glad the Crosbys are going to
+have one. I hope they'll take me often."
+
+With the sure instinct of Primitive Woman, she had said the one thing
+calculated to make Allison forget his momentary change of mood.
+
+"I'm sorry I have none," he said. "'Romeo Romeo, wherefore art thou
+Romeo?' How times have changed! The modern Lochinvar has a touring-car,
+and some day you'll be eloping in the most up-to-date fashion."
+
+"What makes you talk to me about him?" queried Isabel, with uplifted
+eyes. "You know I don't like him."
+
+"All right," he answered, good-naturedly. "I won't. I hope Aunt
+Francesca won't be worried about you because we're so late in getting
+back."
+
+"I don't see why she should mind. Mamma never cares what I do. She's
+often been away for weeks, lecturing, and I've been in the hotel alone."
+
+He repressed the uncharitable comment that was upon his lips and
+reverted to the subject of the play. "I'm glad you've enjoyed it. I
+wanted you to have a good time."
+
+"I've had the best time I ever had in my life," she responded, with
+evident sincerity. "Isn't it wonderful what they can do with a room that
+has only three sides?"
+
+"It surely is. I've had a good time, too, Silver Girl. Thank you for
+coming."
+
+"You're welcome," she returned sweetly.
+
+The carriage was waiting at the station, and Isabel was very quiet all
+the way home. Thinking that she must be tired, Allison said little until
+they reached Madame Bernard's, and he had seen her safely into the
+house. He insisted upon taking off her gloves and coat and would have
+extended his friendly services to her hat, had she not laughingly
+forbade him to touch it.
+
+"Good-night," he said. "We'll go again soon."
+
+"All right. Good-night, and thank you ever so much."
+
+The sound of the key in the lock had wakened Rose from her uneasy sleep.
+She heard their laughter, though she could not distinguish what they
+said, and recognised a new tone in Allison's voice. She heard the door
+close, the carriage roll away, and, after a little, Isabel's hushed
+footsteps on the stairs. Then another door closed softly and a light
+glimmered afar into the garden until the shade was drawn.
+
+Wide-eyed and fearful, she slept no more, for the brimming Cup of Joy,
+that had seemed within her reach, was surely beyond it now. Oppressed
+with loss and pain, her heart beat slowly, as though it were weary of
+living. Until daybreak she wondered if he, too, was keeping the night
+watch, from a wholly different point of view.
+
+But, man-like, Allison had long ago gone to sleep, in the big Colonial
+house beyond the turn in the road, idly humming to himself:
+
+  Come and kiss me, Sweet-and-Twenty;
+  Youth's a stuff will not endure!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+KEEPING THE FAITH
+
+Colonel Kent and Allison critically surveyed the table, where covers
+were laid for seven. "Someway it lacks the 'grand air' of Madame
+Bernard's," commented the Colonel, "yet I can't see anything wrong, can
+you?"
+
+"Not a thing," Allison returned. "The 'grand air' you allude to comes, I
+think, from Aunt Francesca herself. When she takes her place opposite
+you, I'm sure we shall compare very favourably with our neighbours."
+
+The Crosby twins arrived first, having chartered the station hack for
+the evening. As the minds of both were above such minor details as
+clothes, their attire was of the nondescript variety, but their
+exuberant youth and high spirits gallantly concealed all defects and the
+tact of their hosts quickly set them both at their ease.
+
+Romeo somewhat ostentatiously left their card upon the mantel, so placed
+that all who came near might read in fashionable script: "The Crosby
+Twins." Having made this concession to the conventionalities, he lapsed
+at once into an agreeable informality that amused the Colonel very much.
+
+Soon the Colonel was describing some of the great battles in which he
+had taken part, and Romeo listened with an eager interest which was all
+the more flattering because it was so evidently sincere. In the library,
+meanwhile, Allison was renewing his old acquaintance with Juliet.
+
+"You used to be a perfect little devil," he smiled.
+
+"I am yet," Juliet admitted, with a frank laugh. "At least people say
+so. Romie and I aren't popular with our neighbours."
+
+"That doesn't speak well for the neighbours. Were they never young
+themselves?"
+
+"I don't believe so. I've thought, sometimes, that lots of people were
+born grown-up."
+
+"They say abroad, that there are no children in America--that they are
+merely little people treated like grown-ups."
+
+"The modern American child is a horror," said Juliet, unconsciously
+quoting from an article in a recent magazine. "They're ill bred and they
+don't mind, and there's nobody who wants to make 'em mind except people
+who have no authority to do it."
+
+"Why is it?" inquired Allison, secretly amused.
+
+"Because spanking has gone out of fashion," she answered, in all
+seriousness. "It takes so much longer for moral suasion to work. Romie
+and I never had any 'moral suasion,'--we were brought up right."
+
+Juliet's tone indicated a deep filial respect for her departed parents
+and there was a faraway look in her blue eyes which filled Allison with
+tender pity.
+
+"You must be lonely sometimes," he said, kindly.
+
+"Lonely?" repeated Juliet in astonishment; "why, how could I ever be
+lonely with Romie?"
+
+"Of course you couldn't be lonely when he was there, but you must miss
+him when he's away from you."
+
+"He's never away," she answered, with a toss of her curly head. "We're
+most always together, unless he goes to town--or up to your house," she
+added, as an afterthought.
+
+Allison was about to say that Romeo had never been there before, but
+wisely kept silent.
+
+"Twins are the most related of anybody," Juliet went on. "An older
+brother or sister may get ahead of you and be so different that you
+never catch up, but twins have to trot right along together. It's just
+the difference between tandem and double harness."
+
+"Suppose Romeo should marry?" queried Allison, carelessly.
+
+"I'd die," replied Juliet, firmly, her cheeks burning as with flame.
+
+"Or suppose you married?"
+
+"Then Romie would die," she answered, with conviction. "We've both
+promised not to get married and we always keep our promises to each
+other."
+
+"And to other people, too?"
+
+"Not always. Sometimes it's necessary to break a promise, or to lie, but
+never to each other. If Romie asks me anything I don't want to tell him,
+I just say 'King's X,' and if I ask him anything, he says 'it's none of
+your business,' and it's all right. Twins have to be square with each
+other."
+
+"Don't you ever quarrel?"
+
+"We may differ, and of course we have fought sometimes, but it doesn't
+last long. We can always arbitrate. Say, do you know Isabel Ross?"
+
+"I have that pleasure. She's coming to dinner to-night, with Aunt
+Francesca and Miss Rose."
+
+"Oh," said Juliet, in astonishment. "If I'd known that, I'd have dressed
+up more. I thought it was just us."
+
+"It is 'just us,'" he assured her, kindly; "a very small and select
+party composed of our most charming neighbours, and believe me, my dear
+Miss Juliet, that nobody could possibly be 'dressed up more.'"
+
+Juliet bloomed with pleasure and her eyes sparkled. "Isabel came out to
+see us," she continued, "and I don't think she had a good time. We
+showed her all our fishing rods, and let her help us make fudges, and we
+did stunts for her on the trapeze in the attic, and Romie told her she
+could have any one of our dogs, but she said she didn't want it, and she
+wouldn't stay to supper. I guess she thought I couldn't cook just
+because she can't. Romie said if I'd make another chocolate cake like
+the one I made the day after she was there, he'd take it up to her and
+show her whether I could cook or not."
+
+"I believe he would," returned Allison, with a trace of sarcasm which
+Juliet entirely missed. Then he laughed at the vision of Romeo bearing
+the proof of his twin's culinary skill into Madame Bernard's living
+room.
+
+"You come out and see us," urged Juliet, hospitably.
+
+"I will, indeed. May I have a dog?"
+
+"They're Romie's and I can't give 'em away, but I guess he could spare
+you one. Would you rather have a puppy or a full-grown dog?"
+
+"I'd have to see 'em first," he replied, tactfully steering away from
+the danger of a choice. He had not felt the need of a dog and was merely
+trying to be pleasant.
+
+"There's plenty to see," she went on, with a winning smile. "I like dogs
+myself but we fought once because I thought we had too many. We've named
+'em all out of an old book we found in the attic. There's Achilles, and
+Hector, and Persephone, and Minerva, and Circe and Juno, and Priam, and
+Eurydice, and goodness knows how many more. Romie knows all their names,
+but I don't."
+
+Hearing the sound of wheels outside, Colonel Kent, with a certain old-
+fashioned hospitality to which our generation might happily return, went
+to open the door himself for his expected guests. Juliet went hastily to
+the mirror to make sure that her turbulent curls were in order, and
+Romeo intercepted Allison on his way to the door.
+
+"I heard what she said," Romeo remarked, in a low tone, "about my having
+been up here, but I didn't tell her I was here. I don't lie to Jule, but
+I'm responsible only for what I say, not for what she thinks."
+
+Allison smiled with full understanding of the situation. "We men have to
+be careful what we say to women," he replied, with an air of caution and
+comradeship that made his young guest feel like a full-fledged man of
+the world.
+
+"Sure," assented Romeo, with a broad grin and a movement of one eyelid
+which was almost--but not quite--a wink.
+
+Presently the three other guests came in, followed by the Colonel.
+Madame Francesca was in white silk over which violets had been scattered
+with a lavish hand, then woven into the shining fabric. She wore violets
+in her hair and at her belt, and a single amethyst at her throat. Isabel
+was in white, with flounces of spangled lace, and Rose was unusually
+lovely in a gown of old gold satin and a necklace of palest topaz. In
+her dark hair was a single yellow rose.
+
+Juliet was for the moment aghast at so much magnificence and painfully
+conscious of her own white muslin gown. Madame Francesca, reading her
+thought, drew the girl's tall head down and kissed her. "What a clover
+blossom you are," she said, "all in freshest white, with pink cheeks and
+sunshiny curls!"
+
+Thus fortified, Juliet did not mind Isabel's instinctive careful
+appraisement of her gown, and she missed, happily, the evident
+admiration with which Romeo's eyes followed Isabel's every movement.
+
+"Why didn't you tell me?" Allison was asking Rose, "so I could have
+ransacked the town for golden roses?"
+
+"I've repeatedly done it myself," laughed Rose, "without success. I
+usually save my yellow gowns for June when all the yellow rose bushes in
+the garden may lavish their wealth upon me."
+
+"Happy rose," Allison returned, lightly, "to die in so glorious a
+cause."
+
+The twins were almost at the point of starvation when dinner was
+announced, though they had partaken liberally of bread and butter and
+jam just before leaving home. Romeo had complained a little but had not
+been sufficiently Spartan to refuse the offered refreshment.
+
+"I don't see why you want to feed me now and spoil my dinner," he
+grumbled, as he reached out for a second slice.
+
+"I don't want to spoil your dinner," Juliet had answered, with her mouth
+full. "Can't you see I'm eating, too? We don't want to be impolite when
+we're invited out, and eat too much."
+
+"You've been reading the etiquette book," remarked Romeo, with unusual
+insight, "and there's more foolish things in that book than in any other
+we've got. When we're invited out to eat, why shouldn't we eat? They may
+have been cooking for days just to get ready for us and they won't like
+it if we only pick at things."
+
+"Maybe they want some left," Juliet replied, brushing aside the crumbs.
+"I remember how mad Mamma was once when the minister ate two pieces of
+pie and she had to make another the next day or divide one piece between
+you and me."
+
+"I'll bet she made another. She always fed us, and I remember that the
+kids around the corner couldn't even have bread and molasses between
+meals."
+
+On the way to the dining-room, Juliet drew her brother aside and
+whispered to him: "watch the others, then you'll be sure of getting the
+right fork."
+
+"Huh!" he returned, resentfully, having been accustomed to only one fork
+since he and Juliet began to keep house for themselves.
+
+When he saw the array of silver at his plate, however, he blessed her
+for the hint. As the dinner progressed by small portions of oysters,
+soup, and fish, he gratefully remembered the bread and jam. The twins
+noted that the others always left a little on their plates, but proudly
+disdained the subterfuge for themselves.
+
+Madame Francesca sat opposite the Colonel and Rose was at his right.
+Romeo sat next to her and across from them was Allison, between Isabel
+and Juliet.
+
+Somewhat subdued by the unfamiliar situation, the twins said very little
+during dinner. Juliet took careful note of the appointments of the table
+and dining-room, and of the gowns the other women wore. When Romeo was
+not occupied with his dinner and the various forks, he watched Isabel
+with frank admiration, and wondered what made the difference between her
+and Juliet.
+
+Everybody tried to produce general conversation, but could extract only
+polite monosyllables from the twins. Questions addressed directly to
+them were briefly answered by "yes" or "no," or "I don't know," or, more
+often, by a winning smile which included them all.
+
+Had it not been for Madame Francesca, gallantly assisted by the Colonel,
+the abnormal silence of the younger guests might have reacted
+unfavourably upon the entertainment, for Isabel was as quiet as she
+usually was, in the presence of her aunt and cousin, Allison became
+unable to think of topics of general interest, and Rose's efforts to
+talk pleasantly while her heart was aching were no more successful than
+such efforts usually are.
+
+But Madame Francesca, putting aside the burden of her seventy years,
+laughed and talked and told stories with all the zest of a girl.
+Inspired by her shining example, the Colonel dragged forth a few musty
+old anecdotes and offered them for inspection. They were new to the
+younger generation, and Madame affected to find them new also.
+
+Rose wondered at her, as often, envying her the gift of detachment. The
+fear that had come upon Rose at midnight was with her still, haunting
+her, waking or sleeping, like some evil thing. Proudly she said to
+herself that she would seek no man, though her heart should break for
+love of him; that though her soul writhed in anguish, neither he nor the
+woman who took him from her should ever even suspect she cared.
+
+She forced herself to meet Allison's eyes with a smile, to answer his
+questions, and to put in a word, now and then, when Madame or the
+Colonel paused. Yet, with every sense at its keenest, she noted Isabel's
+downcast eyes, the self-conscious air with which Allison spoke to her,
+and the exaggerated consideration of Juliet which he instinctively
+adopted as a shield. She saw, too, that Isabel was secretly annoyed
+whenever Allison spoke to Juliet, and easily translated the encouraging
+air with which Isabel met Romeo's admiring glances. Once, when he
+happened to turn quickly enough to see, a shadow crossed Allison's face,
+and he bit his lips.
+
+"How civilised the world has become," Madame was saying, lightly. "The
+mere breaking of bread together precludes all open hostility. Bitter
+enemies may meet calmly at the dinner table of a mutual friend, and I
+understand that, in the higher circles in which we do not care to move,
+a man may escort his divorced wife out to dinner, and, without
+bitterness, congratulate her upon her approaching marriage."
+
+"I've often thought," returned the Colonel, more seriously, "that the
+modern marriage service should be changed to read 'until death or
+divorce do us part.' It's highly inconsistent as it stands."
+
+"'Consistency is the hobgoblin of little minds,'" she quoted.
+"Inconsistency goes as far toward making life attractive as its
+pleasures do toward spoiling it."
+
+"What do you call pleasure?" queried Allison.
+
+"The unsought joy. If you go out to hunt for it, you don't often get it.
+When you do, you've earned it and are entitled to it. True pleasure is a
+free gift of the gods, like a sense of humour."
+
+By some oblique and unsuspected way, the words brought a certain comfort
+to Rose. Without bitterness, she remembered that Allison had once said:
+"In any true mating, they both know." Over and over again she said to
+herself, stubbornly: "I will have nothing that is not true--nothing that
+is not true."
+
+It was a wise hostess who discovered the fact that changing rooms may
+change moods; that many a successful dinner has an aftermath in the
+drawing-room as cold and dismal as a party call. Madame Francesca had
+once characterised the hour after dinner as "the stick of a sky-rocket,
+which never fails to return and bring disillusion with it." Hence she
+postponed it as long as she could, but the Colonel himself gave the
+signal by moving back his chair.
+
+An awkward pause followed, which lasted until Rose went to the piano of
+her own accord and began to play. At length she drifted into the running
+chords of a familiar accompaniment and Allison took his violin and
+joined in. As he stood by Rose, the mere fact of his nearness brought
+her a strange peace. Had she looked up, she would have seen that though
+he stood so near her, he had eyes only for Isabel and was playing to her
+alone.
+
+Isabel did not seem to care. She sat with her hands folded idly in her
+lap, occasionally glancing at the twins who sat together on a sofa
+across the room. Madame Bernard and the Colonel had gone out on the
+balcony that opened off of the library.
+
+The night was cool, yet had in it the softness of May. Every wandering
+wind brought a subtle, exquisite fragrance from orchards blooming afar.
+High in the heavens swung the pale gold moon of Spring.
+
+"What a night," said Madame, almost in a whisper. "It seems almost as if
+there never had been another Spring."
+
+"And as if there never would be another."
+
+"That may be true, for one or both of us," she replied, with unwonted
+sadness.
+
+"My work is done," sighed the Colonel. "I have only to wait now."
+
+"Sometimes I think that all of Life is waiting," she went on, with a
+little catch in her voice, "and yet we never know what we were waiting
+for, unless--when all is done--"
+
+A warm, friendly hand closed over hers. "Do not question too much, dear
+friend, for the God who ordained the beginning can safely be trusted
+with the end, as well as with all that lies between. Do you know," he
+continued, in a different tone, "a night like this always makes me think
+of those wonderful lines:
+
+  "'The blessed damozel leaned out
+      From the gold bar of Heaven;
+    Her eyes were deeper than the depth
+      Of waters stilled at even;
+    She had three lilies in her hand
+      And the stars in her hair were seven.'"
+
+Francesca's eyes filled and the stars swam before her, for she
+remembered the three white lilies the Colonel had put into the still
+hands of his boy's mother, just before the casket was closed. "I
+wonder," she breathed, "if--they--know."
+
+"I wonder, too," he said.
+
+The strains of the violin floated out upon the scented night, vibrant
+with love and longing, with passion and pain. Something had come into
+the music that was never there before, but only Rose knew it.
+
+"Richard," said Francesca, suddenly, "if you should go first, and it
+should be as we hope and pray it may be--if people know each other
+there, and can speak and be understood, will you tell him that I am
+keeping the faith; that I have only been waiting since we parted?"
+
+"Yes. And if it should be the other way, will you tell her that I, too,
+am waiting and keeping the faith, and that I have done well with our
+boy?"
+
+"I will," she promised.
+
+The last chord of violin and piano died into silence. Colonel Kent bent
+down and lifted Madame's hand to his lips, then they went in together.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+AN ENCHANTED HOUR
+
+The days dragged on so wearily that, to Rose, the hours seemed unending.
+Allison came to the house frequently, but seldom spoke of his music; for
+more than a week, he did not ask her to play at all. On the rare
+occasions when he brought his violin with him, the old harmony seemed
+entirely gone. The pianist's fingers often stumbled over the keys even
+though Allison played with new authority and that magical power that
+goes by the name of "inspiration," for want of a better word.
+
+Once she made a mistake, changing a full chord into a dissonance so
+harsh and nerve-racking that Allison shuddered, then frowned. When they
+had finished, he turned to her, saying, kindly: "You're tired, Rose.
+I've been a selfish brute and let you work too hard."
+
+Quick denial was on her lips, but she stopped in time and followed his
+lead gracefully. "Yes, and my head aches, too. If all of you will excuse
+me, I'll go up and rest for a little while."
+
+Evening after evening, she made the same excuse, longing for her own
+room, with a locked and bolted door between her and the outer world.
+Lonely and miserable though she was, she had at least the sense of
+shelter. Pride, too, sustained her, for, looking back to the night they
+met, months ago, she could remember no word nor act, or even a look of
+hers that had been out of keeping.
+
+Over and over again she insisted to herself, stubbornly: "I will have
+nothing that is not true,--nothing that is not true." In the midnight
+silences, when she lay wide awake, though all the rest of the world
+slept, the words chimed in with her heart-beats: "Nothing that is not
+true--nothing--that is--not true."
+
+Madame Francesca, loving Rose dearly, became sorely troubled and
+perplexed. She could not fail to see and understand, and, at times,
+feared that Allison and Isabel must see and understand also. She watched
+Rose faithfully and shielded her at every possible point. When Isabel
+inquired why Rose was always tired in the evening, Madame explained that
+she had been working too hard and that she had made her promise to rest.
+
+Rose spent more time than usual at the piano but she neglected her own
+work in favour of Allison's accompaniments. When she was alone, she
+could play them creditably, even without the notes, but if, by any
+chance, he stood beside her, waiting until the prelude was finished, she
+faltered at the first sound of the violin.
+
+At last she gave it up and kept more and more to her own room. Madame
+meditated upon the advisability of sending Isabel away, providing it
+could be done gracefully, or even taking her on some brief journey, thus
+leaving Rose in full possession of the house.
+
+Yet, in her heart, she knew that it would be only a subterfuge; that it
+was better to meet the issues of Life squarely than to attempt to hide
+from them, since inevitably all must be met. She could not bear to see
+Rose hurt, nor could she endure easily the spectacle of her beloved
+foster son upon the verge of a lifelong mistake. Several times she
+thought of talking to Colonel Kent, and, more rarely, of speaking to
+Allison himself, but she had learned to apply to speech the old maxim
+referring to letter-writing: "When in doubt, don't."
+
+It happened that Allison came late one afternoon, when Isabel had gone
+to town in search of new finery and Rose was in her own room. Madame had
+just risen from her afternoon nap, and, after he had waited a few
+moments, she came down.
+
+"Where's Isabel?" he asked, as he greeted her.
+
+"Shopping," smiled Madame.
+
+"I know, but I thought she'd be at home by this time. She told me she
+was coming out on the earlier train."
+
+"She may have met someone and gone to the matinee. It's Wednesday."
+
+"She didn't need to do that. I'll take her whenever she wants to go and
+she knows it."
+
+"I didn't say she had gone--I only said she might have gone. She may be
+waiting for the trimming of a hat to be changed, or for an appointment
+with tailor or dressmaker or manicure, or any one of a thousand other
+things. When you see her, she can doubtless give a clear account of
+herself."
+
+"Did Rose go with her?" he asked, after a brief pause.
+
+"No, she's asleep," sighed Madame. "Allison, I'm worried about Rose and
+have been for some time. She isn't well."
+
+"I thought something was wrong," he replied, without interest. "She
+can't seem to play even the simplest accompaniment any more, and she
+used to do wonders, even with heavy work."
+
+"I think," ventured Madame, cautiously, "that she needs to get out more.
+If someone would take her for a walk or a drive every day, it would do
+her good."
+
+"Probably," assented Allison, with a faraway look in his eyes. "If you
+want to borrow our horses at any time, Aunt Francesca, when yours are
+not available, I hope you'll feel free to telephone for them. They're
+almost eating their heads off and the exercise would do them good."
+
+"Thank you," she answered, shortly. Allison noted the veiled sharpness
+of her tone and wondered why anyone should take even slight offence at
+the friendly offer of a coach and pair.
+
+"It must be nearly time for the next train," he resumed. "Is there
+anyone at the station to meet Isabel?"
+
+"Nobody but the coachman and the carriage," returned Madame, dryly. "I'm
+not in the habit of being asked whether or not I have made proper
+provision for my guests."
+
+"I beg your pardon, Aunt Francesca. I would have known, of course, if I
+had stopped to think."
+
+"How is your father?" she put in, abruptly.
+
+"All right, I guess. He's making a garden and the whole front yard is
+torn up as though sewer pipes were about to be put in."
+
+Madame's heart softened with pity, for she knew that only loneliness
+would have set the Colonel to gardening. "I must go over and see it,"
+she said, in a different tone. "My valuable advice hasn't been asked,
+but I think I could help a little."
+
+"Undoubtedly. Your own garden is one of the loveliest I have ever seen.
+Isn't that the train?"
+
+"I think so. If Isabel comes, I believe I'll leave you to entertain her
+while I drive over to inspect the new garden."
+
+She was oppressed, as never before, by the necessity of speech, and, of
+all those around her, Colonel Kent was the only one to whom it would be
+possible for her to say a word. She did not stop to consider what she
+could accomplish by it, for in her heart, she knew that she was
+helpless--also that a great deal of the trouble in the world has not
+been caused by silence.
+
+Allison drummed on the arm of his chair until he heard the rumble of
+wheels, then went to the window. "It's Isabel," he announced, joyously.
+"I'll go down and help her out--she may have parcels."
+
+Presently they came in together, laughing. Isabel's face was flushed and
+Allison was heavily laden with packages, both small and large. "I feel
+like Santa Claus," he cried, gaily, to Madame, as she passed them on the
+way out.
+
+She smiled, but did not take the trouble to speak. "Colonel Kent's," she
+called to the driver, as she closed the carriage door with a resounding
+bang, "and please hurry."
+
+The Colonel was on the veranda when she arrived, superintending the
+gardening operations from there. He greeted her with surprise, for it
+was not her way to drive over there alone. "I am deeply honoured," he
+said, as he assisted her up the steps. "May I order tea?"
+
+"No, thank you," she answered, somewhat primly. It was evident that she
+was ill at ease. "I understood from Allison that you were doing all this
+yourself. Instead, I find you sitting on the veranda like a landed
+proprietor, in command of an army of slaves."
+
+"Two Irishmen don't make an army," he laughed, "though I'll admit that,
+if angry, they would make a formidable force. I helped to dig for a
+while this morning, but it didn't seem to agree with me, so I quit. My
+work seems to be done," he continued, with a sigh.
+
+"No, it isn't," she returned, sharply. "There's work to be done, but
+whether you or I or both together can do it, is extremely doubtful."
+
+"What do you mean, Francesca?"
+
+Madame leaned toward him confidentially. "Richard," she said, in a low
+tone, "has it ever occurred to you that Allison might marry?"
+
+A shadow crossed his face, then vanished in a smile. "Yes. Why?"
+
+"Have you ever seen a woman you would be willing for him to marry?"
+
+"Only one."
+
+"And she--?"
+
+"Rose," said the Colonel, softly. "Your Rose."
+
+"I've felt that way, too," whispered Madame. There was silence for the
+space of a heart-beat, then she cried out sharply: "But it isn't Rose--
+it's Isabel!"
+
+"What?" he cried, startled for once out of his usual calm. "That child?"
+
+"'That child' is past twenty, and he is only ten years older. There was
+fifteen years' difference between you and--" Madame forebore to speak
+the name of the dead and beloved wife.
+
+Colonel Kent turned his dim blue eyes toward the hills. Behind them the
+sun was setting, and he could guess that the gold of the Spring
+afternoon was scattered like star dust over the little sunken grave. He
+left Madame and went to the end of the veranda, where he stood for a few
+moments, facing the West. Then he came back.
+
+"Francesca," he said, slowly, "you and I are on the Western slope and
+have been for a long time. The Valley of the Shadow lies at the foot of
+the hill and the descent is almost made. But the boy is young, and most
+of the journey lies before him. You chose for yourself, and so did I.
+Shall we not grant him the same right?"
+
+"Yes, but Rose--"
+
+"Rose," interrupted the Colonel, "is too good for any man--even my own
+son, though, as I said before, she is the only woman I would willingly
+see him marry. You stand almost in his mother's place to him, but
+neither you nor I can shield him now. We must try to remember that his
+life is his--to make or mar."
+
+"I know," she sighed, "I've thought it all out."
+
+"Besides," he went on, "what could we do? Separation wouldn't last long,
+if he wants her, and talking would only alienate him from us. Perhaps
+you could bear it, but I--I couldn't."
+
+"Nor I," she returned, quickly. "When we come to the sundown road, we
+need all the love we have managed to take with us from the summit of the
+hill. I hadn't meant to say anything to anyone," she went on, in a
+changed tone, "but my heart was full, and you are--"
+
+"Your best friend, Francesca, as you are mine. It seems to take a
+lifetime for us to learn that wisdom consists largely in a graceful
+acceptance of things that do not immediately concern us."
+
+"How like you," she responded, with a touch of her old manner. "I ask
+for comfort and you give me an epigram."
+
+"Many people find satisfaction in epigrams," he reminded her. "Sometimes
+a snap-shot is better than an oil painting."
+
+"Or a geometrical design, or even a map," she continued, catching his
+mood. The talk drifted to happier themes and Madame was quite herself
+again at dusk, when she rose to go.
+
+On the way back, she passed Allison, returning home to dinner by a well-
+worn path, but he was thinking of something else and did not see her at
+all.
+
+The lilac-scented midnight was starred here and there with white blooms
+when May went out and June came in. Drifts of "bridal wreath" were
+banked against the side of the house and a sweet syringa breathed out a
+faint perfume toward the hedge of lilacs beyond. Blown petals of pink
+and white died on the young grass beneath Madame's wild crab-apple tree,
+transplanted from a distant woodland long ago to glorify her garden.
+
+The hour was one of enchantment, yet to Rose, leaning out into the
+moonless night, the beauty of it brought only pain. She wondered, dully,
+if she should ever find surcease; if somewhere, on the thorny path
+ahead, there might not be some place where she could lay the burden of
+her heartache down. Her pride, that had so long sustained her, was
+beginning to fail her now. It no longer seemed more vital than life
+itself that Allison should not know.
+
+She had the hurt woman's longing for escape, but could think of no
+excuse for flight. She knew Aunt Francesca would manage it, in some way,
+should she ask, and that she would be annoyed by no troublesome
+questions, yet loyalty held her fast, for she knew how lonely the little
+old lady would be without her.
+
+Day by day, the tension increased almost to the breaking point. June
+filled the garden with rosebuds, but their pale namesake in the big
+white house took no heed of them. She no longer concerned herself about
+her gowns, but wore white almost constantly, that her pallor might not
+show.
+
+The roses broke from their green sheaths, then bloomed, opening their
+golden hearts to every wandering bee. The house was full of roses. Aunt
+Francesca wore them even on her morning gowns and Isabel made wreaths of
+red roses to twine in her dark hair. Every breeze brought fragrance to
+the open windows and scattered it through the house.
+
+Madame's heart ached for Rose, but still she said no word, though it
+seemed to her that the blindness of the others could not last much
+longer. She could not take Rose away unless she took Isabel also, and,
+should she do that, things would soon be just as they were now.
+
+As Rose faded, Isabel blossomed into the full flower of her youth. Her
+high, bird-like laugh echoed constantly through the house and garden,
+whether anyone was with her or not. With sinking heart, Rose envied her
+even a tithe of her abundant joy.
+
+As the moon approached its full, the roses had begun to drop their
+petals. Under every bush was a scattered bit of fragrance that meant
+both death and resurrection. Far down in the garden, where the sunken
+lily-pool mirrored the stars, the petals of golden roses drifted idly
+across the shining surface.
+
+Rose had worn white at dinner, as she always did, now, the night the
+June moon came to its full. Isabel, too, was in white, but with a
+difference, for as surely as the older woman's white was mourning, her
+silver spangles were donned for joy. At the table, Madame had done most
+of the talking, for Isabel's conversational gifts were limited, at best,
+and Rose was weary beyond all words.
+
+After dinner she went to the piano and struck a few aimless chords.
+Isabel, with a murmured excuse, went up to her own room. "Nothing that
+is not true," said Rose to herself, steadily; "nothing that is not
+true."
+
+Presently a definite thought took shape in her mind. To-morrow she would
+tell Aunt Francesca, and see if it could not be arranged for her to go
+away somewhere, anywhere, alone. Or, if not to-morrow, at least the day
+after, as soon as she had seen him again. She wanted one last look to
+take with her into the prison-house, where she must wrestle with her
+soul alone.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+Her stiff fingers shaped the melody that Aunt Francesca loved, and into
+it went all her own longing, her love, and her pain. The notes thrilled
+with an ecstasy of renunciation, and the vibrant chords trembled far out
+into the night.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+A man entered the gate very quietly, paused, then turned into the
+garden, to soothe his wildly beating heart for a few moments with the
+balm of scent and sound. Upstairs, behind the shelter of the swaying
+curtain, a shining figure drew back into the shadow. Smiling, and with
+an agreeable sense of adventure, Isabel tiptoed down the back stairs,
+and entered the garden, unheard, by a side door.
+
+With assumed carelessness, yet furtively watching, she made the circuit
+of the lily-pool, humming to herself. A quick leap and a light foot on
+the grass startled her for an instant, then she laughed, for it was only
+Mr. Boffin, playing with his own dancing shadow.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+The sound of the piano had become very faint, though the windows were
+open and the wind was in the right direction. Isabel stopped at another
+bush, picked a few full-blown white roses, and sat down on a garden
+bench to remove the thorns.
+
+"I wonder where he can be," she said to herself. "Surely he can't have
+gone home again." She listened, but there was no sound save the distant
+piano, and the abrupt, playful purr of Mr. Boffin, as he pounced upon a
+fallen white rose.
+
+Isabel put the flowers in her hair, consciously missing the mirror in
+which she was wont to observe the effect. "He must have gone in while I
+was coming down," she thought, "but I don't see why he shouldn't have
+gone straight in when he first came."
+
+She decided to wait until he came to look for her, then as swiftly
+changed her mind. Rose was still playing.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+Isabel hummed the melody to herself, not noting that she was off the
+key, and started slowly toward the house, by another path.
+
+Allison was standing in the shadow of a maple, listening to the music
+and drawing in deep breaths of the rose-scented air. The moon flooded
+the garden with enchantment, and a shaft of silver light, striking the
+sundial, made a shadow that was hours wrong. He smiled as he saw it,
+amiably crediting the moon with an accidental error, rather than a
+purposeful lie.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+Deeper and more vibrant, the woman within sent the cry of her heart into
+the night, where the only one who could answer it stood watching the
+shadow of the moon on the sun-dial and the spangled cobwebs on the
+grass. He picked a rose, put it into his button-hole, and turned toward
+the house.
+
+A hushed sound, as of rustling silk, made him pause, then, at the head
+of the path, where another joined it, Isabel appeared, with white roses
+in her hair and the moon shining full upon her face. The spangles on her
+gown caught the light and broke it into a thousand tiny rainbows,
+surrounding her with faint iridescence.
+
+The old, immortal hunger surged into his veins, the world-old joy made
+his senses reel. He steadied himself for a moment, then went to her,
+with his arms outstretched in pleading.
+
+"Oh, Silver Girl," he whispered, huskily. "My Silver Girl! Tell me
+you'll shine for me always!"
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+The last chord ceased, full of yearning that was almost prayer. Then
+Isabel, cold as marble and passionless as snow, lifted her face for his
+betrothal kiss.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+WHITE GLOVES
+
+With shyness that did not wholly conceal her youthful pride, Isabel told
+Madame, a few days later. The little old lady managed to smile and to
+kiss Isabel's soft cheek, murmuring the conventional hope for her
+happiness. Inwardly, she was far from calm, though deeply thankful that
+Rose did not happen to be in the room.
+
+"You must make him very happy, dear," she said.
+
+"I guess we'll have a good time," returned Isabel, smothering a yawn.
+"It will be lots of fun to go all over the country and see all the big
+cities."
+
+"I hope he will be successful," Madame continued. "He must be," she
+added, fervently.
+
+"I suppose we shall be entertained a great deal," remarked Isabel. "He
+has written to Mamma, but she hasn't had time to answer yet."
+
+"I can vouch for my foster son," Madame replied.
+
+"It isn't necessary," the girl went on, "and I told him so. Mamma never
+cares what I do, and she'll be glad to get me off her hands. Would you
+mind if I were married here?"
+
+Madame's heart throbbed with tender pity. "Indeed," she answered,
+warmly, "you shall have the prettiest wedding I can give you. Your
+mother will come, won't she?"
+
+"Not if it would interfere with her lecture engagements. She's going to
+lecture all next season on 'The Slavery of Marriage.' She says the
+wedding ring is a sign of bondage, dating back to the old days when a
+woman was her husband's property."
+
+Madame Francesca's blue eyes filled with a sudden mist. Slowly she
+turned on her finger the worn band of gold that her gallant Captain had
+placed there ere he went to war. It carried still a deep remembrance too
+holy for speech. "Property," repeated the old lady, in a whisper. "Ah,
+but how dear it is to be owned!"
+
+"I don't mind wearing it," said Isabel, with a patronising air, "but I
+want it as narrow as possible, so it won't interfere with my other
+rings, and, of course, I can take it off when I like."
+
+"Of course, but I would be glad to have you so happily married, my dear,
+that you wouldn't want to take it off--ever."
+
+"I'll have to ask Mamma to send me some money for clothes," the girl
+went on, half to herself.
+
+"Don't bother her with it," suggested the other, kindly. "Let me do it.
+Rose and I will enjoy making pretty things for a bride."
+
+"I'm afraid Cousin Rose wouldn't enjoy it," Isabel replied, with an
+unpleasant laugh. "Do you know," she added, confidentially, "I've always
+thought Cousin Rose liked Allison--well, a good deal."
+
+"She does," returned Madame, meeting the girl's eyes clearly, "and so do
+I. When you're older, Isabel, you'll learn to distinguish between a mere
+friendly interest and the grand passion."
+
+"She's too old, I know," Isabel continued, with the brutality of
+confident youth, "but sometimes older women do fall in love with young
+men."
+
+"Why shouldn't they?" queried Madame, lightly, "as long as older men
+choose to fall in love with young women? As far as that goes, it would
+be no worse for Allison to marry Rose than it is for him to marry you."
+
+"But," objected Isabel, "when he is sixty, she will be seventy, and he
+wouldn't care for her."
+
+"And," returned Madame, rather sharply, "when he is forty, you will be
+only thirty and you may not care for him. There are always two sides to
+everything," she added, after a pause, "and when we get so civilised
+that all women may be self-supporting if they choose, we may see a
+little advice to husbands on the way of keeping a wife's love, instead
+of the flood of nonsense that disfigures the periodicals now."
+
+"They all say that woman makes the home," Isabel suggested, idly.
+
+"But not alone. No woman can make a home alone. It takes two pairs of
+hands to make a home--one strong and the other tender, and two true
+hearts."
+
+"I hope it won't take too long to make my clothes," answered Isabel,
+irrelevantly. "He says I must be ready by September."
+
+"Then we must begin immediately. Write out everything you think of, and
+afterward we'll go over the list together. Come into the library and
+begin now. There's no time like the present."
+
+"Do you think," Isabel inquired as she seated herself at the library
+table, "that I will have many presents?"
+
+"Probably," answered Madame, briefly. "I'll come back when you've
+finished your list."
+
+She went up-stairs and knocked gently at the door of Rose's room,
+feeling very much as she did the day she went to Colonel Kent to tell
+him that the little mother of his new-born son was dead. Rose herself
+opened the door, somewhat surprised.
+
+Madame went in, closed the door, then stood there for a moment, at a
+loss for words.
+
+"Has it come?" asked Rose, in a low voice.
+
+"Yes. Oh, Rose, my dear Rose!"
+
+She put her arm around the younger woman and led her to the couch. Every
+hint of colour faded from Rose's face; her eyes were wide and staring,
+her lips scarcely pink. "I must go away," she murmured.
+
+"Where, dearest?"
+
+"Anywhere--oh, anywhere!"
+
+"I know, dear, believe me, I know, but it never does any good to run away
+from things that must be faced sooner or later. We women have our
+battles to fight as well as the men who go to war, and the same truth
+applies to both--that only a coward will retreat under fire."
+
+Rose sighed and clenched her hands together tightly.
+
+"Once there was a ship," said Madame, softly, "sinking in mid-ocean,
+surrounded by fog. It had drifted far out of its course, and collided
+with a derelict. The captain ordered the band to play, the officers put
+on their dress uniforms and their white gloves. Another ship, that was
+drifting, too, signalled in answer to the music, and all were saved."
+
+"That was possible--but there can be no signal for me."
+
+"Perhaps not, but let's put on our white gloves and order out the band."
+
+The unconscious plural struck Rose with deep significance. "Did you--
+know, Aunt Francesca?"
+
+"Yes, dear."
+
+"For how long?"
+
+"Always, I think."
+
+"Did it seem--absurd, in any way?"
+
+"Not at all. I was hoping for it, until the wind changed. And," she
+added, with her face turned away, "Colonel Kent was, too."
+
+Some of the colour ebbed slowly back into the white, stricken face.
+"That makes me feel," Rose breathed, "as if I hadn't been quite so
+foolish as I've been thinking I was."
+
+"Then keep the high heart, dear, for they mustn't suspect."
+
+"No," cried Rose sharply, "oh, no! Anything but that!"
+
+"It's hard to wear gloves when you don't want to," replied Madame, with
+seeming irrelevance, "but it's easier when there are others. The Colonel
+will need them, too--this is going to be hard on him."
+
+"Does-he--know?" whispered Rose, fearfully.
+
+"No," answered Madame, laughing outright, "indeed he doesn't. Did you
+ever know of a man discovering anything that wasn't right under his
+nose?"
+
+"And I am safe with-with--"
+
+"With everybody but Isabel. She may be foolish, but she's a woman, and
+even a woman can see around a corner."
+
+"Thank you for telling me," said Rose, after a little; "for giving me
+time. It was like you."
+
+"I'm glad I could, but remember, I haven't told you, officially. Let her
+tell you herself."
+
+Rose nodded. "Then I'll come down just as soon as I can."
+
+"With white gloves on, dear, and flags flying. Make your old aunt proud
+of you now, won't you?"
+
+"I'll try," she answered, humbly, then quickly closed the door.
+
+Meanwhile Colonel Kent, most correctly attired, was making a formal call
+upon his prospective daughter-in-law, and the list had scarcely been
+begun. Isabel sat in the living room, trying not to show that she was
+bored. The Colonel had come in, ready to receive her into his house and
+his heart, but Isabel had shaken hands with him coolly, and accepted
+shrinkingly the fatherly kiss he stooped to bestow upon her forehead.
+
+He had tried several preliminary topics of conversation, which had been
+met with chilling monosyllables, so he plunged into the heart of the
+subject, with inward trepidation.
+
+"I told Allison this morning that I owed him my thanks for bringing me a
+daughter."
+
+"Yes," said Isabel, placidly.
+
+"The old house needs young voices and the sound of young feet," the
+Colonel went on.
+
+Isabel began to speak, then hesitated and relapsed into silence. Mr.
+Boffin came in, purring loudly, and rubbed familiarly against the
+Colonel, leaving a thin coating of yellow hair.
+
+"It seems to be the moulting season for cats," laughed the Colonel,
+observing the damage ruefully.
+
+Isabel moved restlessly in her chair, but said nothing. The pause had
+become awkward when the Colonel rose to take his leave.
+
+"I hope you may be happy," he said, gravely, "and make our old house
+happier for your coming."
+
+"Oh," returned Isabel, quickly, "I hadn't thought of that. I hadn't
+thought of--of living there."
+
+"The house is large," he ventured, puzzled.
+
+"Mamma has always said," remarked Isabel, primly, "that no house was
+large enough for two families."
+
+Colonel Kent managed to force a laugh. "You may be right," he answered.
+"At least, everything shall be arranged to your liking."
+
+He had said good-bye and was on his way out, when Francesca came down
+from Rose's room. Seeing her, he waited for a moment. Isabel had gone
+into the library and closed the door.
+
+"Whence this haste?" queried Madame, with a lightness which was just
+then difficult to assume. "Were you going without seeing me?"
+
+"I had feared I would be obliged to," he returned, gallantly. "I was
+calling upon my future daughter-in-law," he added, in a low tone, as
+they went out on the veranda.
+
+Madame sighed and sank gratefully into the chair he offered her. In the
+broad light of day, she looked old and worn.
+
+"Well," continued the Colonel, with an effort to speak cheerfully, "the
+blow has fallen."
+
+"So I hear," she rejoined, almost in a whisper. "What tremendous
+readjustments the heedless young may cause!"
+
+"Yes, but we mustn't deny them the right. The eternal sacrifice of youth
+to age is one of the most pitiful things in nature--human nature, that
+is. The animals know better."
+
+"Would you remove all opportunity for the development of character?" she
+inquired, with a tinge of sarcasm.
+
+"No, but I wouldn't deliberately furnish it. The world supplies it
+generously enough, I think. Allison didn't ask to be born," he went on,
+with a change of tone, "and those who brought him into the world are
+infinitely more responsible to him than he is to them."
+
+"One-sided," returned Madame, abruptly. "And, if so, it's the only thing
+that is. What of the gift of life?"
+
+"Nothing to speak of," he responded with a cynicism wholly new to her.
+"I wouldn't go back and live it over, would you?"
+
+"No," she sighed, "I wouldn't. I don't believe anyone would, even the
+happiest."
+
+"Too much character development?"
+
+"Yes," she admitted, with a shamefaced flush. "You'll have a chance to
+see, now. It will be right under your nose."
+
+"No," he said, with a certain sad emphasis which did not escape her; "it
+won't. I shall be at a respectful distance."
+
+"Why, Richard!" she cried, half rising from her chair; "what do you
+mean? Aren't you going to live with them in the old home?"
+
+The Colonel shook his head.
+
+"Why?" she demanded.
+
+The Colonel raised his hand to his forehead in a mock salute. "Orders,"
+he said, briefly. "From headquarters."
+
+"Has Allison--" she began, in astonishment, but he interrupted her.
+
+"No." He inclined his head suggestively toward the house, and she
+understood.
+
+"The little brute," murmured Francesca. "Richard, believe me, I am
+ashamed."
+
+"Don't bother," he answered, kindly. "The boy mustn't know. You always
+plan everything for me--where shall I live now?"
+
+She leaned forward, her blue eyes shining. "Oh, Richard," she breathed,
+"if you only would--if you could--come to Rose and me! We'd be so glad!"
+
+There was no mistaking her sincerity, and the Colonel's fine old face
+illumined with pleasure. Merely to be wanted, anywhere, brings a certain
+satisfaction.
+
+"I'll come," he returned, promptly. "How good you are! How good you've
+always been! I often wonder what I should ever have done without you."
+
+He turned away and, lightly as a passing cloud, a shadow crossed his
+face. Madame saw how hard it would be to part from his son, and, only in
+lesser degree, his old home.
+
+"Richard," she said, "a ship was sinking once in a fog, miles out of its
+course. The captain ordered the band to play and all the officers put on
+their dress uniforms. Another ship, also drifting, signalled in answer
+to the music and all were saved."
+
+The Colonel rose and offered his hand in farewell. "Thank you,
+Francesca," he answered, deeply moved. "I put on my white gloves the day
+you came to tell me. I thank you now for the signal--and for saving me."
+
+She watched him as he went down the road, tall, erect, and soldierly, in
+spite of his three-score and ten. "Three of us," she said to herself,
+"all in white gloves." The metaphor appealed to her strongly.
+
+She did not go in until Isabel appeared in the doorway, list in hand,
+and prettily perplexed over the problem of clothes. Madame slipped it
+into the chatelaine bag that hung from her belt. "We'll go over it with
+Rose," she said. "She knows more about clothes than I do."
+
+"Have you told Cousin Rose?"
+
+"No," answered Madame, avoiding the girl's eyes. "It's your place to
+tell her--not mine."
+
+When Rose came down to dinner that night, she was gorgeously attired in
+her gown of old-gold satin, adorned with gold lace. The last yellow
+roses of the garden were twined in her dark hair, and the rouge-stick,
+that faithful friend of unhappy woman, had given a little needed colour
+to her cheeks and lips, for the first time in her life.
+
+"Cousin Rose," began Isabel, a little abashed by the older woman's
+magnificence, "I'm engaged--to Allison."
+
+"Really?" cried Rose, with well-assumed astonishment. "Come here and let
+me kiss the bride-to-be. You must make him very happy," she said, then
+added, softly: "I pray that you may."
+
+"Everybody seems to think of him and not of me," Isabel returned, a
+little fretfully.
+
+"That's what Aunt Francesca said, and Allison's father seemed to think
+more about my making Allison happy than he did about my being happy
+myself."
+
+"That's because the only way to win happiness is to give it," put in
+Madame. "The more we give, the more we have."
+
+Conversation lagged at dinner, and became, as often, a monologue by
+Madame. While they were finishing their coffee, they heard Allison's
+well-known step outside.
+
+"I wonder why he had to come so early," complained Isabel. "I wanted to
+change my dress. I didn't have time before dinner."
+
+"He'll never know it," Madame assured her. "We'll excuse you dear, if
+you're through. Don't keep him waiting."
+
+When the dining-room door closed, Rose turned to Madame. "Did I--"
+
+"Most wonderfully."
+
+"But the hardest part is still to come," she breathed, sadly.
+
+   "'I was ever a fighter, so one fight more.
+     The best and the last';"
+
+Madame quoted, encouragingly.
+
+Rose smiled--a little wan smile--as she pushed back her chair.
+"Perhaps," she said, "the 'peace out of pain' may follow me."
+
+She went, with faltering step, toward the other room, inwardly afraid.
+Another hand met hers, with a reassuring clasp. "One step more, Rose.
+Now then, forward, march, all flags unfurled."
+
+When she went in, Allison came to meet her with outstretched hands. He
+had changed subtly, since she saw him last. Had light been poured over
+him, it would have changed him in much the same way.
+
+"Golden Rose," he said, taking both her hands in his, "tell me you are
+glad--say that you wish me joy."
+
+Her eyes met his clearly. "I do," she smiled. "There is no one in the
+world for whom I wish joy more than I do for you."
+
+"And I say the same," chimed in Madame, who had closely followed Rose.
+
+"Dear little foster mother," said Allison, tenderly, putting a strong
+arm around her. He had not yet released Rose's hand, nor did he note
+that it was growing cold. "I owe you everything," he went on; "even
+Isabel."
+
+He kissed her, then, laughing, turned to Rose. "May I?" he asked.
+Without waiting for an answer, he turned her face to his, and kissed her
+on the lips.
+
+Cold as ice and shaken to the depths of her soul, Rose stumbled out of
+the room, murmuring brokenly of a forgotten letter which must be
+immediately written. Madame lingered for the space of half an hour,
+talking brightly of everything under the sun, then followed Rose,
+turning in the doorway as she went out, to say: "Can't you even thank me
+for leaving you alone?"
+
+"Bless her," said Allison, fondly. "What sweet women they are!"
+
+"Yes," answered Isabel, spitefully, "especially Rose."
+
+He laughed heartily. "What a little goose you are, sweetheart. Kiss me,
+dear--dearest."
+
+"I won't," she flashed back, stubbornly, nor would she, until at last,
+by superior strength, he took his lover's privilege from lips that
+refused to yield.
+
+That night he dreamed that, for a single exquisite instant, Isabel had
+answered him, giving him love for love. Then, strangely enough, Isabel
+became Rose, in a gown of gold, with golden roses twined in her hair.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+THE THIRTIETH OF JUNE
+
+Dinner that night had been rather a silent affair at Kent's, as well as
+at Madame Bernard's. Being absorbed in his own thoughts, Allison did not
+realise how unsociable he was, nor that the old man across the table
+from him perceived that they had reached the beginning of the end.
+
+When Allison spoke, it was always of Isabel. Idealised in her lover's
+sight, she stood before him as the one "perfect woman, nobly planned,"
+predestined, through countless ages, to be his mate. Colonel Kent merely
+agreed with him in monosyllables until Allison became conscious that his
+father did not wholly share his enthusiasm.
+
+"I wish you knew her, Dad," he said, regretfully. "You'll love her when
+you do."
+
+"I'm willing to," answered the Colonel, shortly. "I called on her this
+afternoon," he added, after a brief pause.
+
+Allison's face illumined. "Was she there? Did you see her?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Isn't she the loveliest thing that was ever made?"
+
+"I'm not prepared to go as far as that," smiled the Colonel, "but she is
+certainly a very pretty girl."
+
+"She's beautiful," returned Allison, with deep conviction.
+
+The Colonel forebore to remind him that love brings beauty with it, or
+that the beauty which endures comes from the soul within.
+
+"Just think, Dad," Allison was saying, "how lovely she'll be at that end
+of the table, with me across from her and you at her right."
+
+The Colonel shook his head, then cleared his throat. "Not always, lad,"
+he said, kindly, "but perhaps, sometimes--as a guest."
+
+Allison's fork dropped with a sharp clatter on his plate. "Dad! What do
+you mean?"
+
+"No house is large enough for two families," repeated the Colonel, with
+an unconscious, parrot-like accent.
+
+"Why, Dad! We've always stood together--surely you won't desert me now?"
+
+The old man's eyes softened with mist. He could not trust himself to
+meet the clear, questioning gaze of his son.
+
+"I can't understand," Allison went on, doubtfully. "Is it possible--
+could she-did-Isabel--?"
+
+"No" said the Colonel, firmly, still avoiding the questioning eyes. "She
+didn't!"
+
+"Of course she didn't," returned Allison, fully satisfied. "She
+couldn't--she's not that kind. What a brute I was even to think it! But
+why, Dad? Please tell me why!"
+
+"Francesca asked me this afternoon if I would come to her and Rose,
+after the--afterwards, you know, and I promised."
+
+"If you promised, I suppose that settles it," remarked Allison,
+gloomily, "but I wish you hadn't. I can understand that they would want
+you, too, for of course they'll be desperately lonely after Isabel goes
+away."
+
+A certain peace crept into the old man's sore heart. Surely there was
+something to live for still.
+
+"I hope you didn't tell Aunt Francesca you'd stay there always," Allison
+was saying, anxiously.
+
+"No," answered the Colonel, with a smile; "there was no limit
+specified."
+
+"Then we'll consider it only a visit and a short one at that--just until
+they get a little used to Isabel's being away. This is your rightful
+place, Dad, and Isabel and I both want you--don't ever forget that!"
+
+When Allison had gone in search of his beloved, the Colonel sat on the
+veranda alone, accustomed, now, to evenings spent thus. His garden
+promised well, he thought, having produced two or three sickly roses in
+the very first season. The shrubs and trees that had survived ten years
+of neglect had been pruned and tied and would doubtless do well next
+year, if Isabel--
+
+"I hope he'll never find out," the Colonel said to himself. Then he
+remembered that, for the first time in his life, he had lied to his son,
+and took occasion to observe the highly spectacular effect of an untruth
+from an habitually truthful person.
+
+"He never doubted me, not for an instant," mused the Colonel, "but it's
+just as well that I'm going. She could probably manage it, if we lived
+in the same house, so that I'd have to tell at least one lie a day, and
+I'm not an expert. Perfection might come with practice--I've known it
+to--but I'm too old to begin."
+
+He was deeply grateful to Francesca for her solution of the problem that
+confronted him. It had appeared and been duly solved in the space of
+half an hour. She had been his good angel for more than thirty years. It
+might be very pleasant to live there, after he became accustomed to the
+change, and with Allison so near--why, he couldn't be half as lonely as
+he was now. So his thoughts drifted into a happier channel and he was
+actually humming an old song to himself when he heard Allison's step,
+almost at midnight, on the road just beyond the gate.
+
+He went in quietly, closed the door, and was in his own room when
+Allison's latch-key rattled in the lock. The Colonel took pains not to
+be heard moving about, but it was unnecessary, for Allison's heart was
+beating in time with its own music, and surging with the nameless
+rapture that comes but once.
+
+Down in the moon-lit, dream-haunted garden, Allison waited for Isabel,
+as the First Man might have waited for the First Woman, in another
+garden, countless ages ago. Stars were mirrored in the lily-pool; the
+waning moon swung low. The roses had gone, except a few of the late-
+blooming sort, but the memory of their fragrance lingered still in the
+velvet dusk.
+
+No music came from the quiet house, for Rose had not touched the piano
+since That Night. It stood out in his remembrance in capitals, as it did
+in hers, for widely different reasons. Only Isabel, cherishing no
+foolish sentiment as to dates and places, could have forgotten That
+Night.
+
+With a lover's fond fancy, Allison had written a note to Isabel, asking
+her to meet him in the garden by the lily-pool, at nine, and to wear the
+silver-spangled gown. It was already past the hour and he had begun to
+be impatient, though he was sure she had received the note.
+
+A cobweb in the grass at his feet shone faintly afar--like Isabel's
+spangles, he thought. A soft-winged wayfarer of the night brushed
+lightly against his cheek in passing, and he laughed aloud, to think
+that a grey moth should bring the memory of a kiss. Then, with a swift
+sinking of the heart, he remembered Isabel's unvarying coldness. Never
+for an instant had she answered him as Rose--
+
+"Nonsense," he muttered to himself, angrily. "What an unspeakable cad I
+am!"
+
+There was a light step on the path and Isabel appeared out of the
+shadows. She was holding up her skirts and seemed annoyed. In the first
+glance Allison noted that she was not wearing the spangled gown.
+
+She submitted to his eager embrace and endured his kiss; even the
+blindest lover could not have said more. Yet her coldness only thrilled
+him to the depths with love of her, as has been the way of men since the
+world began.
+
+"I don't understand this foolishness," she said, fretfully, as she
+released herself from his encircling arm. "It's damp and chilly out
+here, and I'll get wet and take cold."
+
+"It isn't damp, darling, and you can't take cold. Why didn't you wear
+the spangles?"
+
+"Do you suppose I want to spoil my best gown dragging it through the wet
+grass?"
+
+"The grass isn't wet, and, anyhow, you haven't been on it--only on the
+path. Come over here to the bench and sit down."
+
+"I don't want to. I want to go in."
+
+"All right, but not just yet. I'll carry you, if you're afraid of
+dampness." Before she could protest, he had picked her up and laughingly
+seated her on the bench at the edge of the lily-pool.
+
+Isabel smoothed her rumpled hair. "You've mussed me all up," she
+complained. "Why can't we go in? Aunt Francesca and Rose are upstairs."
+
+"Listen, sweetheart. Please be patient with me just a minute, won't you?
+I've brought you your engagement ring."
+
+"Oh," cried Isabel, delightedly. "Let me see it!"
+
+"I want to tell you about it first. You remember, don't you, that the
+first night I came here, you were wearing a big silver pin--a turquoise
+matrix, set in dull silver?"
+
+"I've forgotten."
+
+"Well, I haven't. Someway, it seemed to suit you as jewels seldom suit
+anybody, and you had it on the other night when you promised to marry
+me. Both times you were wearing the spangled gown, and that's why I
+asked for it to-night, and why I've had your engagement ring made of a
+turquoise."
+
+Isabel murmured inarticulately, but he went on, heedlessly: "It's made
+of silver because you're my Silver Girl, the design is all roses because
+it was in the time of roses, and it's a turquoise for reasons I've told
+you. Our initials and the date are inside."
+
+Allison slipped it on her finger and struck a match that she might see
+it plainly. Isabel turned it on her finger listlessly.
+
+"Very pretty," she said, in a small, thin voice, after an awkward pause.
+
+"Why, dearest," he cried, "don't you like it?"
+
+"It's well enough," she answered, slowly, "but not for an engagement
+ring. Everybody else has diamonds. I thought you cared enough for me to
+give me a diamond," she said, reproachfully.
+
+"I do," he assured her, "and you shall have diamonds--as many as I can
+give you. Why, sweet, this is only the beginning. There's a long life
+ahead of us, isn't there? Do you think I'm never going to give my wife
+any jewels?"
+
+"Aunt Francesca and Rose put you up to this," said Isabel, bitterly.
+"They never want me to have anything."
+
+"They know nothing whatever about it," he replied, rather coldly, taking
+it from her finger as he spoke. "Listen, Isabel. Would you rather have a
+diamond in your engagement ring?"
+
+"Of course. I'd be ashamed to have anybody know that this was my
+engagement ring."
+
+"All right," said Allison, with defiant cheerfulness. "You shall have
+just exactly what you want, and, to make sure, I'll take you with me
+when I go to get it. I'm sorry I made such a mistake."
+
+There was a flash of blue and silver in the faint light, and a soft
+splash in the lily-pool. "There," he went on, "it's out of your way
+now."
+
+"You didn't need to throw it away," she said, icily. "I didn't say I
+didn't want it, nor that I wouldn't wear it. I only said I wanted a
+diamond."
+
+"It could be found, I suppose," he replied, thoughtfully, ashamed of his
+momentary impulse. "If the pool were drained--"
+
+"That would cost more than the ring is worth," Isabel interrupted.
+"Come, let's go in."
+
+He was about to explain that a very good-sized pool could be drained for
+the price of the ring, but fortunately thought better of it, and was
+bitterly glad, now, that he had thrown it away.
+
+In the house they talked of other things, but the thrust still lingered
+in his consciousness, unforgotten.
+
+"How's your father?" inquired Isabel, in a conversational pause, as she
+could think of nothing else to say.
+
+"All right, I guess. Why?"
+
+"I haven't seen him lately. He hasn't been over since the day he called
+on me."
+
+"Guess I haven't thought to ask him to come along. Dad is possessed just
+at present by a very foolish idea. They've told you, haven't they?"
+
+"No. Told me what?"
+
+"Why, that after we're carried, he's to come over here to live with Aunt
+Francesca and Rose, and give us the house to ourselves."
+
+"I hadn't heard," she replied, indifferently.
+
+"I don't know when I've felt so badly about anything," Allison resumed.
+"We've always been together and we've been more like two chums than
+father and son. It's like taking my best friend away from me, but I know
+he'll come back to us, if you ask him to."
+
+"Probably," she assented, coldly. "I suppose we'll be in town for the
+Winters, won't we, and only live here in the Summer?"
+
+"I don't know, dear; we'll see. I've got to go to see my manager very
+soon, and Dad asked me to find out what you wanted for a wedding
+present. I'm to help him select it."
+
+"Can I have anything I choose?" she queried, keenly interested now.
+
+"Anything within reason," he smiled. "I'm sorry we're not millionaires."
+
+"Could I have an automobile?"
+
+"Perhaps. What kind?"
+
+"A big red touring car, with room for four or five people in it?"
+
+"I'll tell him. It would be rather nice to have one, wouldn't it?"
+
+"Indeed it would," she cried, clapping her hands. "Oh, Allison, do
+persuade him to get it, won't you?"
+
+"I won't have to, if he can. I've never had to persuade my father into
+anything he could do for me."
+
+When he went home, Isabel kissed him, of her own accord, for the first
+time. It was a cold little kiss, accompanied with a whispered plea for
+the red automobile, but it set his heart to thumping wildly, and made
+him forget the disdained turquoise, that lay at the bottom of the lily-
+pool.
+
+Within a few days, Isabel was the happy possessor of an engagement ring
+with a diamond in it--a larger, brighter stone than she had ever dreamed
+of having. Colonel Kent had also readily promised the automobile, though
+he did not tell Allison that he should be obliged to sell some property
+in order to acquire a really fine car. It took until the end of the
+month to make the necessary arrangements, but on the afternoon of the
+thirtieth, a trumpeting red monster, bright with brass, drew up before
+the Kent's door, having come out from town on its own power.
+
+As the two men had taken a brief tour over the wonderful roads of
+France, with Allison at the wheel, he felt no hesitation in trying an
+unfamiliar car. The old throb of exultation came back when the monster
+responded to his touch and chugged out of the driveway on its lowest
+speed.
+
+He turned back to wave his hand at his father, who stood smiling on the
+veranda, with the chauffeur beside him. "I'll get Isabel," he called,
+"then come back for you."
+
+He reached Madame Bernard's without accident and Isabel, almost wild
+with joy, ran out of the gate to meet him and climbed in. Only Rose,
+from the shelter of her curtains, saw them as they went away.
+
+"Where shall we go?" Isabel asked. She was hatless and the sun dwelt
+lovingly upon her shining black hair.
+
+"Back for Dad. He's waiting for us. Do you like it, dear?"
+
+"Indeed I do. Oh, so much! It was lovely of him, wasn't it? He wouldn't
+care, would he, if we took a little ride just by ourselves before we
+went back for him?"
+
+"Of course not, but we can't go far and we'll have to go fast."
+
+"I love to go fast. I've never been fast enough yet. I wonder if the
+Crosbys have got their automobile?"
+
+"I heard so, but I haven't seen it. I understand that Romeo is learning
+to drive it in the narrow boundaries of the yard."
+
+"What day of the month is it?"
+
+"The thirtieth. There's less than three months to wait now, darling--
+then you'll be mine, all mine."
+
+"Then this is the day the Crosbys were going to celebrate--it's the
+anniversary of their uncle's death. I'm glad we've got our automobile.
+Can't we go by there? It's only three miles, and I'd love to have them
+see us go by, at full speed."
+
+Obediently, Allison turned into the winding road which led to Crosbys's
+and, to please Isabel, drove at the third speed. Once under way, the
+road spun dustily backward under the purring car, and the wind in their
+faces felt like the current of a stream.
+
+"Oh," cried Isabel, rapturously; "isn't it lovely!"
+
+"I'm almost afraid to go so fast, dear. If there should be another car
+on this road, we might collide at some of these sharp turns."
+
+"But there isn't. There's not another automobile in this sleepy little
+town, except the Crosbys'. It isn't likely that they're out in theirs
+now, on this road."
+
+But, as it happened, they were. After some difficulties at the start,
+Romeo had engineered "The Yellow Peril" out through a large break in the
+fence. The twins wore their brown suits with tan leather trimmings, and,
+as planned long ago, the back seat of the machine was partially filled
+with raw meat of the sort most liked by Romeo's canine dependents.
+
+Two yellow flags fluttered from the back of the driver's seat. One had
+the initials "C. T." in black, on the other, in red, was "The Yellow
+Peril." The name of the machine and the monogram were strikingly in
+evidence on the doors and at the back, where a choice cut of roast beef,
+uncooked, dangled temptingly by a strong cord.
+
+Just before they started, Juliet unfastened the barn door and freed
+nineteen starving dogs, all in collars suited to the general colour
+scheme of the automobile, and bearing the initials: "C. T." When they
+sniffed the grateful odour borne on the warm June wind, they plunged
+after the machine with howls and yelps of delight. Only Minerva remained
+behind, having five new puppies to care for.
+
+"Oh, Romie, Romie!" shouted Juliet, in ecstasy. "They're coming! See!"
+
+Romeo looked back for the fraction of an instant, saw that they were,
+indeed, "coming," and then discovered that he had lost control of the
+machine. "Sit tight," he said, to Juliet, between clenched teeth.
+
+"I am," she screamed, gleefully. "Oh, Romie, if uncle could only see us
+now!"
+
+"Uncle's likely to see us very soon," retorted Romeo grimly, "unless I
+can keep her on the road."
+
+But Juliet was absorbed in the joy of the moment and did not hear. A
+cloud of dust, through which gleamed brass and red, appeared on the road
+ahead of them, having rounded the curve at high speed. At the same
+instant, Allison saw just beyond him, the screaming fantasy of colour
+and sound.
+
+"Jump!" he cried to Isabel. "Jump for your life!"
+
+She immediately obeyed him, falling in a little white heap at the
+roadside. He rose, headed the machine toward the ditch at the right, and
+jumped to the left, falling face down in the road with his hands
+outstretched, Before he could stir, the other machine roared heavily
+over him, grazing his left hand and crushing it into the deep dust.
+
+There was almost an instant of unbelievable agony, then, mercifully,
+darkness and oblivion.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+"HOW SHE WILL COME TO ME"
+
+The darkness swayed but did not lift. There was a strange rhythm in its
+movement, as though it were the sea, but there was no sound. Black
+shadows crept upon him, then slowly ebbed away. At times he was part of
+the darkness, at others, separate from it, yet lying upon it and wholly
+sustained by it.
+
+At intervals, the swaying movement changed. His feet sank slowly in
+distinct pulsations until he stood almost upright, then his head began
+to sink and his feet to rise. When his head was far down and his feet
+almost directly above him, the motion changed again and he came back
+gradually to the horizontal, sinking back with one heart-beat and rising
+with the next--always a little higher.
+
+How still it was! The silence of eternity was in that all compassing
+dark, which reached to the uttermost boundaries of space. It was hollow
+and empty, save for him, rising and falling, rising and falling, in a
+series of regular movements corresponding almost exactly to the ticking
+of a watch.
+
+A faint, sickening odour crept through the darkness, followed by a black
+overwhelming shadow which threatened to engulf him in its depths. Still
+swaying, he waited for it calmly. All at once it was upon him, but
+swiftly receded. He seemed to sway backward out of it, and as he looked
+back upon it, gathering its forces for another attack, he saw that it
+was different from the darkness upon which he lay--that, instead of
+black, it was a deep purple.
+
+The odour persisted and almost nauseated him. It was vaguely familiar,
+though he had never before come into intimate contact with it. Was it
+the purple shadow, that ebbed and flowed so strangely upon his dark
+horizon, growing to a brighter purple with each movement?
+
+The purple grew very bright, then deepened to blue--almost black.
+Dancing tongues of flame shot through the darkness, as he swung through
+it, up and down, like a ship moved by a heavy ground swell. The flames
+took colour and increased in number. Violet, orange, blue, green, and
+yellow flickered for an instant, then disappeared.
+
+The darkness was not quite so heavy, but it still swayed. The javelins
+of flame shot through it continually, making a web of iridescence. Then
+the purple shadow approached majestically and put them out. When it
+retreated, they came again, but the colour was fainter.
+
+The yellow flames darted toward him from every conceivable direction,
+stabbing him like needles. In this light, the purple shadow changed to
+blue and began to grow brighter. The sickening odour was so strong now
+that he could scarcely breathe. The blue shadow warred with the yellow
+flames, but could not put them out. He saw now that the shadow was his
+friend and the flames were a host of enemies.
+
+All the little stabbing lights suddenly merged into one. He was
+surrounded by fire that burned him as he swayed back and forth, and the
+cool shadows were gone. The light grew intense and terrible, but he
+could not lift his hand to shade his eyes. Slowly the orange deepened to
+scarlet in which he spun around giddily among myriads of blood-red
+disks. The scarlet grew brighter and brighter until it became a white,
+streaming light. All at once the swaying stopped.
+
+The intensity of the white light was agreeably tempered by a grey mist.
+Through the vapour, he saw the outlines of his own chiffonier, across
+the room. A woman in spotless white moved noiselessly about. Even though
+she did not look at him, he felt a certain friendliness toward her. She
+seemed to have been with him while he swayed through the shadow and it
+was pleasant to know that he had not been alone.
+
+On the table near the window, his violin lay as he had left it. The case
+was standing in a corner and his music stand had toppled over. The torn
+sheets of music rustled idly on the floor, and he wondered, fretfully,
+why the woman in white did not pick them up.
+
+As if in answer to his thought, she stooped, and gathered them together,
+quietly sorting the pages and putting them into the open drawer that
+held his music. She closed the drawer and folded up his music stand
+without making a sound. She seemed far removed from him, like someone
+from another world.
+
+Cloud surrounded her, but he caught glimpses of her through it
+occasionally. She took up his violin, very carefully, put it into its
+case, and carried it out of the room. He did not care very much, but it
+seemed rather an impolite thing to do. He knew that he would not have
+stolen a violin when the owner was in the same room.
+
+Soon she came back and he was reassured. She had not stolen it after
+all. She might have broken it, for she seemed to feel very sorry about
+something. She was wiping her eyes with a bit of white, as women always
+did when they cried.
+
+It was not necessary for her to cry, on account of one broken violin,
+for he had thousands of them--Stradivarius, Amati, Cremona; everything.
+Some of them were highly coloured and very rare on that account. He had
+only to go to his storehouse, present a ticket, and choose whatever he
+liked--red, green, yellow, or even striped.
+
+Everybody who played the violin needed a great many of them, for the
+different moods of music. It was obvious that the dark brown violin with
+which he played slow, sad music could not be used for the Hungarian
+Dances. He had a special violin for those, striped with barbaric colour.
+
+The woman who had broken one of his violins stood at the window with her
+back toward him. Her shoulders shook and from time to time she lifted
+the bit of white to her eyes. It was annoying, he thought; even worse
+than the shadows and the fire. He was about to call to her and suggest,
+ironically, that she had cried enough and that the flowers would be
+spoiled if they got too wet, when someone called, from the next room:
+"Miss Rose!"
+
+She turned quickly, wiped her eyes once more, and, without making a
+sound, went out on the white cloud that surrounded her half way to her
+waist.
+
+He tried to change his position a little and felt his own bed under him.
+His body was stiff and sore, but he had the use of it, except his left
+arm. Try as he might, he could not move it, for it was weighted down and
+it hurt terribly.
+
+"Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose, Miss Rose." The words beat hard in his
+ears like a clock ticking loudly. The accent was on the "Miss"--the last
+word was much fainter. "Rose Miss" was wrong, so the other must be
+right, except for the misplaced accent. Did the accent always come on
+the first beat of a measure? He had forgotten, but he would ask the man
+at the storehouse when he went to get the striped violin for the
+Hungarian Dances.
+
+His left hand throbbed with unbearable agony. The room began to spin
+slowly on its axis. There was no mist now, or even a shadow, and every
+sense was abnormally acute. The objects in the whirling room were
+phenomenally clear; even a scratch on the front of his chiffonier stood
+out distinctly.
+
+He could hear a clock ticking, though there was no clock in his room.
+Afar was the sound of women sobbing--two of them. Above it a strange
+voice said, distinctly: "There is not one chance in a thousand of saving
+his hand. If I had nurses, I would amputate now, before he recovers
+consciousness."
+
+The words struck him with the force of a blow, though he did not fully
+realise what they meant. The pain in his left arm and the sickening
+odour nauseated him. The cool black shadow drowned the objects in the
+room and crept upon him stealthily. Presently he was swaying again, up
+and down, up and down, in the all-encompassing, all-hiding dark.
+
+So it happened that he did not hear Colonel Kent's ringing answer: "You
+shall not amputate until every great surgeon in the United States has
+said that it is absolutely necessary. I leave on the next train, and
+shall send them and keep on sending until there are no more to send.
+Until a man comes who thinks there is a chance of saving it, you are in
+charge--after that, it is his case."
+
+Day by day, a continuous procession came to the big Colonial house.
+Allison became accustomed to the weary round of darkness, pain,
+sickening odours, strange faces, darkness, and so on, endlessly, without
+pity or pause.
+
+The woman in white had mysteriously vanished. In her place were two, in
+blue and white, with queer, unbecoming caps. They were there one at a
+time, always; never for more than a few minutes were they together. When
+the fierce, hot agony became unendurable for even a moment longer, one
+of them would lean over him with a bit of shining silver in her hand,
+and stab him sharply for an instant. Then, with incredible quickness,
+came peace.
+
+Once, when two strange men had come together, and had gone into the
+adjoining room, he caught disconnected fragments of conversation.
+"Hypersensitive-impossible--not much longer--interesting case." He
+wondered, as he began to sway in the darkness again, what
+"hypersensitive" meant. Surely, he used to know.
+
+Still, it did not matter--nothing mattered now. In the brief intervals
+of consciousness, he began to wonder what he had been doing just before
+this happened, whatever it was. It took him days to piece out the
+disconnected memories past the whirling room, the woman in white and the
+creeping shadows, to the red touring car and Isabel.
+
+His heart throbbed painfully, held though it was by some iron hand, icy
+cold, in a pitiless clutch. Weakly, he summoned the blue and white woman
+who sat in a low chair across his room. She came quickly, and put her
+ear very close to his lips that she might hear what he said.
+
+"Was--she--hurt?"
+
+"No," said the blue and white woman, very kindly. "Only slightly
+bruised."
+
+The next day he summoned her again. As before, she bent very low to
+catch the gasping words: "Where is-my--father?"
+
+"He had to go to town on business. He will come back just as soon as he
+can."
+
+"He-is--dead," said Allison, with difficulty. "Nothing else--could take-
+him-away--now."
+
+"No," she assured him, "you must believe me. He's all right. Everybody
+else is all right and we hope you soon will be."
+
+"No use--talking of--it," he breathed, hoarsely. "I know."
+
+Singly, by twos and even threes, the strange men continued to come from
+the City. Allison submitted wearily to the painful examinations that
+seemed so unnecessary. Some of the men seemed kind, even sympathetic.
+Others were cold and impassive, like so many machines. Still others, and
+these were in the majority, were almost brutal.
+
+It was one of the latter sort who one day drew a chair up to the side of
+the bed with a scraping noise that made the recumbent figure quiver from
+head to foot. The man's face was almost colourless, his bulging blue
+eyes were cold and fish-like, distorted even more by the strong lenses
+of his spectacles.
+
+"Better have it over with," he suggested. "I can do it now."
+
+"Do what?" asked Allison, with difficulty.
+
+"Amputate your hand. There's no chance."
+
+The blue and white young woman then on duty came forward. "I beg your
+pardon, Doctor, but Colonel Kent left strict orders not to operate
+without his consent."
+
+The strange man disdained to answer the nurse, but turned to Allison
+again. "Do you know where your father can be reached by wire?"
+
+"My father--is dead," Allison insisted. He closed his eyes and would
+answer no more questions. In the next room, he heard the nurse and the
+doctor talking in low tones that did not carry. Only one word rose above
+the murmur: "delusion."
+
+Allison repeated it to himself as he sank into the darkness again,
+wondering what it meant and of whom they were speaking.
+
+Slowly he recovered from the profound shock, but his hand did not
+improve. He had an idea that the ceaseless bandaging and unbandaging
+were dangerous as well as painful, but said nothing. He knew that his
+career had come to its end before it had really begun, but it did not
+seem to affect him in any way. He considered it unemotionally and
+impersonally, when he thought of it at all.
+
+Two more men came together. One was brutal, the other merely cold. They
+shook their heads and went away. A few days later, a man of the rare
+sort came; a gentle, kindly, sympathetic soul, who seemed human and
+real.
+
+After the examination was finished, Allison asked, briefly: "Any
+chance?"
+
+The kindly man hesitated for an instant, then told the truth. "I'm
+afraid not."
+
+The nurse happened to be out of the room, none the less, Allison
+motioned to him to come closer. Almost in a whisper he said: "Can you
+give me anything that will make me strong enough to write half a dozen
+lines?"
+
+"Could no one else write it for you?"
+
+"No one."
+
+"Couldn't I take the message?"
+
+"Could anyone take a message for me to the girl I was going to marry--
+now?"
+
+"I understand," said the other, gently. "We'll see. You must make it
+very brief."
+
+When the nurse came back, they gave him a pencil, propped a book up
+before him, and fastened a sheet of paper to it by a rubber band. After
+the powerful stimulant the doctor administered had begun to take effect,
+Allison managed to write, in a very shaky, almost illegible hand:
+
+"MY DEAREST:
+
+"My left hand will have to come off. As I can't ask you to marry a
+cripple, the only honourable thing for me to do is to release you from
+our engagement. Don't think I blame you. Good-bye, darling, and may God
+bless you.
+
+"A. K."
+
+The effort exhausted him greatly, but the thing was done. The nurse
+folded it, put it into an envelope, sealed it, and took the pencil from
+him.
+
+"You'll let me address it, won't you?" she asked.
+
+"Yes. Miss Isabel Ross. Anyone in the house can tell you where--anyone
+will take it to her. Thank you," he added, speaking to the doctor.
+
+That night, for the first time, the situation began to affect him
+personally. In the hours after midnight, as the forces of the physical
+body ebbed toward the lowest point, those of the mind seemed to
+increase. Staring at the low night light, that by its feeble flicker
+exorcised the thousand phantoms that beset him, he could think clearly.
+In a rocking chair, across the room, the night nurse dozed, with a white
+shawl wrapped around her. He could hear her deep, regular breathing as
+she slept.
+
+His father was dead--he knew that for an absolute fact, and wondered why
+the two kind women and the endless, varying procession of men should so
+persistently lie to him about this when they were willing to tell him
+the truth about everything else.
+
+He also knew that, sooner or later, his left hand would be amputated and
+that his career would come to an inglorious end--indeed, the end had
+already come. The ordeal painfully shadowed upon his horizon was only
+the final seal. Fortunately there was money enough for everything--he
+would want pitifully little for the rest of his life.
+
+His life stretched out before him in a waste of empty years. He was
+thirty, now, and his father had lived until well past seventy; might
+have lived many years more had he not died when his heart broke over the
+misfortunes of his idolised son. He could remember the rumble of the
+carriage wheels the night of the funeral. The nurse had dozed in her
+chair just as she was dozing now, while downstairs they carried his
+father out of the house in a black casket and buried him. It was all as
+clear as though it had happened yesterday, instead of ages ago.
+
+A clock, somewhere near by, chimed three quick, silvery strokes. With
+the last stroke, the clock in the kitchen struck three, also, in a
+different tone and with an annoying briskness of manner. As the echo
+died away, the old grandfather's clock on the landing boomed out three
+portentously solemn chimes. It was followed almost immediately by a
+cheery, impertinent little clock, insisting that it was four and almost
+time for sunrise.
+
+The nurse stirred in her chair, yawned, and came over to the bed. She
+straightened the blankets with a practised hand, changed his hot pillow
+for a fresh one, brought him a drink of cool water, and went back to her
+chair without having said a word. The gentle ministry comforted him
+insensibly. What magic there was in the touch of a woman's hand! But, in
+the long grey years ahead, there would be no woman, unless--Isabel--
+
+Sometime that afternoon, or early in the evening, she had received his
+note. It was not strange that they had not allowed her to come to see
+him, because no one had seen him but the doctors and nurses. Even Aunt
+Francesca, whom he had known all his life, had not darkened his open
+door.
+
+But now, Isabel would come--she could not help but come. With the
+passing of the fateful hour, strength began to return slowly. She would
+come to-morrow, and every tick of the clock brought to-morrow a second
+nearer.
+
+A steadily increasing warmth came into his veins and thawed the ice
+around his heart. The cold hand that had held it so long mercifully
+loosened its fingers. He turned his face toward the Eastern window, that
+he might watch for the first faint glow.
+
+A single long, deepening shadow struck across the far horizon like the
+turning out of a light. Almost immediately, the distant East brightened.
+Day was coming--the sun, and Isabel.
+
+With the first hint of colour, hope dawned in his soul, changing to
+certainty as the light increased. It was not in the way of things that
+he, who had always had everything, should at one fell stroke be left
+desolate. Out of the wreckage there was one thing he might keep--Isabel.
+
+He laughed at the thought that she would accept her release. What would
+he have done he asked himself, were it she instead of him? Could
+mutilation, or even death, change his love for her? He was equally sure
+that hers could not be changed.
+
+It was fortunate that she was saved--that it was he instead of Isabel.
+She had pretty hands--such dear hands as men have loved and kissed
+since, back in the garden, the First Woman gave hers to the First Man,
+that he might lead her wheresoever he would.
+
+In the midst of the wreckage, he perceived a divine compensation, for
+Isabel would not fail him--she could not fail him now. Transfigured by
+tenderness, her coldness changed to the utmost yielding, to-morrow would
+bring him his goddess, a deeply-loving woman at last.
+
+"How she will come to me," he said to himself, feeling, in fancy, her
+soft arms around him, and her warm lips on his, while the life-current
+flowed steadily from her to him and made him a man again, not a
+weakling. His heart beat with a joy that was almost pain, for he could
+feel her intoxicating nearness even now. Perhaps her sweet eyes would
+overflow with the greatness of her love and her tears would fall upon
+his face when she knelt beside him, to lay her head upon his breast.
+
+"How she will come to me!" he breathed, in ecstasy. "Ah, how she will
+come!"
+
+And so, smiling, he slept, as the first shaft of sun that brought his
+dear To-Morrow fell full upon his face.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+HOW ISABEL CAME
+
+Madame Bernard and Rose were so deeply affected by Allison's misfortune
+that they scarcely took note of Isabel's few bruises, greatly to that
+young woman's disgust. She chose to consider herself in the light of a
+martyr and had calmly received the announcement that Allison's left hand
+would probably have to be amputated.
+
+None of them had seen him, though the two older women were ready to go
+at any hour of the day or night they might be needed or asked for.
+Isabel affected a sprained ankle and limped badly when anyone was
+looking. Once or twice she had been seen to walk almost as usual, though
+she did not know it.
+
+The upper hall, and, occasionally, the other parts of the house, smelled
+of the various liniments and lotions with which she anointed herself.
+She scorned the suggestion that she should stay in bed, for she was
+quite comfortable upon a couch, in her most becoming negligee, with a
+novel and a box of chocolates to bear her company.
+
+At first, she had taken her meals in her own room, but, finding that it
+was more pleasant to be downstairs with the others for luncheon and
+dinner, managed to go up and down the long flight of stairs twice each
+day.
+
+Placid as she was, the table was not a cheerful place, for the faces of
+the other two were haggard and drawn, and neither made more than a
+pretence of eating. Daily bulletins came from the other house as to
+Allison's condition, and Madame was in constant communication by
+telegraph with Colonel Kent. She kept him reassured as much as possible,
+and did not tell him of Allison's ineradicable delusion that his father
+was dead.
+
+Allison's note was given to Isabel at luncheon the day after it was
+written, having been delayed in delivery the night before until after
+she was asleep. With it was a letter from her mother, which had come in
+the noon mail.
+
+She opened Allison's note first, read it, and put it back into the
+envelope. Her mother's letter was almost equally brief. That, too, she
+returned to its envelope without comment.
+
+"How is your mother, Isabel?" inquired Madame, having caught a glimpse
+of the bold, dashing superscription which was familiar, though
+infrequent.
+
+"She's all right," Isabel answered, breaking open a hot muffin. "It's
+funny that it should come at the same time as the other."
+
+"Why?" asked Rose, merely for the sake of making conversation.
+
+"Because just as Mamma writes to tell me that marriage is slavery, but
+that if he can take care of me and Aunt Francesca approves of him, it
+will be all right, Allison writes and releases me from the engagement."
+
+"Poor boy!" sighed Madame.
+
+"I don't know why you should say 'poor boy,'" Isabel observed, rather
+fretfully. "He's not very ill if he can write letters. I'm sure I don't
+feel like writing any."
+
+"I wasn't thinking of that," said Madame, half to herself.
+
+"And as for his releasing me," Isabel went on, coolly, "I'm glad he was
+decent enough to do it and save me the trouble of releasing myself."
+
+Rose got to her feet somehow, her face deathly white. "Do you mean," she
+cried, "that you would think for a minute of accepting release?"
+
+"Why, certainly," the girl replied, in astonishment. "Why not? He says
+himself that he can't ask me to marry a cripple."
+
+Rose winced visibly. "Isabel!" she breathed. "Oh, Isabel!"
+
+"My dear," said Madame, with such kindness as she could muster, "have
+you forgotten that he saved you from death, or worse?"
+
+"He didn't do anything for me but to tell me to jump. I did more for him
+than that. Nobody seems to think it was anything for me to get up out of
+the dust, with my best white dress all ruined and my face scratched and
+my ankle sprained and one arm bleeding, and help the Crosbys carry a
+heavy man to their machine and lay him on the back seat."
+
+"I thought the Crosbys carried him," put in Madame. "They're strong
+enough to do it, I should think."
+
+"Well, I helped. I had to take all that nasty raw meat out of the back
+seat and throw it out in the ditch to the dogs, and stand up all the way
+home, bruised as I was, to keep him from falling off the seat. We were
+in a perfect bedlam there for a while, but it doesn't seem to make any
+difference to anybody. Nobody cares what happens to me."
+
+"Besides," she went on, with her voice raised to a high pitch by
+excitement, "I don't see why I should be expected to marry a man with
+only one hand. He can't play any more, and if he can't play, how can he
+make any money to take care of me, even if I should tie myself to him
+for life? Do you expect me to take in washing and take care of him?"
+
+"Isabel," said Madame, coldly, "please stop talking so loudly and please
+listen for a moment. Nobody expects you to marry a man whom, for any
+reason on earth, you do not love well enough to marry. Kindly consider
+that as something to be settled in accordance with your own wishes and
+desires."
+
+"Certainly,"' interrupted the girl. "I'd like to see anybody force me to
+marry him!"
+
+Madame compressed her lips into a thin, tight line, and her face became
+stern, even hard. She clenched her small hands tightly and her breath
+came quickly. A red spot burned on either cheek.
+
+Never having seen Madame angry before, Rose was almost frightened. She
+herself was not angry, but hurt--for him. At the moment she heard of the
+accident, her love for him had transcended the bounds of self and merged
+into prayer for him and for his good, whatever that might prove to be.
+
+"Isabel," said Rose, very softly, "will you do one thing for me?"
+
+"What?" Isabel demanded, suspiciously.
+
+"Listen, dear. For me, if not for him, will you go to him, and--well,
+simply be kind? Don't let him think that this terrible thing has
+separated him from you or changed your love. Wait until he is strong and
+well again before you tell him. Will you, please?"
+
+Isabel's flushed face took on the expression of outraged virtue. "I
+don't know why I should be expected to lie," she remarked evasively,
+with a subtle change of manner.
+
+Madame Bernard cleared her throat. "Your love was a lie," she said, in a
+tone that neither of them had ever heard her use before. "One more won't
+matter."
+
+Isabel fidgeted in her chair and nervously tapped the edge of her plate
+with her fork. "I haven't heard anybody say," she began, with the air of
+one scoring a fine point, "that his father doesn't love him, and yet he
+hasn't gone near him--hasn't even seen him since we were hurt. If
+Colonel Kent can stay away from him, I don't know why I can't."
+
+The argument seemed unanswerable, for neither Madame nor Rose spoke.
+They sat with averted eyes until the silence became oppressive, and
+Isabel, with ostentatious difficulty, pushed back her chair and limped
+painfully out of the room.
+
+When she had locked her own door, she was more at ease, and began to
+survey her unpleasant situation. Nobody seemed to consider her at all--
+it was only Allison, and everything and everybody, apparently, must be
+sacrificed for him. Just because she had promised to marry him, when he
+had both hands, they wanted her to go on with it, in spite of the fact
+that he saw it was impossible.
+
+Isabel sighed heavily. Nobody knew how keenly disappointed she was. She
+had written to her few friends, told them about her engagement ring, the
+plans made for her trousseau, the promised touring car, and the
+brilliant social career that lay before her as the wife of a famous
+violinist.
+
+She pictured a triumphal tour from city to city, with the leaders of
+fashion everywhere vying with each other in entertaining them--or, at
+least, her. It would, of course, be necessary for Allison to play
+occasionally in the evening and they would miss a great deal on that
+account, but her days would be free, and she could cancel all her own
+social obligations by complimentary tickets and suppers after the
+concerts.
+
+She had planned it all as she took lazy stitches in her dainty lingerie.
+Aunt Francesca and Rose had been helping her, but the whole thing had
+stopped suddenly. It seemed rather selfish of them not to go on with it,
+for lingerie was always useful, and even though she should not marry
+Allison, it was not at all improbable that she would marry someone else.
+
+If she could find anybody who had plenty of money and would be good to
+her, she knew that she would encounter no parental opposition, in spite
+of Mrs. Ross's pronounced views upon the slavery of matrimony.
+
+Allison had been very decent in releasing her from her awkward
+predicament. He had even arranged it so that no answer was necessary and
+she need not even see him again. She had the natural shrinking of the
+healthy young animal from its own stricken kind. It would be much nicer
+not to see him again.
+
+But, if he could write letters now, it would not be long before he would
+be able to come over, though his hand had not yet been taken off. It was
+too bad, for everything had been very pleasant until the accident. She
+had missed Allison's daily visits and had probably lost the touring car,
+though as she had taken pains to find out, it had fallen into the ditch
+and had been injured very little.
+
+Aunt Francesca and Rose had been queer ever since it happened. After
+Colonel Kent and the servants and the twins had lifted Allison out of
+"The Yellow Peril" and carried him up to his own room on an improvised
+stretcher, while someone else was telephoning for every doctor in the
+neighbourhood, the twins had taken her home. She had insisted upon their
+helping her up the steps, and as soon as Aunt Francesca and Rose heard
+the news, they had paid no attention to her at all, but, with one voice,
+had demanded that the twins should take them to Kent's immediately.
+
+They had gone without even stopping for their hats, and left her wholly
+to the servants. Even when they had come home, late at night, in their
+own carriage, it was over half an hour before Aunt Francesca came to her
+room, so overburdened with selfish grief that she did not even listen to
+the recital of Isabel's numerous bruises.
+
+Perhaps it would be best to go away, though the city was terrible in
+Summer, and she had only money enough to take her to the hotel where her
+mother retained a suite of three rooms. If Aunt Francesca and Rose would
+leave her alone in the house long enough, and she could pack a suit-case
+and get the carriage just in time to take her to the train, she could
+write a formal note and ask to have the rest of her things sent by
+express. If there were a late train, or one very early in the morning,
+she could probably manage it, even without the carriage, but, on
+consulting the time-table, she found that trains did not run at hours
+suitable for escape.
+
+However, it was just as well to pack while she had time. She could keep
+the suit-case hidden until the auspicious moment arrived. It would only
+take a moment to open it and sweep her toilet articles into it from the
+top of her dresser.
+
+She had just taken a fresh shirtwaist out of the drawer when there was a
+light, determined rap at the door. When she opened it, she was much
+astonished to see Aunt Francesca come in, dressed for a drive.
+
+"Are you almost ready, Isabel?" she asked, politely.
+
+"Ready," gasped the girl. "For what?"
+
+It seemed for the moment as though she had been anticipated in her
+departure and was about to be put out of the house.
+
+"To drive over to Kent's," answered Madame, imperturbably. From her
+manner one would have thought the drive had been long planned.
+
+Isabel sat down on her bed. "I'm not going," she said.
+
+"Oh, yes, you are," returned Madame, in a small, thin voice. "You may go
+in your tea gown and slippers if you prefer, but I will wait until you
+dress, if you are quick about it."
+
+"I won't," Isabel announced, flatly. "I'm sick. You know I'm all bruised
+up and I can't walk."
+
+"You can walk down-stairs and it's only a few steps farther to the
+carriage. I telephoned over to ask if he would see you, and the nurse
+said that he would be very glad to see you--that he had been asking all
+day why you did not come. The carriage is waiting at the door, so please
+hurry."
+
+Isabel was head and shoulders taller than the determined little lady who
+stood there, waiting, but there was something in her manner that
+demanded immediate obedience. Sullenly, Isabel began to dress. If Aunt
+Francesca went with her, it would not be necessary to say much. She
+caught at the thought as though she were drowning and the proverbial
+straw had floated into reach.
+
+She took her time about dressing, but Madame said nothing. She simply
+stood there, waiting, in the open door, until the last knot was tied,
+the last pin adjusted, and the last stray lock brushed into place.
+
+Isabel limped ostentatiously all the way down-stairs and had to be
+assisted into the carriage. During the brief drive neither spoke. The
+silence was unbroken until they reached the door of Allison's room, then
+Madame said, in a low tone: "The carriage will call for you in an hour.
+Remember he loves you, and be kind."
+
+Up to that moment, Isabel had not suspected that she would be obliged to
+see him alone. She was furious with Aunt Francesca for thus betraying
+her, but no retreat was possible. The nurse smilingly ushered her in,
+passed her almost on the threshold, and went out, quietly closing the
+door.
+
+Allison, as eager as a boy of twenty, had half risen in bed. The injured
+hand was hidden by the sheet, but the other was outstretched in welcome.
+"Isabel," he breathed. "My Isabel!"
+
+Isabel did not move. "How do you do?" she said primly.
+
+"I'm sorry I can't get you a chair, dear. Come close, won't you?"
+
+Isabel limped painfully to the chair that was farthest from him, dragged
+it over to the bed, and sat down--just out of his reach. Below, the
+rumble of wheels announced that Madame had gone back home. Unless she
+walked, Isabel was stranded at Kent's for a full hour.
+
+"My note," Allison was saying. "You got it, didn't you?"
+
+"Yes. It came while I was at luncheon to-day."
+
+It flashed upon him for an instant that the reality was disappointing,
+that this was not all as he had dreamed it would be, but pride bade him
+conceal his disappointment as best he could.
+
+"You were hurt," he said, tenderly. "I'm so sorry."
+
+"Yes. I was hurt quite a good deal."
+
+"But you're all right now, and I'm so glad!"
+
+"Thank you," she answered, listlessly.
+
+Her eyes roved about the room, observing every detail of furniture and
+ornament. It was old-fashioned, and in a way queer, she thought. She was
+glad that she would never have to live there.
+
+Allison watched her eagerly. Like a wayfarer in the desert thirsting for
+water, he longed for her tenderness; for one unsought kiss, even in
+farewell. His pride sustained him no longer. "Dear," he pleaded, like
+the veriest beggar; "won't you kiss me just once?"
+
+Isabel hesitated. "It isn't proper," she murmured, "now that we are no
+longer engaged. I'm sorry you got hurt," she added, as an afterthought.
+
+Allison's face paled suddenly. So, she accepted her release! Then eager
+justification of her made him wonder if by any chance she could have
+misunderstood.
+
+"Dearest," he said, with cold lips, "did you think for a single instant
+that I wanted to release you? I did it because it was the only thing an
+honourable man could do and I wouldn't let pity for me hold you to a
+promise made in love. It wasn't that I didn't want you. I've wanted you
+every day and every hour. Only God knows how I've wanted you and shall
+want you all the rest of my life, unless--"
+
+He paused, hoping, for the space of a heartbeat, that the dream might
+come true.
+
+But Isabel did not move from her chair. She surveyed the opposite wall
+for a few moments before she spoke. "It was honourable," she said, in a
+more friendly tone. "Of course it was the only thing you could do."
+
+"Of course," he echoed, bitterly.
+
+Isabel rose, went to the foot of the bed, and leaned upon it, facing
+him. "I'm afraid I've stayed too long," she said. "I think I'd better
+go. I can wait downstairs for the carriage."
+
+Allison did not answer. His eyes burned strangely in his white face,
+making her vaguely uncomfortable and afraid. She turned the diamond ring
+upon her finger and slowly slipped it off.
+
+"I suppose I must give this back," she said, reluctantly. "I mustn't
+wear it now."
+
+"Why not?" he asked huskily.
+
+"Because it doesn't mean anything--now."
+
+"It never did. Keep it, Isabel."
+
+"Thank you," she said, calmly, putting it back, but on the middle
+finger. "I must go now. I hope you'll get along all right."
+
+"Wait just a minute, please." He rang a bell that was on a table within
+his reach, and the nurse came in. "Please bring me my violin."
+
+Isabel turned to the door but was held back by a peremptory command.
+"Wait!"
+
+"Here," he cried shrilly, offering Isabel the violin. "Take this, too!"
+
+"What for?" she asked, curiously. "I can't play."
+
+"Nevertheless, it belongs to you. Keep it, as a souvenir!"
+
+Holding the violin awkwardly, Isabel backed out of the room, the nurse
+following her and closing the door. The nurse was a young woman who had
+not sacrificed her normal human sympathy to her chosen work, but had
+managed, happily, to combine the two. She watched Isabel disdainfully as
+she went down-stairs, very briskly for one with a sprained ankle.
+
+"God!" said Allison, aloud. "Oh, God in Heaven!"
+
+Then the nurse turned away in pity, for behind the closed door she heard
+a grown man sobbing like a hurt child.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+PENANCE
+
+The Crosby twins had gone home very quietly, after doing all they could
+to help Colonel Kent and Madame Bernard. "The Yellow Peril" chugged
+along at the lowest speed with all its gaudy banners torn down. Neither
+spoke until they passed the spot where the red touring car lay on its
+side in the ditch, and four or five dogs, still hungry and hopeful,
+wrangled over a few bare bones.
+
+Juliet was sniffing audibly, and, as soon as she saw the wreck, burst
+into tears. "Oh, Romie," she sobbed, "if he's dead, we've killed him!"
+
+Romeo swallowed a lump in his throat, winked hard, and roughly advised
+Juliet to "shut up."
+
+When the machine was safely in the barn, and all the scattered dogs
+collected and imprisoned, Romeo came in, ready to talk it over. "We've
+got to do something," he said, "but I don't know what it is."
+
+"Oh, Romie," cried Juliet with a fresh burst of tears, "do you think
+they'll hang us? We're murderers!"
+
+Romeo considered for a moment before he answered. "We aren't murderers,
+because we didn't go to do it. They won't hang us--but they ought to,"
+he added, remorsefully.
+
+"What can we do?" mourned Juliet. "Oh, what can we do?"
+
+"Well, we can pay all the bills for one thing--that's a good start. To-
+morrow, I'll see about getting that car out of the ditch and taking care
+of it."
+
+"Somebody may steal it," she suggested.
+
+"Not if we guard it. One or both of us ought to sit by it until we can
+get it into the barn."
+
+Juliet wiped her eyes. "That's right. We'll guard it all night to-night
+and while we're guarding it, we'll talk it all over and decide what to
+do."
+
+The dinner of unwholesome delicacies which they had planned as the last
+feature of the day's celebration was hesitatingly renounced. "We don't
+deserve to have anything at all to eat," said Juliet. "What is it that
+they feed prisoners on?"
+
+"Bread and water--black bread?"
+
+"Where could we get black bread?"
+
+"I don't know. I never saw any."
+
+After discussing a penitential menu for some time, they finally decided
+to live upon mush and milk for the present, and, if Allison should die,
+forever. "We can warm it in the winter," said Romeo, "and it won't be so
+bad."
+
+When their frugal repast was finished, they instinctively changed their
+festal garments for the sober attire of every day. Romeo brought in two
+lanterns and Juliet pasted red tissue paper around them, so that they
+might serve as warning signals of the wreck. At sunset, they set forth,
+each with a blanket and a lantern to do sentry duty by the capsized car.
+
+"Oughtn't we to have a dog or two?" queried Romeo, as they trudged down
+the road. "Watchmen always have dogs."
+
+"We oughtn't to have anything that would make it any easier for us to
+watch, and besides, the dogs weren't to blame. They don't need to sit up
+with us--let 'em have their sleep."
+
+"All right," Romeo grunted. "Shall we divide the night into watches and
+one of us sit on the car while the other walks?"
+
+"No, we'll watch together, and we won't sit on the car--we'll sit on the
+cold, damp ground. If we take cold and die it will only serve us right."
+
+"We can't take cold in June," objected Romeo, "with two blankets."
+
+"Unless it rains."
+
+"It won't rain tonight," he said, gloomily; "look at the stars!"
+
+The sky was clear, and pale stars shone faintly in the afterglow. There
+was not even a light breeze--the world was as still and calm as though
+pain and death were unknown.
+
+When they reached the scene of the accident, Romeo set the two red
+lanterns at the point where the back of the car touched the road. They
+spread one blanket on the grass at the other side of the road and sat
+down to begin their long vigil. Romeo planned to go home to breakfast at
+sunrise and bring Juliet some of the mush and milk left from supper.
+Then, while she continued to watch the machine, he would go into town
+and make arrangements for its removal.
+
+"Is there room in our barn for both cars?" she asked.
+
+"No. Ours will have to come out."
+
+Juliet shuddered. "I never want to see it again."
+
+"Neither do I."
+
+"Can we sell it?"
+
+"We ought not to sell it unless we gave him the money. We shouldn't have
+it ourselves."
+
+"Then," suggested Juliet, "why don't we give it away and give him just
+as much as it cost, including our suits and the dogs' collars and
+everything?"
+
+"We have no right to give away a man-killer. 'The Yellow Peril' is
+cursed."
+
+"Let's sacrifice it," she cried. "Let's make a funeral pyre in the yard
+and burn it, and our suits and the dogs' collars and everything. Let's
+burn everything we've got that we care for!"
+
+"All right," agreed Romeo, uplifted by the zeal of the true martyr.
+"And," he added, regretfully, "I'll shoot all the dogs and bury 'em in
+one long trench. I don't want to see anything again that was in it."
+
+"I don't either," returned Juliet. She wondered whether she should
+permit the wholesale execution of the herd, since it was a thing she had
+secretly desired for a long time. "You mustn't shoot Minerva and the
+puppies," she continued, as her strict sense of justice asserted itself,
+"because she wasn't in it. She was at home taking care of her children
+and they'd die if she should be shot now."
+
+So it was settled that Minerva, who had taken no part in the fatal
+celebration, should be spared, with her innocent babes.
+
+"And in a few years more," said Romeo, hopefully, "we'll have lots more
+dogs, though probably not as many as we've got now."
+
+Juliet sighed heavily but was in honour bound to make no objections, for
+long ago, when they arbitrated the dog question, it was written in the
+covenant that no dogs should be imported or none killed, except by
+mutual consent. And Minerva had five puppies, and if each of the five
+should follow the maternal example, and if each of those should do
+likewise--Juliet fairly lost her head in a maze of mental arithmetic.
+
+"We ought to go into deep mourning," Romeo was saying.
+
+"I've been thinking of that. We should repent in sackcloth and ashes,
+only I don't know what sackcloth is."
+
+"I guess it's that rough brown stuff they make potato bags of."
+
+"Burlap?"
+
+"Yes. But we haven't many ashes at this time of year and we'll have
+still less if we live on mush and milk."
+
+"Maybe we could get ashes somewhere," she said, thoughtfully.
+
+"We'd have to, because it would take us over a year to get enough to
+repent in."
+
+"There'll be ashes left from the automobile and the suits, and if you
+can get enough potato bags, I'll fix 'em so we can wear 'em at the
+sacrifice and afterwards we can buy deep mourning."
+
+"All right, but you mustn't make pretty suits."
+
+"I couldn't, out of potato bags. They'll have to be plain--very plain."
+
+"The first thing is to get this car into our barn, and write and tell
+Colonel Kent where it is. Then we'll get our black clothes, and then
+we'll shoot the dogs and bury 'em, and then we'll have the sacrifice,
+and then--"
+
+"And then," repeated Juliet.
+
+"Then we'll have to go and tell 'em all what we've done, and offer to
+pay all the bills, and give 'em the price of the car besides for
+damages."
+
+"Oh, Romie," cried Juliet, with a shudder, "we don't have to go and tell
+'em, do we? We don't have to take strangers into our consciences, do
+we?"
+
+"Certainly," replied Romeo, sternly. "Just because we don't want to do
+it is why we've got to. We've got to do hard things when we make a
+sacrifice. Lots of people think they're charitable if they give away
+their old clothes and things they don't want. It isn't charity to give
+away things you want to get rid of and it isn't a sacrifice to do things
+you don't mind doing. The harder it is and the more we don't want to do
+it, the better sacrifice."
+
+His logic was convincing, but Juliet drooped visibly. The bent little
+figure on the blanket was pathetic, but the twins were not given to
+self-pity. As time went on, the conversation lagged. They had both had a
+hard day, from more than one standpoint, and it was not surprising that
+by midnight, the self-appointed sentries were sound asleep upon one
+blanket, with Romeo's coat for a pillow and the other blanket tucked
+around them.
+
+The red lanterns burned faithfully until almost dawn, then smoked and
+went out, leaving an unpleasant odour that lasted until sunrise. The
+rumble of a distant cart woke them, and they sat up, shamefacedly
+rubbing their eyes.
+
+"Oh," cried Juliet, conscience-stricken, "we went to sleep! We went to
+sleep on duty! How could we?"
+
+"Dunno," returned Romeo, with a frank yawn. "Guess we were tired.
+Anyhow, the machine is all right."
+
+When the milkman came in sight, they hailed him and purchased a quart of
+milk. He was scarcely surprised to see them, for the Crosbys were widely
+known to be eccentric, and presently he drove on. His query about the
+wrecked car had passed unnoticed.
+
+"If you'll stay here, Jule," said Romeo, wiping his mouth, "I'll go and
+get a team and some rope and we'll get the car in."
+
+"Can't I go too?"
+
+"No, you stay here. It's bad enough to sleep at your post without
+deserting it."
+
+"You slept, too," retorted Juliet, quickly on the defensive, "and I'm a
+girl."
+
+"Huh!" he sneered. The claim of feminine privilege invariably disgusted
+him beyond words.
+
+"Suppose people come by--" Juliet faltered; "and--ask--questions."
+
+"Answer 'em," advised Romeo, briefly. "Tell 'em we've killed a man and
+are going to suffer for it. We deserve to have everybody know it."
+
+But, fortunately for Juliet's quicker sensibilities, no one passed by in
+the hour Romeo was gone. He came from the nearest farm with an adequate
+number of assistants and such primitive machinery as was at hand. The
+car was not badly damaged and was finally towed into the Crosbys' barn.
+Then they went into the house and composed a letter to Colonel Kent, but
+put off copying and sending it until they should be able to get black
+bordered stationery.
+
+Two weeks later, clad in deepest mourning, the twins trudged into town.
+At Colonel Kent's there was no one in authority to receive them and
+their errand was of too much importance to be communicated to either
+physician or nurse. Their own unopened letter lay on the library table,
+with many others.
+
+Subdued and chastened in demeanour, they went to Madame Bernard's and
+waited in funereal silence until Madame came down.
+
+"How do you--" she began, then stopped. "Why, what is the matter?"
+
+"We ran over him," explained Romeo, suggestively inclining his head in
+the general direction of Kent's. "Don't you remember?"
+
+"And if he dies, we've killed him," put in Juliet, sadly.
+
+"We'll be murderers if he dies," Romeo continued, "and we ought to be
+hung."
+
+In spite of her own depression and deep anxiety, Madame saw how keenly
+the tragedy had affected the twins. "Why, my dears!" she cried. "Do you
+think for a minute that anybody in the world blames you?"
+
+"We ought to be blamed," Romeo returned, "because we did it."
+
+"But not on purpose--you couldn't help it."
+
+"We could have helped it," said Juliet, "by not celebrating. We had no
+business to buy an automobile, or, even if we had, we shouldn't have
+gone out in it until we learned to run it."
+
+"That's like staying away from the water until you have learned to
+swim," answered Madame, comfortingly, "and Allison isn't going to die."
+
+"Really? Do you mean it? Are you sure? How do you know?" The words came
+all at once, in a jumble of eager questions.
+
+"Because he isn't. The worst that could possibly happen to him would be
+the loss of his left hand, and his father is looking all over the
+country for some surgeon who can save it."
+
+"I'd rather die than to have my hand cut off," said Juliet, in a small,
+thin voice.
+
+"So would I," added Romeo.
+
+"We're all hoping for the best," Madame went on, "and you must hope,
+too. Nobody has thought of blaming you, so you mustn't feel so badly
+about it. Even Allison himself wouldn't want you to feel badly."
+
+"But we do," Romeo answered, "in spite of all the sacrifices and
+everything."
+
+"Sacrifices," repeated Madame, wonderingly, "why, what do you mean?"
+
+"We did sentry duty all night by his car," Romeo explained, "and we're
+taking care of it in our barn."
+
+"And we've lived on mush and milk ever since," Juliet added.
+
+"I shot all the dogs but the one with the puppies," said Romeo.
+
+"She wasn't in it, you know," Juliet continued. "I helped dig the trench
+and we buried the whole nineteen end to end by the fence, with their new
+collars on."
+
+"Then we burned the automobile," resumed Romeo. "We soaked it in
+kerosene, and put our suits into the back seat--our caps and goggles and
+everything. We took out all the pieces of iron and steel and gave 'em to
+the junk man, and then we repented in sackcloth and ashes."
+
+"How so?" queried Madame, with a faint glimmer of amusement in her sad
+eyes.
+
+"Juliet made suits out of potato sacks--very plain suits--and we put 'em
+on to repent in."
+
+"We went and stood in the ashes," put in Juliet, "while they were so hot
+that they hurt our feet, and Romie raised his right hand and said 'I
+repent' and then I did the same."
+
+"And after the ashes got cold, we sat down in 'em and rubbed 'em into
+the sackcloth and our hair and all over our faces and hands."
+
+"All the time saying 'I repent! I repent!'" continued Juliet, soberly.
+
+"And then we went into mourning," concluded Romeo.
+
+Madame's heart throbbed with tender pity for the stricken twins, but she
+wisely said nothing.
+
+"Can you think of anything more we could do, or any more sacrifices we
+could make?" inquired Juliet, ready to atone in full measure.
+
+"Indeed I can't," Madame replied, truthfully. "I think you've done
+everything that could be expected of you."
+
+"We wrote to the Colonel," said Romeo, "but he hasn't got it yet. We saw
+it on the library table. We want to pay all the bills."
+
+"And give Allison as much money as we spent on the automobile and for
+the suits and everything, and pay for fixing up his car," interrupted
+Juliet.
+
+"We want to do everything," Romeo said, with marked emphasis.
+
+"Everything," echoed Juliet.
+
+"That's very nice of you," answered Madame, kindly, "and we all
+appreciate it."
+
+The stem young faces of the twins relaxed ever so little. It was a great
+relief to discover that they were not objects of scorn and loathing, for
+they had brooded over the accident until they had become morbid.
+
+"Did you say that you had been living upon mush and milk ever since?"
+asked Madame.
+
+"Ever since," they answered, together.
+
+"I'm sure that's long enough," she said. "I wouldn't do it any longer.
+Won't you stay to dinner with us?"
+
+With one accord the twins rose, impelled by a single impulse toward
+departure.
+
+"We couldn't," said Romeo.
+
+"We mustn't," explained Juliet. Then, with belated courtesy, she added:
+"Thank you, just the same."
+
+They made their adieux awkwardly and went home, greatly eased in mind.
+As they trudged along the dusty road, they occasionally sighed in
+relief, but said little until they reached their ancestral abode,
+dogless now save for the pups gambolling about the doorstep and Minerva
+watching them with maternal pride.
+
+"She said we'd lived on mush and milk long enough," said Romeo,
+pensively.
+
+"We might fry the mush," Juliet suggested.
+
+"And have butter and maple syrup on it?"
+
+"Maybe."
+
+"And drink the milk, and have bread, too?"
+
+"I guess so."
+
+"And jam?"
+
+"Not while we're in mourning," said Juliet, firmly. "We can have syrup
+on our bread."
+
+"That's just as good."
+
+"If you think so, you ought not to have it."
+
+"We've got to feed ourselves, or we'll die," he objected vigorously,
+"and if we're dead, we won't be any good to him or to anybody else, and
+we can't ever repent any more."
+
+"I'm not so sure about that." said Juliet, with sinister emphasis.
+
+"Nothing will happen to us that we don't deserve," Romeo assured her,
+"so come on and let's have jam. If it makes us sick, it's wrong, and if
+it doesn't, it's all right."
+
+The following day, they voluntarily returned to their mush and milk, for
+they had eaten too much jam, and, having been very ill in the night,
+considered it sufficient evidence that their penance was not yet over.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XVIII
+
+"LESS THAN THE DUST"
+
+The heat of August shimmered over the land, and still, to every inquiry
+at the door or telephone, the quiet young woman in blue and white said:
+"No change." Allison was listless and apathetic, yet comparatively free
+from pain.
+
+Life, for him, had ebbed back to the point where the tide must either
+cease or turn. He knew neither hunger nor thirst nor weariness; only the
+great pause of soul and body, the sense of the ultimate goal.
+
+One by one, he meditated upon the things he used to care for. Isabel
+came first, but her youth and beauty had ceased to trouble or to beckon.
+His father had gone on ahead. The delusion still persisted, but he spoke
+of it no more. Even the violin did not matter now. He remembered the
+endless hours he had spent at work, almost every day of his life for
+years, and to what end? In an instant, it had been rendered empty,
+purposeless, and vain--like life itself.
+
+Occasionally a new man came to look at his hand; not from the city now,
+but from towns farther inland. The examinations were painful, of course,
+but he made no objections. After the man had gone, he could count the
+slow, distinct pulsations that marked the ebbing of the pain, but never
+troubled himself to ask either the doctor or the nurse what the new man
+had said about it. He no longer cared.
+
+Aunt Francesca had not come--nor Rose. Perhaps they were dead, also. He
+asked the nurse one sultry afternoon if they were dead.
+
+"No," she assured him; "nobody is dead."
+
+He wondered, fretfully, why she should take the trouble to lie to him so
+persistently upon this one point. Then a cunning scheme came into his
+mind. It presented itself mechanically to him as a trap for the nurse.
+If they were dead, she could not produce them instantly alive, as a
+conjurer takes animals from an apparently empty box. If he demanded that
+she should bring them to him, or even one, it would prove his point and
+let her see that he knew how she was trying to deceive him.
+
+"Have they gone away?" he inquired.
+
+"No, they're still there."
+
+"Then," said Allison, with the air of one scoring a fine point, "will
+you ask-well--ask Miss Bernard to come over and see me?"
+
+Remembering the other woman who had come in response to his request, and
+the disastrous effect the visit had had upon her patient she hesitated.
+"I'm afraid you're not strong enough," she said kindly. "Can't you wait
+a little longer?"
+
+"There," he cried. "I knew they were dead!"
+
+As she happened to be both wise and kind, the young woman hesitated no
+longer. "If I brought you a note from her you would believe me, wouldn't
+you?"
+
+"No," he replied, stubbornly.
+
+"Isn't there any way you would know, without seeing her?"
+
+He considered for a few moments. "I'd know if I heard her play," he said
+at length. "There's no one who could play just the way she does."
+
+"Suppose I ask her to come over sometimes and play the piano downstairs
+for a few minutes at a time, very softly. Would you like that?"
+
+"Yes--that is, I don't mind." He was sure, now, that his trap was in
+working order, for no one could deceive him at the piano--he would
+recognise Rose at the first chord.
+
+"Excuse me just a minute, please." She returned presently with the news
+that Rose would come as soon as she could. "Can't you go to sleep now?"
+she suggested.
+
+Allison smiled ironically. How transparent she was!
+
+She wanted him to go to sleep and when he awoke, she would tell him that
+Rose had been there, and had played, and had just gone.
+
+"No," he answered, "I don't want to go to sleep. I want to hear Rose
+play."
+
+So he waited, persistently wide awake. Sharpened by illness and pain,
+his hearing was phenomenally acute; so much so that even a whisper in
+the next room was distinctly audible. He heard the distant rumble of
+wheels, approaching steadily, and wondered why the house did not tremble
+when the carriage stopped. He heard the lower door open softly, then
+close, a quick, light step in the living room, the old-fashioned piano
+stool whirling on its rusty axis, then a few slow, deep chords prefacing
+a familiar bit of Chopin.
+
+He turned to the nurse, who sat in her low rocking-chair at the window.
+"I beg your pardon. I thought you were not telling me the truth."
+
+The young woman only smiled in answer. "Listen!"
+
+From downstairs the music came softly. Rose was playing with the
+exquisite taste and feeling that characterised everything she did. She
+purposely avoided the extremes of despair and joy, keeping to the safe
+middle-ground. Living waters murmured through the melody, the sea surged
+and crooned, flying clouds went through blue, sunny spaces, and birds
+sang, ever with an unfailing uplift, as of many wings.
+
+Allison's calmness insensibly changed, not in degree, but in quality, as
+the piano magically brought before him green distances lying fair
+beneath the warm sun, clover-scented meadows and blossoming boughs.
+"Life," he said to himself; "life more abundant."
+
+She drifted from one thing to another, playing snatches of old songs,
+woven together by modulations of her own making. At last she paused to
+think of something else, but her fingers remembered, and began, almost
+of their own accord:
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+Allison stirred restlessly, as he recalled how he had heard it before.
+He saw the drifted petals of fallen roses, the moon-shadow on the dial,
+hours wrong, the spangled cobwebs in the grass and the other spangles,
+changed to faint iridescence in the enchanted light as Isabel came
+toward him and into his open arms. Could marble respond to a lover's
+passion, could dead lips answer with love for love, then Isabel might
+have yielded to him at least a tolerant tenderness. He saw her now,
+alien and apart, like some pale star that shone upon a barren waste, but
+never for him.
+
+Another phrase, full of love and longing, floated up the stairway and
+entered his room, a guest unbidden.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation.]
+
+He turned to the nurse. "Ask Miss Bernard to come up for a few minutes,
+will you?"
+
+"Do you think it's wise?" she temporised.
+
+"Please ask her to come up," he said, imperatively. "Must I call her
+myself?"
+
+So Rose came up, after receiving the customary caution not to stay too
+long and avoid everything that might be unpleasant or exciting.
+
+She stood for a moment in the doorway, hesitating. Her face was almost
+as white as her linen gown, but her eyes were shining with strange
+fires.
+
+"White Rose," he said, wearily, "I have been through hell."
+
+"I know," she answered, softly, drawing up a chair beside him. "Aunt
+Francesca and I have wished that we might divide it with you and help
+you bear it."
+
+He stretched a trembling hand toward her and she took it in both her
+own. They were soft and cool, and soothing.
+
+"Thank you for wanting to share it," he said. "Thank you for coming, for
+playing--for everything."
+
+"Either of us would have come whenever you wanted us, night or day."
+
+"Suppose it was night, and I'd wanted you to come and play to me. Would
+you have come?"
+
+"Why, yes. Of course I would!"
+
+"I didn't know," he stammered, "that there was so much kindness in the
+world. I have been very lonely since--"
+
+Her eyes filled and she held his hand more closely. "You won't be lonely
+any more. I'll come whenever you want me, night or day, to play, to
+read--or anything. Only speak, and I'll come."
+
+"How good you are!" he murmured, gratefully. "No, please don't let go of
+my hand." In some inexplicable fashion strength seemed to flow to him
+from her.
+
+"I think you'll be glad to know," she said, "how sympathetic everybody
+has been. Strangers stop us on the street to ask for you, and people
+telephone every day. Down in the library, there's a pile of letters that
+would take days to read, and many of them have foreign stamps. It makes
+one feel warm around the heart, for it brings the ideal of human
+brotherhood so near."
+
+He sighed and his face looked haggard. The brotherhood of man was among
+the things that did not concern him now. The weariness of the ages was
+in every line of his body.
+
+"I have been thinking," he went on, after a little, "what a difference
+one little hour can make, a minute, even. Once I had everything--youth,
+health, strength, a happy home, love, a dear father, and every promise
+of success in my chosen career. Now I'm old and broken; health,
+strength, and love have been taken away in an instant, my father is
+gone, and my career is only an empty memory. I have no violin, and, if I
+had, what use would it be to me without--why Rose, I haven't even
+fingers to make the notes nor hands to hold it."
+
+Rose could bear no more. She sprang to her feet with arms outstretched,
+all her love and longing swelling into infinite appeal. "Oh Boy!" she
+cried, "take mine! Take my hands, for always!"
+
+For a tense instant they faced each other. Her breast rose and fell with
+every quick breath; her eyes met his, then faltered, and the crimson of
+shame mantled her white face.
+
+"Oh," she breathed, painfully, and turned away from him. When she was
+half way to the door, he called to her. "Rose! Dear Rose!"
+
+She hesitated, her hand upon the knob. "Close the door and come back,"
+he pleaded. "Please--oh, please!"
+
+Trembling from head to foot, she obeyed him, but her face was pitiful.
+She could not force herself to look at him. "Forgive," she murmured,
+"and forget."
+
+The hand he took in his was cold, but her nearness gave him comfort, as
+never before. His heart was unspeakably tender toward her.
+
+"Rose," he went on, softly, "I've been too near the other world not to
+have the truth now. Tell me what you mean! Make me understand!"
+
+She did not answer, nor even lift her eyes. She breathed hard, as though
+she were in pain.
+
+"Rose," he said again, tightening his clasp upon the hand she tried to
+draw away, "did you mean that you would be my--"
+
+"In name," she interrupted, throwing up her head proudly. "Just to help
+you--that was all."
+
+He drew her hand to his hot lips and kissed it twice. "Oh, how divinely
+kind you are," he whispered, "even to think of stooping to such as I!"
+
+"Have pity," she said brokenly, "and let me go."
+
+"Pity?" he repeated. "In all the world there is none like yours. To
+think of your being willing to sacrifice yourself, through pity of me!"
+
+The blood came back into her heart by leaps and bounds. She had not
+utterly betrayed herself, then, since he translated it thus.
+
+"Listen," he was saying. "I cared--terribly, but it's gone, and my heart
+is empty. It's like an open grave, waiting for something that does not
+come. Did you ever care?"
+
+"Yes," she answered, with eyes downcast.
+
+"Did you care for someone who did not care for you?"
+
+"Yes," she replied, again.
+
+"And he never knew?"
+
+"No." The word was almost a whisper.
+
+"He must have been a brute, not to have cared. Was it long ago?"
+
+"Not very."
+
+"Have I ever met him?"
+
+The suggestion of an ironical smile hovered for a moment around her pale
+lips, then vanished. "No."
+
+"I have no right to--to ask his name."
+
+"No. What difference does a name make?"
+
+"None. Could you never bring yourself to care for anyone else?"
+
+"No," she breathed. "Oh, no!"
+
+"And yet, with your heart as empty as mine you still have pity enough
+to--"
+
+"To serve you," she answered. Her eyes met his clearly now. "To help
+you--as your best friend might."
+
+"Rose, dear Rose! You give me new courage, but how can I let you
+sacrifice yourself for me?" "Believe me," she said diffidently, "there
+is no question of sacrifice. Have you never thought of what you might
+do, that would be even better than the career you had planned?"
+
+"Why, no. What could I do, without--"
+
+"Write," she said, with her eyes shining. "Let others play what you
+write. Immortality comes by way of the printed page."
+
+"I couldn't," he returned, doubtfully.
+
+"I never composed anything except two or three little things that I
+never dared to play, even for encores."
+
+"Never say you can't. Say 'I must,' and 'I will.'"
+
+"You're saying them for me. You almost make me believe in myself."
+
+"That's the very best of beginnings, isn't it?"
+
+She was quite calm now, outwardly, and she drew her hand away. Allison
+remembered the long, happy hours they had spent together before Isabel
+came into his life. Now that she was gone, the old comradeship had
+returned, the sweeter because of long absence. Rose had never fretted
+nor annoyed him; she seemed always to understand.
+
+"You don't know how glad I'd be," he sighed, "to feel that I wasn't
+quite out of it--that there was something in life for me still. I didn't
+want to be a bit of driftwood on the current of things."
+
+"You're not going to be--I won't let you. Haven't you learned that
+sometimes we have to wait; that we can't always be going on? Just moor
+your soul at the landing place, and when the hour comes, you'll swing
+out into the current again. Much of the driftwood is only craft that
+broke away from the landing."
+
+He smiled, for her fancy pleased him. An abiding sense of companionship
+crept into his loneliness; his isolation seemed to be shared. "And
+you'll stay at the landing with me," he whispered, "until the time comes
+to set sail again?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And--after the worst that can come--is over, we'll make it right with
+the world and go abroad together?"
+
+"Yes." Her voice was very low now.
+
+"And we'll be the best of friends, for always?"
+
+"Yes--the best of friends in all the world."
+
+"And you'll promise me that, if you're ever sorry, you'll come straight
+and tell me--that you'll ask me to set you free?"
+
+"I promise."
+
+"Then everything is all right between you and me?"
+
+"Yes, but I'm ashamed--bitterly ashamed."
+
+"You mustn't be, for I'm very glad. We'll try to forget the wreckage
+together. I couldn't have asked, unless I had known about--the other
+man, and you wouldn't have told me, I know. It wouldn't have been like
+you to tell me."
+
+There was a knock, the door opened, and the nurse came in, watch in
+hand. "I'm sorry, Miss Bernard, but you can come to-morrow if he's well
+enough."
+
+"I'll be well enough," said Allison, smiling.
+
+"Of course," Rose assured him, shaking hands in friendly fashion. "Don't
+forget that it's a secret."
+
+"I won't. Good-bye, Rose."
+
+When she had gone, the nurse studied him furtively, from across the
+room. He had changed in some subtle way--he seemed stronger than before.
+Unless it was excitement, to be followed by a reaction, Miss Bernard had
+done him good. The night would prove it definitely, one way or the
+other.
+
+Allison slept soundly until daybreak, for the first time--not stupor,
+but natural sleep. The nurse began to wonder if it was possible that a
+hand so badly crushed and broken could be healed. Hitherto her service
+had been mechanically kind; she had taken no interest because she saw no
+hope. How wonderful it would be if that long procession of learned
+counsellors should be mistaken after all!
+
+Rose walked home, disdaining the waiting carriage. She had forgotten her
+hat and the sunset lent radiance to a face that needed no more. By rare
+tact and kindness, Allison had removed the sting from her shame and the
+burden she had borne so long was lifted from her heavy heart.
+
+She was happier now than she had ever been before in her life, but she
+must hide her joy from the others as she had previously hidden her pain
+--or tried to. She knew that Isabel would not see, but Aunt Francesca's
+eyes were keen and she could not tell even her just now.
+
+How strange it would be to wake in the night, without that dull, dead
+pain! How strange it was to feel herself needed, and oh, the joy of
+serving him!
+
+She thrilled with the ecstasy of sacrifice; with that maternal
+compassion which is a vital element in woman's love for man. Sublimated
+beyond passion and self-seeking, and asking only the right to give, she
+poured out the treasure of her soul at his feet, though her pride
+demanded that he must never know.
+
+When she went into the house, light seemed to enter the shaded room with
+her. No one was there, but the open piano waited, ready to receive a
+confidence. With a laugh that was half a sob of joy, she sat down, her
+fingers readily finding the one thing that suited her mood.
+
+The wild, half-savage music rang through the house in full, deep chords,
+but only Rose knew the words, which, in her mind, fitted themselves to
+the melody as though she dared to sing them:
+
+  "Less than the dust, beneath thy Chariot wheel,
+   Less than the rust, that never stained thy Sword,
+   Less than the trust thou hast in me, O Lord,
+      Even less then these.
+
+  "Less than the weed that grows beside thy door,
+   Less than the speed of hours spent far from thee,
+   Less than the need thou hast in life of me;
+        Even less am I."
+
+Upstairs, Isabel yawned lazily, and wondered why Rose should play so
+loud, but Aunt Francesca smiled to herself, for she knew that Allison
+was better and that Rose was glad.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XIX
+
+OVER THE BAR
+
+As a flower may bloom in a night, joy returned to Madame Bernard's house
+after long absence. There was no outward sign, for Rose was still quiet
+and self-controlled, but her face was a shade less pale and there was a
+tremulous music in her voice.
+
+Isabel had ceased to limp, but still dwelt upon the shock and its
+lingering effects. She amused herself in her own way, reading paper-
+covered novels, feasting upon chocolates, teasing Mr. Boffin, and
+playing solitaire. Madame remarked to Rose that Isabel seemed to have a
+cosmic sense of time.
+
+The guest never came down-stairs till luncheon was announced, and did
+not trouble herself to make an elaborate, or even appropriate toilet.
+Madame began to wonder how long Isabel intended to remain and to see the
+wisdom of the modern fashion of appointing the hour of departure in the
+invitation.
+
+Yet, as she said to herself rather grimly, she would have invited Isabel
+to remain through the Summer, and perhaps, in the early Autumn she might
+return to town of her own accord. Moreover, there appeared to be no
+graceful way of requesting an invited guest to leave.
+
+Though Madame was annoyed by the mere fact of Isabel's presence, she had
+ceased to distress Rose, who dwelt now in a world apart from the others.
+She spent her afternoons at the other house, playing softly downstairs,
+reading to Allison, or talking to him of the brilliant future that she
+insisted was to be his.
+
+Neither of them spoke of the hour in which Rose had unwittingly revealed
+herself, nor did they seem to avoid the subject. Allison had taken her
+for granted, on a high plane of pure friendliness, and not for an
+instant did he translate her overpowering impulse as anything but
+womanly pity.
+
+She practised for an hour or two every morning that she might play
+better in the afternoon, she ransacked the library for interesting and
+cheerful things to read to him, and she even found a game or two that he
+seemed to enjoy. From Madame Francesca's spotless kitchen came many a
+dainty dish to tempt his capricious appetite, and all the flowers from
+both gardens, daily, made a bower of his room.
+
+Constantly, too, Rose brought the message of hopefulness and good cheer.
+From her abounding life and superb vitality he drew unconscious
+strength; the hidden forces that defy analysis once more exerted
+themselves in his behalf. So far as man is of the earth, earthy, by the
+earth and its fruits may he be healed, but the heavenly part of him may
+be ministered unto only by the angels of God.
+
+His old fear of the darkness had gone and the night light had been taken
+out into the hall. In the faint glow, he could see the objects in his
+room distinctly, during the brief intervals of wakefulness. A flower
+dropped from its vase, a book lying half open, a crumpled handkerchief
+upon his chiffonier, the pervading scent of attar of roses and dried
+petals--all these brought him a strange sense of nearness to Rose, as a
+perfume may be distilled from a memory.
+
+Day by day, Isabel became more remote. He thought of her without emotion
+when he thought of her at all, for only women may know the agony of love
+enduring after the foundation upon which it was built has been swept
+away.
+
+The strange men from distant places came less frequently. Days would
+pass, and bring no word. The country doctor who had first been called
+stopped occasionally when time permitted, and his faithful old horse
+needed a little rest, but he only shook his head. He admitted to the
+nurse that he was greatly surprised because the inevitable operation had
+not yet become imperative.
+
+Colonel Kent seemed to have been lost for almost a week. During that
+time no word had been received from him and Madame's daily bulletin: "No
+change for the worse," had been returned, marked "not found." She was
+vaguely troubled and uneasy, fearing that something might have happened
+to him, but forebore to speak of her fears.
+
+One morning, while Allison was still asleep, the nurse wakened him
+gently. "A new man, Mr. Allison; can you see him now?"
+
+"I don't care," he replied. "Bring him in."
+
+The newcomer was a young man--one would have guessed that the ink was
+scarcely dry on his diploma. He had a determined mouth, a square chin,
+kind eyes, and the buoyant youthful courage that, by itself, carries one
+far upon any chosen path.
+
+He smiled at Allison and Allison smiled back at him, in friendly
+fashion. "Now," said the young man, "let's see."
+
+His big fingers were astonishingly gentle, they worked with marvellous
+dexterity, and, for the first time, the dreaded examination was almost
+painless. He asked innumerable questions both of Allison and the nurse,
+and wanted to know who had been there previously.
+
+The nurse had kept no record, but she knew some of the men, and
+mentioned their names--names to conjure with in the professional world.
+Even the two great Germans had said it was of no use.
+
+The young man wrinkled his brows in deep thought. "What have you been
+using?" he inquired, of the nurse.
+
+"Everything. Come here."
+
+She led him into the next room, where a formidable array of bottles and
+boxes almost covered a large table. He looked them all over, carefully,
+scrutinising the names on the druggist's labels, sniffing here and
+there, occasionally holding some one bottle to the light, and finally,
+out of sheer youthful curiosity, counting them.
+
+Then he laughed--a cheery, hearty laugh that woke long-sleeping echoes
+in the old house and made Allison smile, in the next room. "It seems,"
+he commented, "that a doctor has to leave a prescription as other men
+leave cards--just as a polite reminder of the call."
+
+"What shall I do with them?"
+
+"Dump 'em all out--I don't care. Or, wait a minute; there's no rush."
+
+He went back to Allison. "I see you've got quite a drug store here. Are
+you particularly attached to any special concoction?"
+
+"Indeed I'm not. Most of 'em have hurt--sinfully."
+
+"I don't know that anything has to be painful or disagreeable in order
+to be healing," remarked the young man, thoughtfully. "Would you like to
+throw 'em all out of the window?"
+
+"I certainly would."
+
+"All right--that'll be good business." He swung Allison's bed around so
+that his right arm rested easily on the window sill, requested the nurse
+to wheel the drug store within easy reach, and rapidly uncorked bottle
+after bottle with his own hands.
+
+"Now then, get busy."
+
+He sat by, smiling, while Allison poured the varying contents of the
+drug store on the ground below and listened for the sound of breaking
+glass when the bottle swiftly followed the last gurgling drop. When all
+had been disposed of, the nurse took out the table, and the young man
+smiled expansively at Allison.
+
+"Feel better?"
+
+"I--think so."
+
+"Good. Now, look here. How much does your hand mean to you?"
+
+"How much does it mean?" repeated Allison, pitifully. "It means life,
+career--everything."
+
+"Enough to make a fight for it then, I take it."
+
+Dull colour surged by waves into Allison's white face. "What do you
+mean?" he asked, in a broken voice. "Tell me what you mean!"
+
+But the young man was removing his coat. "Hot day," he was saying, "and
+the young lady won't mind my negligee as long as the braces don't show.
+Strange--how women hate nice new braces. Say," he said to the nurse as
+she returned, "get somebody to go up to the station and bring down my
+trunk, will you?"
+
+"Trunk?" echoed Allison.
+
+"Sure," smiled the young man. "My instructions were to stay if I saw any
+hope, so I brought along my trunk. I'm always looking for a chance to
+hope, and I've discovered that it's one of the very best ways to find
+it."
+
+The nurse had hastened away upon her errand. The new element in the
+atmosphere of the sick room had subtly affected her, also.
+
+"Don't fence," Allison was saying, huskily. "I've asked so much that
+I've quit asking."
+
+The young man nodded complete understanding. "I know. The moss-backs sit
+around and look wise, and expect to work miracles on a patient who
+doesn't know what they're doing and finally gets the impression that he
+isn't considered fit to know. Far be it from me to disparage the
+pioneers of our noble profession, but I'm modest enough to admit that I
+need help, and the best help, every time, comes from the patient
+himself."
+
+He drew up his chair beside the bed and sat down. Allison's eager eyes
+did not swerve from his face.
+
+"Mind you," he went on, "I don't promise anything--I can't,
+conscientiously. In getting a carriage out of the mud, more depends upon
+the horse than on the driver. Nature will have to do the work--I can't.
+All I can do is to guide her gently. If she's pushed, she gets balky.
+Maybe there's something ahead of her that I don't see, and there's no
+use spurring her ahead when she's got to stop and get her breath before
+she can go up hill.
+
+"That hand can't heal itself without good blood to draw upon, and good
+material to make bone and nerve of, so we'll begin to stoke up,
+gradually, and meanwhile, I'll camp right here and see what's doing. And
+if you can bring yourself to sort of--well, sing at your work, you know,
+it's going to make the job a lot easier."
+
+Allison drew a long breath of relief. "You give me hope," he said.
+
+"Sure," returned the young man, with an infectious laugh. "A young
+surgeon never has much else when he starts, nor for some time to come.
+Want to sit up?"
+
+"Why," Allison breathed, in astonishment, "I can't."
+
+"Who said so?"
+
+"Everybody. They all said I must lie perfectly still."
+
+"Of course," mused the young man, aloud, "blood may move around all
+right of itself, and then again, it may not. Wouldn't do any harm to
+stir it up a bit and remind the red corpuscles not to loaf on the job."
+
+The nurse came back, to say that the trunk would be up immediately.
+
+"Good. Can I have a bunk in the next room?" Without waiting for her
+answer, he requested raw eggs and milk, beaten up with a little cream
+and sherry.
+
+While Allison was drinking it, he moved a big easy chair up near the
+window, opened every shutter wide, and let the hot sun stream into the
+room. He expeditiously made a sling for the injured hand, slipped it
+painlessly into place, put a strong arm under Allison's shoulders, and
+lifted him to a sitting posture on the edge of the bed. "Now then,
+forward, march! Just lean on me."
+
+Muscles long unused trembled under the strain but finally he made the
+harbour of the easy chair, gasping for breath. "Good," said the young
+man. "At this rate, we'll soon have clothes on us and be outdoors."
+
+"Really?" asked Allison, scarcely daring to believe his ears.
+
+"Sure," replied the marvellous young man, confidently. "What's the use
+of keeping a whole body in the house on account of one hand? I'm going
+to tell you just one thing more, then we'll quit talking shop and
+proceed to politics or anything else you like.
+
+"I knew a man once who was a trapeze performer in a circus and he was
+training his son in the same lofty profession. The boy insisted that he
+couldn't do it, and finally the man said to him: 'Look here, kid, if
+you'll put your heart over the bar, your body will follow all right,'
+and sure enough it did. Now you get your heart over the bar, and trust
+your hand to follow. Get the idea?"
+
+The sound of the piano below chimed in with the answer. A rippling,
+laughing melody danced up the stairs and into the room. The young man
+listened a moment, then asked, "Who?"
+
+"A friend of mine--my very dearest friend."
+
+"More good business. I think I'll go down and talk to her. What's her
+name?"
+
+"Rose."
+
+"What's the rest of it? I can't start in that way, you know. Bad form."
+
+"Bernard--Rose Bernard."
+
+As quickly and silently as he did everything else, the young man went
+down-stairs, and the piano stopped, but only for a moment, as he
+requested her, with an airy wave of the hand, not to mind him. When she
+finished the old song she was playing, he called her by name, introduced
+himself, and invited her out into the garden, because, as he said,
+"walls not only have ears, but telephones."
+
+"Say," he began, by way of graceful preliminary, "you look to me as
+though you had sense."
+
+"Thank you," she replied, demurely.
+
+"Sense," he resumed, "is lamentably scarce, especially the variety
+misnamed common--or even horse. I'm no mental healer, nor anything of
+that sort, you know, but it's reasonable to suppose that if the mind can
+control the body, after a fashion, when the body is well, it's entitled
+to some show when the body isn't well, don't you think so?"
+
+Rose assented, though she did not quite grasp what he said. His all
+pervading breeziness affected her much as it had Allison.
+
+"Now," he continued, "I'm not unprofessional enough to knock anybody,
+but I gather that there's been a procession of undertakers down here
+making that poor chap upstairs think there's no chance. I'm not saying
+that there is, but there's no reason why we shouldn't trot along until
+we have to stop. It isn't necessary to amputate just yet, and until it
+is necessary, there's nothing to hinder us from working like the devil
+to save him from it, is there?"
+
+"Surely not."
+
+"All right. Are you in on it?"
+
+"I'm 'in,'" replied Rose, slowly, "on anything and everything that human
+power can do, day or night, until we come to the last ditch."
+
+"Good for you. I'll appoint you first lieutenant. I guess that nurse is
+all right, though she doesn't seem to be unduly optimistic."
+
+"She's had nothing to make her so. Everything has been discouraging so
+far."
+
+"Plenty of discouragement in the world," he observed, "handed out free
+of charge, without paying people to bring it into the house when you're
+peevish."
+
+"Very true," she answered, then her eyes filled. "Oh," she breathed,
+with white lips, "if you can--if you only can--"
+
+"We'll have a try for it," he said, then continued, kindly: "no salt
+water upstairs, you know."
+
+"I know," she sighed, wiping her eyes.
+
+"Then 'on with the dance--let joy be unconfined.'"
+
+Rose obediently went back to the piano. The arrival of the trunk and the
+composition of a hopeful telegram to Colonel Kent occupied the
+resourceful visitor for ten or fifteen minutes. Then he went back to his
+patient, who had already begun to miss him.
+
+"You forgot to tell me your name," Allison suggested.
+
+"Sure enough. Call me Jack, or Doctor Jack, when I'm not here and have
+to be called."
+
+"But, as you said yourself a few minutes ago, I can't begin that way.
+What's the rest of it?"
+
+"If you'll listen," responded the young man, solemnly, "I will unfold
+before your eyes the one blot upon the 'scutcheon of my promising
+career. My full name is Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer."
+
+"What--how--I mean--excuse me," stammered Allison.
+
+The young man laughed joyously. "You can search me," he answered, with a
+shrug. "The gods must have been in a sardonic mood about the time I
+arrived to gladden this sorrowful sphere. I've never used more of it
+than I could help, and everybody called me 'Jem' until I went to
+college, the initials making a shorter and more agreeable name. But
+before I'd been there a week, I was 'Jemima' or 'Aunt Jemima' to the
+whole class. So I changed it myself, though it took a thrashing to make
+two or three of 'em remember that my name was Jack."
+
+"How did you happen to come here?" queried Allison, without much
+interest.
+
+"The man who was down here on the fifth sent me. He told me about you
+and suggested that my existence might be less wearing if I had something
+to do. He just passed along his instructions and faded gracefully out of
+sight, saying: 'You'd better go, Middlekauffer, as your business seems
+to be the impossible,' so I packed up and took the first train."
+
+"What did he mean by saying that your business was impossible?"
+
+"Not impossible, but THE impossible. Good Heavens, man, don't things get
+mixed like that! All he meant was that such small reputation as I have
+been able to acquire was earned by doing jobs that the other fellows
+shirked. I'm ambidextrous," he added, modestly, "and I guess that helps
+some. Let's play piquet."
+
+When Rose came up, an hour or so later, they were absorbed in their
+game, and did not see her until she spoke. She was overjoyed to see
+Allison sitting up, but, observing that she was not especially needed,
+invented a plausible errand and said good-bye, promising to come the
+next day.
+
+"Nice girl," remarked Doctor Jack, shuffling the cards for Allison.
+"Mighty nice girl."
+
+"My future wife," answered Allison, proudly, forgetting his promise.
+
+"More good business. You'd be a brute if you didn't save that hand for
+her. She's entitled to the best that you can give her."
+
+"And she shall have it," returned Allison.
+
+Doctor Jack's quick ears noted a new determination in the voice, that
+only a few hours before had been weak and wavering, and he nodded his
+satisfaction across the card table.
+
+That night, while Allison slept soundly, and the nurse also, having been
+told that she was off duty until called, the young man recklessly burned
+gas in the next room, with pencil and paper before him. First, he
+carefully considered the man with whom he had to deal, then mapped out a
+line of treatment, complete to the last detail.
+
+"There," he said to himself, "by that we stand or fall."
+
+The clocks struck three, but the young man still sat there, oblivious to
+his surroundings, or to the fact that even strong and healthy people
+occasionally need a little sleep. At last a smile lighted up his face.
+"What fun it would be," he thought, "for him to give a special concert,
+and invite every blessed moss-back who said 'impossible!' It wouldn't
+please me or anything, would it, to stand at the door and see 'em come
+in? Oh, no!"
+
+There was a stir in the next room, and Allison called him, softly.
+
+"Yes?" It was only a word, but the tone, as always, was vibrant with
+good cheer.
+
+"I just wanted to tell you," Allison said, "that my heart is over the
+bar."
+
+In the dark, the two men's hands met. "More good business," commented
+Doctor Jack. "Just remember what somebody said of Columbus: 'One day,
+with life and hope and heart, is time enough to find a world.' Go to
+sleep now. I'll see you in the morning."
+
+"All right," Allison returned, but he did not sleep, even after certain
+low sounds usually associated with comfortable slumber came from the
+doctor's room. He lay there, waiting happily, while from far, mysterious
+sources, life streamed into him, as the sap rises into the trees at the
+call of Spring. Across the despairing darkness, a signal had been
+flashed to him, and he was answering it, in every fibre of body and
+soul.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XX
+
+RISEN FROM THE DEAD
+
+COLONEL KENT, in a distant structure which, by courtesy, was called "the
+hotel," had pushed away his breakfast untasted, save for a small portion
+of the nondescript fluid the frowsy waitress called "coffee." He had
+been delayed, missed his train at the junction point, and, fretting with
+impatience, had been obliged to pass the night there.
+
+He had wired to Madame Francesca the night before, but, as yet, had
+received no answer. He had personally consulted every surgeon of
+prominence in the surrounding country, and all who would not say flatly,
+without further information than he could give them, that there was no
+chance, had been asked to go and see for themselves.
+
+One by one, their reports came back to him, unanimously hopeless.
+Heartsick and discouraged, he rallied from each disappointment, only to
+face defeat again. He had spent weeks in fruitless journeying, following
+up every clue that presented itself, waited days at hospitals for chiefs
+of staff, and made the dreary round of newspaper offices, where
+knowledge of every conceivable subject is supposedly upon file for the
+asking.
+
+One enterprising editor, too modern to be swayed by ordinary human
+instincts, had turned the Colonel over to the star reporter--a young man
+with eyes like Allison's. By well-timed questions and sympathetic offers
+of assistance, he dragged the whole story of his wanderings from the
+unsuspecting old soldier.
+
+It made a double page in the Sunday edition, including the
+illustrations--a "human interest" story of unquestionable value,
+introduced by a screaming headline in red: "Old Soldier on the March to
+Save Son. Violinist about to Lose Hand."
+
+When the Colonel saw it, his eyes filled so that he could not see the
+words that danced through the mist, and the paper trembled from his
+hands to the floor. He was too nearly heartbroken to be angry, and too
+deeply hurt to take heed of the last stab.
+
+No word reached him until late at night, when he arrived at the
+metropolitan hotel that he had made his headquarters. When he
+registered, two telegrams were handed to him, and he tore them open
+eagerly. The first was from Madame Francesca:
+
+"Slight change for the better. New man gives hope. Better return at
+once."
+
+The second one was wholly characteristic:
+
+"Willing to take chance. Am camping on job. Come home." It was signed:
+"J. E. Middlekauffer."
+
+When he got to his room, the Colonel sat down to think. He knew no one
+of that name--had never even heard it before. Perhaps Francesca--it
+would have been like her, to work with him and say nothing until she had
+something hopeful to say.
+
+His heart warmed toward her, then he forgot her entirely in a sudden
+realisation of the vast meaning of the two bits of yellow paper. Why, it
+was hope; it was a fighting chance presenting itself where hitherto had
+been only despair! He could scarcely believe it. He took the two
+telegrams closer to the light, and read the blessed words over and over
+again, then, trembling with weakness and something more, tottered back
+to his chair.
+
+Until then, he had not known how weary he was, nor how the long weeks of
+anxiety and fruitless effort had racked him to the soul. As one may bear
+a burden bravely, yet faint the moment it is lifted, his strength failed
+him in the very hour that he had no need of it. He sat there for a long
+time before he was able to shut off the light and creep into bed, with
+his tear-wet cheek pillowed upon one telegram, and a wrinkled hand
+closely clasping the other, as though holding fast to the message meant
+the keeping of the hope it brought.
+
+Utterly exhausted, he slept until noon. When he woke, it was with the
+feeling that something vitally important had happened. He could not
+remember what it was until he heard the rustling of paper and saw the
+two telegrams. He read them once more, in the clear light of day,
+fearing to find the message but a fantasy of the night. To his unbounded
+relief, it was still there--no dream of water to the man dying of
+thirst, but a living reality that sunlight did not change.
+
+"Thank God," he cried aloud, sobbing for very joy, "Thank God!"
+
+Meanwhile, the Resourceful One had shown the nurse how to cut a sleeve
+out of one of Allison's old coats, and open the under-arm seam. Having
+done this, she was requested to treat a negligee shirt in the same way.
+Then the village barber was sent for, and instructed to do his utmost.
+
+"Funny," remarked Doctor Jack, pensively, "that nobody has thought of
+doing that before. If I hadn't come just as I did, you'd soon have
+looked like a chimpanzee, and, eventually, you'd have been beyond the
+reach of anything but a lawn-mower. They didn't even think to braid your
+hair and tie it with a blue ribbon."
+
+The nurse laughed; so did Allison, but the pensive expression of the
+young man's face did not change.
+
+"I've had occasion lately," he continued, "to observe the powerful tonic
+effect of clothes. A woman patient told me once that the moral support,
+afforded by a well-fitting corset was inconceivable to the mind of a
+mere man. She said that a corset is to a woman what a hat is to a man--
+it prepares for any emergency, enables one to meet life on equal terms,
+and even to face a rebellious cook or janitor with 'that repose which
+marks the caste of Vere de Vere.'"
+
+"I've often wondered," returned Allison, "why I felt so much--well, so
+much more adequate with my hat on."
+
+"Clear case of inherited instincts. The wild dog used to make himself a
+smooth bed in the rushes of long grass by turning around several times
+upon the selected spot. Consequently, the modern dog has to do the same
+stunt before he can go to sleep. The hat is a modification of the
+helmet, which always had to be worn outside the house, in the days when
+hold-ups and murders were even more frequent than now, and the desire
+for a walking-stick comes from the old fashion of carrying a spear or a
+sword. If a man took off his helmet, it was equivalent to saying: 'In
+the presence of my friend, I am safe.' When he takes off his hat to a
+lady now, he merely means: 'You're not a voter.' You'll notice that in
+any gathering of men, helmets are still worn."
+
+So he chattered, with apparent unconcern, but, none the less, he was
+keenly watching his patient. With tact that would have done credit to a
+diplomat, he kept the conversation in agreeable channels. By noon,
+Allison had his clothes on, the coat being pinned under the left arm
+with two safety pins that did not show, and was out upon an upper
+veranda.
+
+Doctor Jack encouraged him to walk whenever he felt that he could, even
+though it was only to the other end of the veranda and back to his
+chair. Somewhat to his astonishment, Allison began to feel better.
+
+"I believe you're a miracle-worker," he said. "Two days ago, I was in
+bed, with neither strength, ambition, nor hope. Now I've got all three."
+
+"No miracle," replied the other modestly. "Merely sense."
+
+That afternoon the Crosby twins telephoned to know whether they might
+call, and the nurse brought the query upstairs. "If they're amusing,"
+said the doctor, "let 'em come."
+
+Allison replied that the twins had been highly amusing--until they ran
+"The Yellow Peril" over his left hand. "Poor little devils," he mused;
+"they've got something on their minds."
+
+"Mighty lucky for you that it wasn't a macadamised boulevard instead of
+a sandy country road," observed the doctor. "The softness underneath has
+given us a doubt to work on."
+
+"How so?"
+
+"It's easier, to crush anything on a hard surface than it is on a
+pillow, isn't it?"
+
+"Of course--I hadn't thought of that. If there had been more sand--"
+
+"I look to you to furnish that," returned the other with a quick twist
+of meaning. "You've got plenty of sand, if you have half a chance to
+show it."
+
+"How long--when do you think you'll know?" Allison asked, half afraid of
+the answer.
+
+"If I knew, I'd be glad to tell you, but I don't. I've found out that
+it's easier to say 'I don't know' straight out in plain English than it
+is to side-track. It used to be bad form, professionally, to admit
+ignorance, but it isn't now. People soon find it out and you might as
+well tell 'em at the start. You just go on and keep the fuel bins well
+supplied and the red corpuscles busy and pretty soon we'll see what's
+doing."
+
+The twins were late in coming, because they had had a long discussion as
+to the propriety of wearing their sable garments. Romeo, disliking the
+trouble of changing, argued that Allison ought to see that their grief
+was sincere. Juliet insisted that the sight would prove depressing.
+
+At the end of a lively hour, they compromised upon white, which was worn
+by people in mourning and was not depressing. Juliet donned a muslin
+gown and Romeo put on his tennis flannels, which happened to be clean.
+As they took pains to walk upon the grass and avoid the dusty places,
+they were comparatively fresh when they arrived, though very warm from
+the long walk.
+
+Both had inexpressibly dreaded seeing Allison, yet the reality lacked
+the anticipated terror, as often happens. They liked Doctor Jack
+immensely from the start and were greatly relieved to see Allison up and
+outdoors, instead of lying in a darkened room.
+
+Almost before they knew it, they were describing their sacrificial rites
+and their repentance, with a wealth of detail that left nothing to be
+desired. Doctor Jack was suddenly afflicted with a very bad cough, but
+he kept his back to them and used his handkerchief a great deal. Even
+Allison was amused by their austere young faces and the earnest devotion
+with which they had performed their penance.
+
+"We've had your car fixed," said Romeo. "It's all right now."
+
+"We've paid the bill," added Juliet.
+
+"We want to pay everything," Romeo continued.
+
+"Everything," she echoed.
+
+"I don't know that I want the car," Allison answered, kindly. "If I had
+been a good driver, I could have backed into the turn before you got
+there and let you whiz by. I'm sorry yours is burned. Won't you take
+mine?"
+
+"No," answered Romeo, with finality.
+
+"We don't deserve even to ride in one," Juliet remarked. "We ought to
+have to walk all the rest of our lives."
+
+"You people make me tired," interrupted Doctor Jack. "Just because
+you've been mixed up in an accident, you're about to get yourselves
+locoed, as they say out West, on the subject of automobiles. By careful
+cultivation, you could learn to shy at a baby carriage and throw a fit
+at the sight of a wheelbarrow. The time to nip that is right at the
+start."
+
+"How would you do it?" queried Allison. His heart was heavy with dread
+of all automobiles, past, present, and to come."
+
+"Same way they break a colt. Get him used to the harness, then to
+shafts, and so on. Now, I can run any car that ever was built--make it
+stand on its hind wheels if I want to and roll through a crowd without
+making anybody even wink faster. I think I'll go out and get that one
+and take the whole bunch of you out for a cure."
+
+Juliet was listening attentively, with her blue eyes wide open and her
+scarlet lips parted. Doctor Jack was subtly conscious of a new
+sensation.
+
+"I see," she said. "Romie made me hold snakes by their tails until I
+wasn't afraid of 'em, and made me kill mice and even rats. Only sissy
+girls are afraid of snakes and rats. And just because we were both
+afraid to go by the graveyard at night, we made ourselves do it. We can
+walk through it now, even if there isn't any moon, and never dodge a
+single tombstone."
+
+"Was it hard to learn to do it?" asked the doctor. If he was amused, he
+did not show it now.
+
+"No," Juliet answered, "because just before we did it, we read about
+it's being called 'God's Acre.' So I told Romie that God must be there
+as much or more than He was anywhere else, so how could we be afraid?"
+
+"After you once get it into your head that God is everywhere," added
+Romeo, "you can't be afraid because there's nothing to be afraid of."
+
+The simple, child-like faith appealed to both men strongly. Allison was
+much surprised, for he had not imagined that there was a serious side to
+the twins.
+
+"Will you forgive us?" asked Juliet, humbly.
+
+"Please," added Romeo.
+
+"With all my heart," Allison responded, readily. "I've never thought
+there was anything to forgive."
+
+"Then our sacrifice is over," cried Juliet, joyously.
+
+"Yes," her brother agreed, with a wistful expression on his face, "and
+to-night we can have something to eat."
+
+The twins never lingered long after the object of a visit was
+accomplished, so they rose almost immediately to take their departure.
+"Cards, Romie," Juliet suggested, in an audible whisper.
+
+Romeo took a black bordered envelope from an inner pocket and gravely
+extended a card to each. Then they bowed themselves out, resisting with
+difficulty the temptation to slide down the banister instead of going
+downstairs two steps at a time.
+
+Doctor Jack's mobile face had assumed an entirely new expression. He put
+away the card inscribed The Crosby Twins as though it were an article of
+great value, then leaned out over the veranda railing to catch a glimpse
+of the two flying figures in white.
+
+"Upon my word!" he exclaimed.
+
+Allison laughed aloud. "You're not disappointed in the twins, are you?"
+
+"If I were going to be run over," remarked the Doctor, ignoring the
+question, "I believe I'd choose them to do it. Think of the little
+pagans burning their car and repenting in sackcloth and ashes, not to
+mention shooting the dogs and living upon penitential fare."
+
+"Poor kids," Allison said, with a sigh.
+
+"Tell me about 'em," pleaded Doctor Jack "Tell me everything you know
+about 'em, especially Juliet."
+
+"I don't know much," replied the other, "for I came back here only a few
+months ago, and when I went abroad, they were merely enfants terribles
+imperfectly controlled by a pair of doting parents."
+
+However, he gladly told what he knew of the varied exploits of the
+twins, and his eager listener absorbed every word. At length when
+Allison could think of no more, and the afternoon shadows grew long,
+they went in.
+
+Consigning his patient to the care of the nurse, the Doctor went down
+into the garden, to walk back and forth upon the long paths, gaze, open-
+mouthed, down the road, and moon, like the veriest schoolboy, over
+Juliet's blue eyes.
+
+Her pagan simplicity, her frank boyishness, and her absolute
+unconsciousness of self, appealed to him irresistibly. "The dear kid,"
+he said to himself, fondly; "the blessed little kid! Wonder how old she
+is!"
+
+Then he remembered that Allison had told him the twins were almost
+twenty-one, but Juliet seemed absurdly young for her years. "The world
+will take her," he sighed to himself, "and change her in a little while
+so even her own brother won't know her. She'll lace, and wear high heels
+and follow the latest fashion whether it suits her or not, and touch up
+her pretty cheeks with rouge, twist her hair into impossible coiffures,
+and learn all the wicked ways of the world."
+
+The wavy masses of tawny hair, the innocent blue eyes, as wide and
+appealing as a child's, the clear, rosy skin, and the parted scarlet
+lips--all these would soon be spoiled by the thousand deceits of
+fashion.
+
+"And I can't help it," he thought, sadly. Then his face brightened. "By
+George," he said aloud, "I'm only twenty-eight--wonder if the kid could
+learn to stand me around the house." He laughed, from sheer joy. "I'll
+have a try for her," he continued to himself. "Me for Juliet, and, if
+the gods are kind, Juliet for me!"
+
+His reflections were interrupted by the arrival of the station hack. He
+instantly surmised that the man who hurried toward the house was Colonel
+Kent, and, on the veranda, intercepted him.
+
+"Colonel Kent?"
+
+"Yes. Doctor--?
+
+"Middlekauffer, for purposes of introduction. For purposes of
+conversation, 'Doctor Jack,' or just plain 'Jack.' Never cared much for
+handles to names. You got my wire?"
+
+"Yes. Who sent you here?"
+
+"Forbes. Down here on the fifth. Met him out in the next State, at an
+operation. He told me to come, as my business was the impossible. Told
+me you'd stand for it, don't you know, and all that sort of thing?"
+
+"I'm very glad. How is he?"
+
+"Doing very nicely, all things considered."
+
+"Is there a chance?" the Colonel cried, eagerly; "a real chance?"
+
+"My dear man, until amputation is the only thing to be done, there's
+always a chance. Personally, I'm very hopeful, though I've been called a
+dreamer more than once. But we've got him chirked up a lot, and he's
+getting his nerve back, and this morning I thought I detected a slight
+improvement, though I was afraid to tell him so. We've all got to work
+for him and work like the devil at that."
+
+"If work will do it--"
+
+"Nothing worth while is ever done without work. Go up and see him."
+
+At the sound of a familiar step upon the stair, Allison turned deathly
+white. He waited, scarcely daring to breathe, until the half-closed door
+opened, and his father stood before him, smiling in welcome. Allison
+sprang forward, unbelieving, until his hand touched his father's, not
+cold, as though he had risen from the grave, but warmly human and alive.
+
+"Lad, dear lad! I've come back at last!" Allison's answering cry of joy
+fairly rang through the house. "Dad! Oh, Dad! I thought you were dead!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XXI
+
+SAVED--AND LOST
+
+Alternately possessed by hope and doubt, the young surgeon worked during
+the weeks that followed as he had never worked before. He kept his doubt
+to himself, however, and passed on his hope to the others when he could
+do so conscientiously. Allison had ceased to ask questions, but eagerly
+watched the doctor's face. He knew, without being told, just when the
+outlook was dubious and when it was encouraging.
+
+The doctor did not permit either Rose or Colonel Kent to hope too much.
+Both were with Allison constantly, and Madame drove over three or four
+times a week. Gradually a normal atmosphere was established, and,
+without apparent effort, they kept Allison occupied and amused.
+
+It seemed only natural and right that Rose should be there, and both
+Allison and his father had come to depend upon her, in a way, as though
+she were the head of the household. The servants came to her for orders,
+people who came to inquire for Allison asked for her, and she saved the
+Colonel from many a lonely evening after Allison had said good-night and
+the Doctor had gone out for a long walk as he said, "to clear the
+cobwebs from his brain."
+
+Because of Isabel, whom he felt that he could not meet, the Colonel did
+not go over to Bernard's. Allison had not alluded to her in any way, but
+Madame had told the Colonel at the first opportunity. He had said,
+quietly: "A small gain for so great a loss," and made no further
+comment, yet it was evident that he was relieved.
+
+Rose and Allison were back upon their old friendly footing, to all
+intents and purposes. Never by word or look did Rose betray herself;
+never by the faintest hint did Allison suggest that their relation to
+each other had in any way been changed. He was frankly glad to have her
+with him, urged her to come earlier and to stay later, and gratefully
+accepted every kindness she offered.
+
+Perhaps he had forgotten--Rose rather thought he had, but her self-
+revelation stood before her always like a vivid, scarlet hour in a
+procession of grey days. Yet the sting and shame of it were curiously
+absent, for nothing could exceed the gentle courtesy and deference that
+Allison instinctively accorded her. He saw her always as a thing apart;
+a goddess who, through divine pity, had stooped for an instant to be a
+woman--and had swiftly returned to her pedestal.
+
+Sustained by the joy of service, Rose asked no more. Only to plan little
+surprises for him, to anticipate every unspoken wish, to keep him cheery
+and hopeful, to read or play to him without being asked--these things
+were as the life-blood to her heart.
+
+She had blossomed, too, into a new beauty. The forty years had put lines
+of silver into her hair, but had been powerless to do more. Her lovely
+face, where the colour came and went, the fleeting dimple at the corner
+of her mouth and the crimson curve of her lips were eloquent with the
+finer, more subtle charm of maturity. Her shining eyes literally
+transfigured her. In their dark depths was a mysterious exaltation, as
+from some secret, holy rapture too great for words.
+
+Allison saw and felt it, yet did not know what it was. Once at sunset,
+when they were talking idly of other things, he tried to express it.
+
+"I don't know what it is, Rose, but there's something about you lately
+that makes me feel--well, as though I were in a church at an Easter
+service. The sun through the stained glass window, the blended fragrance
+of incense and lilies, and the harp and organ playing the Intermezzo
+from Cavalleria--all that sort of thing, don't you know?"
+
+"Why shouldn't your best friend be glad," she had answered gently, "when
+you have come to your own Easter--your rising from the dead?"
+
+The dull colour surged into his face, then retreated in waves. "If you
+can be as glad as that," he returned, clearing his throat, "I'd be a
+brute ever to let myself be discouraged again."
+
+That night, during a wakeful hour, his thoughts went back to Isabel. For
+the first time, he saw the affair in its true light--a brief, mad
+infatuation. He had responded to Isabel's youth and beauty and an old
+moonlit garden full of roses much as his violin answered to his touch
+upon the strings. "Had answered," he corrected himself, trying not to
+flinch at the thought.
+
+Even if his hand should heal, it was scarcely possible that he would
+ever play again, and he knew, as well as anyone, what brilliant promise
+the future had held for him. He remembered how wisely he had been
+trained from the very beginning; how Aunt Francesca had insisted upon
+mathematics, Latin, and chemistry, as well as literature, history, and
+modern languages.
+
+He had protested to her only once. She had replied kindly, but firmly,
+that while broad culture and liberal education might not, in itself,
+create an artist, yet it could not possibly injure one. Since then, he
+had seen precocious children, developed in one line at the expense of
+all others, fail ignominiously in maturity because there was no
+foundation. The Child Wonder who had thrilled all Europe at nine, by his
+unnatural mastery of the violin, was playing in an orchestra in a Paris
+cafe, where one of the numerous boy sopranos was the head waiter.
+
+How disappointed Aunt Francesca must be, even though she had too much
+self-control to show it! And his father! Allison swallowed a lump in his
+throat. After a lifetime of self-sacrificing devotion, the Colonel had
+seen all his efforts fail, but he had taken the blow standing, like the
+soldier that he was. In vain, many a time, Allison had wished that some
+of his father's fine courage might have been transmitted to him.
+
+And Rose--dear Rose! How persistently she held the new way open before
+him; how steadily she insisted that the creative impulse was higher than
+interpretative skill! How often she had reminded him of Carlyle's
+stirring call: "Produce, produce! Though it be but the merest fraction
+of a fragment, produce it, in God's name!" He had noticed that the
+materials for composition were always close at hand, though she never
+urged him to work.
+
+He had come gradually to depend upon Rose--a great deal more than he
+realised. Quite often he perceived the truth of the saying that "a blue-
+ribbon friendship is better than an honourable mention love." It was
+evident that Isabel had never loved him, though she had been pleased and
+flattered by his love for her.
+
+Even at the time that Aunt Francesca and Rose had congratulated him, and
+he had kissed them both in friendly fashion, he had taken passing note
+of the difference between Isabel and Rose. Of course it was only that
+Isabel was made of ice and Rose of flesh and blood, but still, it was
+pleasant to remember that--
+
+His thoughts began to stray into other fields. Rose was his promised
+wife, as far as name went, yet she treated him with the frank good
+comradeship that a liberal social code makes possible between men and
+women. As far as Rose was concerned, there was no sentiment in the
+world.
+
+When she read to him, it was invariably a story of adventure or of
+humorous complications, or a well-chosen exposition of some recent
+advance in science or art. Their conversation was equally impersonal,
+even at the rare times they chanced to be alone. Rose made Colonel Kent,
+Aunt Francesca, Doctor Jack, and even the nurse equally welcome to
+Allison's society.
+
+He went freely from room to room on the upper floor, but had not yet
+been downstairs, as a possible slip on the steps might do irreparable
+injury. Doctor Jack wanted to get him downstairs and outdoors, believing
+that actual contact with the earth is almost as good for people as it is
+for plants, but saw no way to manage it without a stretcher, which he
+knew Allison would violently resent.
+
+The twins came occasionally, by special invitation, though nobody
+noticed that it was always Doctor Jack who suggested it. Once they
+brought a pan of Juliet's famous fudges, which were politely appreciated
+by the others and extravagantly praised by the Doctor. The following day
+he was rewarded by a private pan of especially rich fudges--but Romeo
+brought it, on his way to the post-office.
+
+There was a daily card-party upon the upper veranda, and sometimes meals
+were served there. The piano had been moved upstairs into a back room.
+The whole-hearted devotion of the household was beautiful to behold, yet
+underneath it all, like an unseen current, was the tense strain of
+waiting.
+
+It was difficult not to annoy Doctor Jack with questions. Rose and the
+Colonel continually reminded themselves and each other that he would be
+only too glad to bring encouragement at the moment he found it, and that
+by quiet and patience they could help him most.
+
+Juliet had pleaded earnestly with Doctor Jack to save Allison's hand.
+"If you don't," she said, with uplifted eyes, "I'll be miserable all the
+rest of my life."
+
+"Bless your little heart," the Doctor had answered, kindly; "I'd do
+'most anything to keep you from being miserable, even the impossible,
+which happens to be my specialty."
+
+She did not quite understand, but sent a burnt offering to the Doctor,
+in the shape of a chocolate cake. He had returned the compliment by
+sending her the biggest box of candy she had ever seen, and, as it
+arrived about noon, she and Romeo had feasted upon it until they could
+eat no more, and had been uncomfortably ill for two days. Romeo had
+attributed their misfortune to the candy itself, but Juliet believed
+that their constitutions had been weakened by their penitential fare,
+and, as soon as she was able, proved her point by finishing the last
+sweet morsel without painful results.
+
+The Summer waned and tints of palest gold appeared here and there upon
+the maples. The warm wind had the indefinable freshness of the Autumn
+sea, blown far inland at dawn. Allison became impatient and restless,
+the Colonel went off alone for long, moody walks; even Doctor Jack began
+to show the effects of the long strain.
+
+Only Rose was serene. Fortunately, no one guessed the tumult that lay
+beneath her outward calm. Her manner toward Allison was, if anything,
+more impersonal than ever, though she failed in no thoughtful kindness,
+no possible consideration. He accepted it all as a matter of course, but
+began to wish, vaguely, for something more.
+
+He forebore to remind her of their strange relation, and could not
+allude to the night he had kissed her, while his fiancee stood near by.
+Yet, late one afternoon, when she had excused herself a little earlier
+than usual, he called her back.
+
+"Rose?"
+
+"Yes?" She returned quickly and stood before him, just out of his reach.
+"What is it? What can I do for you?"
+
+The tone was kind but impersonal, as always. "Nothing," he sighed,
+turning his face away.
+
+That night she pondered long. What could Allison want that she had not
+given? The blood surged into her heart for an instant, then retreated.
+"Nonsense," she said to herself in tremulous anger. "It's impossible!"
+
+Afterward it seemed continually to happen that she was alone with
+Allison when the time came to say good-night and drive home, or walk,
+escorted by Colonel Kent or the Doctor. By common consent, they seemed
+to make excuses to leave the room as the hour of departure approached,
+and she always found it easier when someone was there.
+
+Again, when she had made her adieux and had reached the door leading
+into the hall, Allison called her back.
+
+"Yes?" "Couldn't you--just once, you know--for good-night?" he asked,
+with difficulty.
+
+His face made his meaning clear. Rose bent, kissed him tenderly upon the
+forehead, and quickly left the room. Her heart was beating so hard that
+she did not know she stumbled upon the threshold, nor did she hear his
+low: "Thank you--dear."
+
+That night she could not sleep. "I can't," she said to herself,
+miserably; "I can't possibly go on, if--Oh, why should he make it so
+hard for me!"
+
+If the future was to be possible on the lines already laid down, he,
+too, must keep the impersonal attitude. Yet, none the less, she was
+conscious of an uplifting joy that would not be put aside, but
+insistently demanded its right of expression.
+
+She did not dare trust herself to see Allison again, and yet she must.
+She could not fail him now, when he needed her so much, nor could she
+ask the others to see that they were not left alone. One day might be
+gained for respite by the plea of a headache, which is woman's friend as
+often as it is her enemy.
+
+And, after that one day, what then? What other excuse could she make
+that would not seem heartless and cold?
+
+It was an old saying of Aunt Francesca's that "when you can't see
+straight ahead, it's because you're about to turn a corner." She
+tormented herself throughout the night with futile speculations that led
+to nothing except the headache which she had planned to offer as an
+excuse.
+
+A brief note gave her the day to herself, and also brought flowers from
+Allison, with a friendly note in his own hand. Doctor Jack was the
+messenger and took occasion to offer his services in the conquest of the
+headache, but Rose declined with thanks, sending down word that she
+preferred to sleep it off.
+
+Though breakfast might be a movable feast at Madame's, it was always
+consistently late. It was nearly nine o'clock in the morning when the
+telephone wakened Madame from a dreamless sleep. She listened until it
+became annoying, but no one answered it. Finally she got up, rather
+impatiently, and went to it herself, anticipating Rose by only a minute.
+
+Tremulous with suspense, Rose waited, scarcely daring to breathe until
+Madame turned with a cry of joy, the receiver falling from her nerveless
+hand. "Rose! Rose! he's saved! Our boy is saved! He's saved, do you
+understand?"
+
+"Truly? Is it sure?"
+
+"Blessedly sure! Oh, Rose, he's saved!"
+
+The little old lady was sobbing in an ecstasy of relief.
+
+Rose led her to a couch and waited quietly until she was almost calm,
+then went back to her own room. Once more her world was changed, as long
+ago she had seen how it must be with her should the one thing happen.
+She, with the others, had hoped and prayed for it; her dearest dream had
+come true at last, and left her desolate.
+
+She was unselfishly glad for Allison, for the Colonel, Aunt Francesca,
+Doctor Jack, the sorrowing twins, and, in a way, for herself. It had
+been given her to serve him, and she had not hoped for more. It made
+things easier now, though she had not thought the corner would be turned
+in just this way.
+
+Having made up her mind and completed her plans, she went to Madame as
+soon as she was dressed. She had hidden her paleness with so little
+rouge that even Madame's keen eyes could not suspect it.
+
+"Aunt Francesca," she began, without preliminary, "I've got to go away."
+
+"Why, dear, and where? For how long?"
+
+"Because I'm so tired. Things have been hard for me--over there, lately
+--and I don't care where I go."
+
+"I see," returned Madame, tenderly. "You want to go away for a rest.
+You've needed it for a long time."
+
+"Yes," Rose nodded, swinging easily into the lie that did not deceive
+either. "Oh, Aunt Francesca, can I go to-day?"
+
+"Surely--at any hour you choose."
+
+"And you'll--make it right?"
+
+"Indeed I will. I'll just say that you've been obliged to go away on
+business--to look after some investments for both of us, and I hope
+you'll stay away long enough to get the rest and change you've needed
+for almost a year."
+
+"Oh, Aunt Francesca, how good you are! But where? Where shall I go?"
+
+Madame had been thinking of that. She knew the one place where Rose
+could go, and attain her balance in solitude, untroubled by needless
+questions or explanations. With the feeling of the mother who gives her
+dead baby's dainty garments to a living child sorely in need, she spoke.
+
+"To my house up in the woods--the little house where love lived, so long
+ago."
+
+Rose's pale lips quivered for an instant. "What have I to do with love?"
+
+"Go to the house where he lived once, and perhaps you may find out."
+
+"I will--I'll be glad to go. If I could make the next train, could you
+arrange to have a trunk follow me?"
+
+"Of course. Go on, dear. I know how it happens sometimes, that one can't
+stay in one place any longer. I suffered from wanderlust until I was
+almost seventy, and it's a long time since you've been away."
+
+"And you'll promise not to tell anybody?"
+
+"I promise."
+
+While Rose was packing a suit-case, Madame brought her a rusty, old-
+fashioned key, and a card on which she had written directions for the
+journey. "I've ordered the carriage," she said, "and I'll drive down
+with you to see you safely off."
+
+After the packing was completed and while there was still nearly an hour
+to wait before the carriage would come, Rose locked her door, and, after
+many failures, achieved her note:
+
+"MY DEAR ALLISON:
+
+"You don't know how glad I am for you and how glad I shall be all the
+rest of my life. I've hoped and dreamed and prayed from the very
+beginning that it might be so, and I believe that, in time, you'll have
+back everything you have lost.
+
+"Now that you no longer need me, I am going away to attend to some
+necessary business for Aunt Francesca and myself, and perhaps to rest a
+little while in some new place before I go back to my work.
+
+"Of course our make-believe engagement expires automatically now, and I
+hope you'll soon find the one woman meant to make you happy. I am glad
+to think that I've helped you a little when you came to a hard place,
+for the most that any one of us may do for another is to smooth the
+road.
+
+"Remember me to the others, say good-bye for me, and believe me, with
+all good wishes,
+
+"Your friend always,
+
+"ROSE."
+
+When she sealed and addressed it, she had a queer sense of closing the
+door, with her own hands, upon all the joy Life might have in store for
+her in years to come. Yet the past few weeks were secure, beyond the
+power of change or loss, and her pride was saved.
+
+No one could keep her from loving him, and the thought brought a certain
+comfort to her sore heart. Wherever he might be and whatever might
+happen to him, she could still love him from afar, and have, for her
+very own, the woman's joy of utmost giving.
+
+When the carriage came, she went down, and, without a word put her note
+into Aunt Francesca's faithful hands. Isabel had not appeared,
+fortunately, and it was not necessary to leave any message--Aunt
+Francesca would make it right, as she always had with everybody.
+
+When the little old lady lifted her face, saying: "Good-bye, dear, come
+back to me soon," Rose's heart misgave her. "I'll stay," she said,
+brokenly; "I won't leave you."
+
+But Madame only smiled, and nodded toward the waiting train. She stood
+on the platform, waving her little lace-bordered handkerchief, until the
+last car rounded the curve and the fluttering bit of white that was
+waved in answer had vanished.
+
+Then Madame sighed, wiped her eyes, and drove home.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XXII
+
+A BIRTHDAY PARTY
+
+Allison received the note from Rose at the time he was expecting Rose
+herself, and was keenly disappointed. "She might at least have stopped
+long enough to say good-bye," he said to his father.
+
+"Don't be selfish, lad," laughed the Colonel. "We owe her now a debt
+that we can never hope to pay."
+
+The young man's face softened. "What a brick she has been!" Then, to
+himself, he added: "if she had loved me, she couldn't have done more."
+
+Life seemed very good to them both that crisp September morning. Just
+after breakfast Doctor Jack had announced, definitely, that the crushed
+hand was saved, unless there should be some unlooked-for complication
+"But mind you," he insisted, "I don't promise any violin-playing, and
+there'll be scars, but we'll make it look as well as we can. Anyhow,
+you'll not be helpless."
+
+Allison smiled happily. "Why can't I play, if it heals up all right?"
+
+"There may be a nerve or two that won't work just right, or a twisted
+muscle, or something. However we'll keep hoping."
+
+The heavy weight that had lain so long upon Allison's heart was slow in
+lifting. At first he could not believe the good news, greatly to Doctor
+Jack's disgust.
+
+"You don't seem to care much," he remarked. "I supposed you'd turn at
+least one somersault. The Colonel is more pleased than you are."
+
+"Dear old dad," said Allison, gratefully. "I owe him everything."
+
+"Everything?" repeated the Doctor, with lifted brows. "And where does
+Jonathan Ebenezer Middlekauffer come in, to say nothing of the future
+Mrs. Kent?"
+
+Allison's face clouded for an instant. "I'll never forget what you've
+done for me, but there isn't any future Mrs. Kent."
+
+"No? Why I thought--"
+
+"So did I, but she's thrown me over and gone away. This morning she sent
+me a note of congratulation and farewell."
+
+"Upon my word! What have you done to her?"
+
+"Nothing. She says I don't need her any more now, so she's going away."
+
+Doctor Jack paced back and forth on the veranda with his hands in his
+pockets. "The darkly mysterious ways of the ever-feminine are wonderful
+beyond the power of words to portray. Apparently you've had to choose
+between your hand and hers."
+
+"I'm not sure," returned Allison, thoughtfully, "that I wouldn't rather
+have hers than mine."
+
+"Brace up, old man. Get well and go after her. The world isn't big
+enough to keep a man away from the woman he wants."
+
+"But," answered Allison, dejectedly, "she doesn't care for me. It was
+only womanly pity, and now that I don't need that, I've lost her."
+
+"She doesn't care for you!" repeated the Doctor. "Why, man, how can you
+sit there and tell a lie like that? Of course she cares!"
+
+Allison turned to look at him in astonishment. "It isn't possible!"
+
+"Isn't it? Then I don't know anything about human nature, though I must
+confess I'm not up much on the feminine part of it. How long--"
+
+"Just since the accident. The girl I was going to marry let me release
+her. She didn't want a cripple, you know."
+
+"And Miss Bernard did, and you've disappointed her?"
+
+"Something like that."
+
+"You seem to have had fierce luck with girls. One gives you up because
+you've only got one hand, and the other because you've got two. There's
+no pleasing women. Hello--here comes another note. Maybe she's changed
+her mind."
+
+For a breathless instant Allison thought so, too, but Doctor Jack was
+opening it. "Mine," he said. "It's an invitation to Crosby's. It seems
+that they come of age day after to-morrow, and I'm invited out to supper
+to help celebrate. I won't go, or anything, will I? Oh, no, of course
+not! I haven't seen 'em for a week. Are presents expected?"
+
+"Your presence seems to be expected," remarked Allison.
+
+"I'm glad you've got that out of your system," the Doctor retorted, with
+a scornful smile. "You ought to improve right along now."
+
+"Is it a party?"
+
+"They don't say so. I hope it isn't."
+
+However, when Doctor Jack strolled up the dusty road, a carriage that
+must have come from Crosby's passed him. He stopped short, wildly
+considering an impulse of flight. Then he went on bravely, smiling at
+the thought that any entertainment given by the twins could be by any
+possibility, a formal affair.
+
+The other guest was Isabel, whom Doctor Jack had not met and of whom he
+knew nothing. She observed him narrowly when opportunity offered, for
+she knew who he was, and wondered what he had heard of her. Soon she
+became certain that her name carried no meaning to him, for he talked
+freely of Allison and the Colonel and frankly shared the joy of the
+twins at the welcome news.
+
+"Oh," cried Juliet, clapping her hands in glee. "It's the very best
+birthday present we could have, isn't it, Romie?"
+
+"I should say," replied that young man, with an expansive smile. "Say,"
+he added to Doctor Jack, "you must be a brick."
+
+"I've only done my best," he responded, modestly.
+
+Isabel could say nothing for some little time. She was furiously angry
+with Aunt Francesca because she had not told her. The day that Rose went
+away, everyone in the house had been very glad about something, even to
+the servants, but she had asked no questions and received no
+information, except that Rose had been obliged to go away very suddenly
+upon business of immediate importance.
+
+"You must be awful glad," said Juliet, to Isabel.
+
+"Of course," answered Isabel, coldly, clearing her throat.
+
+"He must feel pretty good," Romeo observed.
+
+"Yes," returned Doctor Jack, "except that he's lost his girl."
+
+Isabel flushed and nervously turned on her finger the diamond ring that
+she still wore.
+
+"He's had fierce luck with girls," resumed the Doctor, unthinkingly.
+"One passed him up because he was hurt, and the other because he was
+going to get well."
+
+The tense silence that ensued indicated that he had made a mistake of
+some sort. It had not occurred to him that the twins did not know of
+Allison's engagement to Rose, nor did he suspect Isabel's identity.
+
+Juliet was staring at Isabel in pained surprise. "Did you?" she asked,
+slowly, "throw him over because he got hurt?"
+
+"He offered to release me," said Isabel, in a small, cold voice, "and I
+accepted. I did not know until just now that Cousin Rose had taken my
+leavings." The older woman's mysterious departure presented itself to
+her now in a new light.
+
+"Suffering Cyrus," said Doctor Jack, aloud, "but I have put my foot into
+it. Look here, kind friends, I never was meant for a parlour, and I
+always make mistakes when I stray into one. My place is in a hospital
+ward or at the bedside of those who have been given up to die. The
+complex social arena is not where I shine to my best advantage. There
+are too many rings to keep track of at once, and my mind gets cross-
+eyed."
+
+"Come on up to the attic," suggested Juliet, with a swift change of
+subject, "and we'll do stunts on the trapeze."
+
+Isabel and Doctor Jack sat side by side on a battered old trunk in stony
+silence while the twins were donning their gymnasium costumes.
+Fortunately, it did not take long and the sight of Juliet hanging by her
+feet furnished the needed topic of conversation. The lithe little body
+seemed to be made of steel fibres. She swayed back and forth, catching
+Romeo as he made a flying leap from the other trapeze, as easily as
+another girl would have wielded a tennis racquet.
+
+At length Doctor Jack interposed a friendly word of warning. "Look here,
+kid," he said, "you're made of flesh and blood, you know, just like the
+rest of us. Better cut out that trapeze business."
+
+"I don't know why," returned Juliet, resentfully, as she slipped
+gracefully to the floor, right side up. "I'm as strong as Romie is, or
+almost as strong."
+
+"Girls do it in the circus," Romeo observed, wiping his flushed face.
+
+"Ever heard of any of 'em living to celebrate their hundredth birthday?"
+queried Doctor Jack, significantly.
+
+The twins admitted that they had not. "I don't care," cried Juliet, "I'd
+rather live ten years and keep going, than live to be a hundred and have
+to sit still all the time."
+
+"No danger of your sitting still too long," returned Doctor Jack, good-
+humouredly. "It's hot up here, isn't it?"
+
+"Rather warm," Romeo agreed. "You folks can go downstairs until we get
+on our other clothes, if you like."
+
+They had reached the head of the stairs when Isabel changed her mind. "I
+believe I'll wait for Juliet," she said, turning back.
+
+So the Doctor went down alone, inwardly reviling himself for his unlucky
+speech, and glad of an opportunity to contemplate the characteristic
+residence of the twins.
+
+The whole house was, frankly, a place where people did as they chose,
+and the furniture bore marks of having been used not wisely, but too
+well. Everything was clean, though not aggressively so. He ascribed the
+absence of lace curtains to Romeo and the Cloisonne vase to Juliet. The
+fishing rods in one corner were probably due to both.
+
+When the others came down, Juliet tied a big blue gingham apron over her
+white muslin gown and excused herself. She had been cooking for the
+better part of two days and took a housewifely pride in doing everything
+herself. They had chosen the things they liked the most, so the dinner
+was unusual, as dinners go.
+
+Isabel, eating daintily, made no effort to conceal her disdain, but
+Doctor Jack ate heartily, praised everything, and brought the blush of
+pleasure to Juliet's rosy cheeks.
+
+Romeo, at the head of the table, radiated the hospitality of the true
+host, yet a close observer would have noted how often he cast admiring
+glances at Isabel. She was so dainty, so beautifully gowned and
+elaborately coiffured, that Romeo compared her with his sister greatly
+to the disadvantage of the latter.
+
+Juliet's hair was unruly and broke into curls all around her face;
+Isabel's was in perfect order, with every wave mathematically exact.
+Juliet's face was tanned and rosy; Isabel's pale and cool. Juliet's
+hands were rough and her finger-tips square; Isabel's were white and
+tapering, with perfectly manicured nails. And their gowns--there was no
+possible comparison there. Both were in white, but Romeo discovered that
+there might be a vast difference in white gowns.
+
+Afterward, the guests were taken out into the yard, and led to the
+comprehensive grave of the nineteen dogs. Minerva kept at a safe
+distance, but the five puppies gambolled and frolicked, even to the
+verge of the sepulchre. Romeo desired to send a dog to Allison, and
+generously offered Isabel her choice, but she refused.
+
+"I'll take the pup," said the Doctor. "It might amuse him, and anyhow,
+he'd like to know that you thought of him."
+
+Isabel had strolled down toward the barn. Juliet hesitated, duty bidding
+her follow Isabel and inclination holding her back. Presently Isabel
+returned, and her face was surprisingly animated.
+
+"Is that our car in the barn?" she asked. Her manner betrayed great
+excitement.
+
+"Why, it's Allison Kent's car, isn't it?" inquired Romeo.
+
+"I thought it was mine. Colonel Kent gave it to me for a wedding
+present."
+
+"I thought you couldn't keep the wedding presents unless the wedding
+came off," Juliet observed, practically.
+
+"I've still got my ring," said Isabel. "Allison said he wanted me to
+keep it, and he gave me his violin, too. I should think they'd want me
+to keep the car."
+
+"Better make sure," suggested Doctor Jack, politely.
+
+"People don't scatter automobiles around carelessly among their friends,
+as a general rule," observed Juliet.
+
+"I wish I could get it up to Kent's," Romeo said, thoughtfully. "It
+always reminds me--here."
+
+"I'd just as soon drive it back," the Doctor answered. "It's more of a
+trot out here than I supposed it was."
+
+"Why, yes," cried Juliet. "You can drive it back to-night and take
+Isabel home!"
+
+"Charmed," lied the Doctor, with an awkward bow.
+
+So it happened that Isabel once more climbed into the red car and went
+back over the fateful road. The machine ran well, but it seemed to
+require the driver's entire attention, for his conversation consisted of
+brief remarks to which answers even more brief were vouchsafed.
+
+When he turned, on the wide road in front of Madame Bernard's, after
+leaving Isabel at the gate, she lingered in the shadow, watching, until
+he was out of sight. The throb of the engine became fainter and fainter,
+then died away altogether. Isabel sighed and went in, wondering if
+Allison, after giving her the ring and the violin, would not also want
+her to have the car. Or, if that seemed too much, and she should send
+back the violin--she pondered over it until almost dawn, then went to
+sleep.
+
+The following afternoon, while Madame Bernard slept, Isabel sat idly in
+the living-room, looking out of the window, though, as she told herself
+fretfully, there was not much use of looking out of the window when
+nobody ever went by. But no sooner had she phrased the thought than she
+heard the faint chug-chug of an approaching motor.
+
+She moved back, into the shelter of the curtain, and presently saw the
+big red automobile whizz by. Doctor Jack, hatless and laughing, was at
+the wheel. Beside him was Colonel Kent.
+
+Had they gone out and left Allison alone? Surely, since there was no one
+else. Fortune favoured her if she wished to see him. But did she dare?
+
+Isabel was nothing if not courageous. Arming herself with an excuse in
+the shape of the violin, she sallied forth and made her way to Kent's,
+meeting no one upon the well-worn path.
+
+As it happened, Allison was on the lower veranda, walking back and
+forth, persistently accompanied by the Crosby pup. Assisted by the
+Colonel and Doctor Jack, he had come down without accident, and had
+promised to go out in the car with them a little later.
+
+When he saw Isabel coming up the walk, he stopped in astonishment. He
+did not go to meet her, but offered her a chair and said, with formal
+politeness: "How do you do? This is an unexpected pleasure."
+
+"I brought this," began Isabel, offering him the violin.
+
+He took it with a smile. "Thank you. I don't know that I shall ever use
+it again, but I am glad to have it."
+
+There was a pause and Isabel moved restlessly in her chair. Then she
+slipped the ring from her finger. "Do you want this now?" she asked. Her
+face was a shade paler.
+
+Allison laughed. "Indeed I don't. Whom could I give it to?"
+
+"Rose," suggested Isabel, maliciously.
+
+Allison sighed and turned his face away. "She wouldn't take it," he
+said, sadly.
+
+Isabel slipped it back on her finger, evidently relieved. "I'm glad
+you're better," she went on, clearing her throat.
+
+"Thank you. So am I."
+
+"I saw your father, out in the car. The Doctor was with him."
+
+"Yes. They're coming back for me in a little while."
+
+"It's a lovely car. The Doctor brought me home in it last night, from
+Crosby's."
+
+"So he told me." Allison did not see fit to say just how much Doctor
+Jack had told him. He smiled a little at the recollection of the young
+man's remorseful confession.
+
+"I told them," continued Isabel, "that I thought it was mine--that your
+father had given it to me, but it seems I was mistaken."
+
+"It seems so," Allison agreed. "Dad gave it to the Doctor this morning."
+
+Isabel repressed a bitter cry of astonishment. "For keeps?"
+
+"Yes, for keeps. It's little enough to give him after all he's done for
+me. We both wanted him to have it."
+
+"You could get another, couldn't you?"
+
+"I suppose so, if I wanted it. People can usually get things they want,
+if they are intangible."
+
+"I wanted to tell you," resumed Isabel, "that I was sorry I acted the
+way I did the last time I was here."
+
+"Don't think of it," replied Allison, kindly. "It was very natural."
+
+"It was all a great shock to me, and I was lame, and--and--I wish
+everything could be as it was before," she concluded, with a faint flush
+creeping into her face.
+
+"That is the great tragedy of life, Isabel--that things can never be as
+they were before. Sometimes they're worse, sometimes better, but the
+world is never the same."
+
+"Of course," she answered, without grasping his meaning, "but you're
+going to be all right again now, and--that's the same."
+
+Allison shrugged his shoulders and bit his lips to conceal a smile. "It
+may be the same for me, but it couldn't be for you. I couldn't give you
+any guarantee that it wouldn't happen again, you know. I might be run
+over by a railroad train or a trolley car, or any one of a thousand
+things might happen to me. There's always a risk."
+
+Tears filled Isabel's eyes. "I don't believe you ever cared very much
+for me," she said, her lips quivering.
+
+"I did, Isabel," he answered, kindly, "but it's gone now. Even at that,
+it lasted longer than you cared for me. Come, let's be friends."
+
+He offered his hand. She put hers into it for a moment, then quickly
+took it away. He noted that it was very cold.
+
+"I must be going," she said, keeping her self-control with difficulty,
+"Aunt Francesca will miss me."
+
+"Thank you for coming--and for bringing the violin."
+
+"You're welcome. Good-bye."
+
+"Good-bye, Silver Girl. I hope you'll be happy."
+
+Isabel did not answer, nor turn back. She went out of the gate and out
+of his life, pride keeping her head high until she had turned the
+corner. Then, very sorry for herself, she sat down and wept.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XXIII
+
+"TEARS, IDLE TEARS"
+
+"Say, Jule," inquired Romeo, casually, "why is it that you don't look
+like a lady?"
+
+"What do you mean?" demanded Juliet, bristling.
+
+"I don't know just what I mean, but you seem so different from everybody
+else."
+
+"I'm clean, ain't I?"
+
+"Yes," he admitted, grudgingly.
+
+"And my hair is combed?"
+
+"Sometimes."
+
+"And my white dress is clean, isn't it?"
+
+"Yes, but it doesn't look like--like hers, you know."
+
+"Her? Who's 'her'?"
+
+"You know--Isabel."
+
+Juliet sighed and bit her lips. Her eyes filled with tears and she
+winked very hard to keep them back. An ominous pain clutched at her
+loyal little heart.
+
+"What do you want me to do, Romie?" she asked, gently.
+
+"Why, I don't know. Men never know about such things. Just make yourself
+like her--that's all."
+
+"Huh!" Juliet was scornful now. "I don't know whether I want to look
+like her or not," she remarked, coldly.
+
+"Why not?" he flashed back.
+
+"And I don't want to be like her, either. She can't do anything. She
+can't cook, or swing on the trapeze, or skate, or fish, or row, or swim,
+or climb a tree, or ride horseback, or walk, or anything." "I could
+teach her," mused Romeo, half to himself. "I taught you."
+
+"Yes," cried Juliet, swallowing the persistent lump in her throat, "and
+now you've done it, you're ashamed of me!"
+
+"I didn't say so," he temporised.
+
+"You didn't have to. Don't you suppose I can see?"
+
+"Don't get so mad about it. She was laughing at you last night and so
+was the Doctor. They didn't think it was nice for you to put on your
+knickers and swing on the trapeze. Ladies don't do that."
+
+"You taught me," she reminded him, quickly.
+
+"Yes, but I didn't ask you to do it before everybody. You started it
+yourself. Isabel wouldn't look at you, and you remember what the Doctor
+said, don't you? He told you to cut it out."
+
+"That was because he thought it was dangerous."
+
+"'Tisn't dangerous, and he knows it. He knew it wasn't refined and lady-
+like for you to do that before men."
+
+"It was only a doctor," Juliet replied, in a small, thin voice. "They're
+different from other people. I wouldn't let the Kents see me in my
+knickers, and you know it."
+
+"You would, too, if you wanted to. You're a perfect tomboy. You wouldn't
+see Isabel doing that."
+
+"Probably not," answered Juliet, dryly. "She's no more likely to do that
+than I would be to go back on the man I'd promised to marry, just
+because his hand was hurt."
+
+"You'll never have a chance to go back on anybody, so you don't know
+what you'd do."
+
+"Why won't I?"
+
+"Because," answered Romeo, choosing his words carefully, "when a man
+gets married, he wants to marry a lady, not a tomboy." For some unknown
+reason, he resented any slur cast at Isabel.
+
+"And," replied Juliet, cuttingly, "when a lady gets married, she wants
+to marry a gentleman." The accent carried insult with it, and Romeo left
+the house, slamming the door and whistling, defiantly until he was out
+of hearing.
+
+There was no longer any need for Juliet to keep back the tears.
+Stretched at full length upon the disembowelled sofa, she buried her
+face in the pillow and wept until she could weep no more. Then she
+bathed her face, and pinned up her tangled hair, and went to the one
+long mirror the Crosby mansion boasted of, to take an inventory of
+herself.
+
+She could see that Romeo was right--she didn't look like a lady. Her
+skirt was too, short and didn't hang evenly, and her belt was wrong
+because she had no corsets. Juliet made a wry face at the thought of a
+corset. None of her clothes fitted like Isabel's, her face was tanned,
+her hands rough and red, and her nails impossible.
+
+"I look just like a boy," Juliet admitted to herself, "dressed up in
+girl's clothes. If Romie's hair was long, and he had on this dress, he'd
+look just like me."
+
+Pride forbade her to go to Isabel and inquire into the mysteries of her
+all-pervading femininity. Anyhow, Isabel would laugh at her. Anybody
+would laugh at her--unless Miss Bernard--but she had gone away. She was
+a lady, even more than Isabel, and so was the little old lady everybody
+called "Aunt Francesca."
+
+If she could see "Aunt Francesca," she wouldn't be ashamed to tell her
+what Romeo had said. If she only knew what to do, she could do it, for
+she had plenty of money. Juliet dimly discerned that money was very
+necessary if one would be the same sort of "lady" that the others were.
+
+"If Mamma hadn't died," said Juliet, to herself, "I guess I'd have been
+as much of a lady as anybody, and nobody would have dared call me a
+tomboy." Her heart ached for the gentle little mother who had died many
+years ago. "She would have known," sighed Juliet. "Mamma was a lady if
+anybody ever was, and she didn't have the money we've got either."
+
+The life of the Crosbys had been bare of luxuries and sometimes even of
+comforts, until the considerate uncle died and left his money to the
+twins. As fortunes go, it was not much, but it seemed inexhaustible to
+them because they did not know how to spend it.
+
+"I'll go this very day," thought Juliet, "and see Aunt Francesca. I'll
+ask her. If Isabel is there, I'll have to wait, but if I don't ask for
+Isabel, maybe I won't see her."
+
+Having decided upon a plan of action, the way seemed easier, so Juliet
+went about her daily duties with a lighter heart, and even sang after a
+fashion, as she awkwardly pressed the wrinkles from her white muslin
+gown. Though it was September, it was still warm enough to wear it.
+
+Romeo, having only the day before attained his maturity, had taken unto
+himself the masculine privilege of getting angry at someone else for
+what he himself had done. He was furious with Juliet, though he did not
+trouble himself to ask why. "The idea," he muttered, "of her criticising
+Isabel!"
+
+His wounded sensibilities impelled him to walk past the Bernard house,
+very slowly, two or three times, but there was no one in sight. He went
+to the post-office as a mere matter of habit; there was seldom any mail
+for the Crosbys except on the first of the month, when the lawyer's
+formal note, "enclosing remittance," came duly to hand. Nobody seemed to
+be around--there was nothing to do. It would have been natural to go
+back home, but he was too angry for that, and inwardly vowed to stay
+away long enough to bring Juliet to her senses.
+
+He recalled the night he had called upon Isabel and had not reached home
+until late. He remembered the torrent of tears and Juliet's cry: "Oh,
+Romie! Romie! I don't care where you've been as long as I've got you
+back!" It pleased his masculine sense of superiority to know that he had
+power over a woman's tears--to make them come or go, as he chose.
+
+He sauntered slowly toward Kent's, thinking that he might while away an
+hour or two there. It was a long time until midnight, and there seemed
+to be nothing to do but to sit and wait. He could ask about the car and
+whether it was all right now. If Doctor Jack could run it, maybe they
+could go out together for a little spin. It would be nice to go by his
+own house and never even turn his head. And, if they could get Isabel to
+go, too, it would teach Juliet a much-needed lesson.
+
+He had nearly reached his destination when he came upon the picture of
+Beauty in Distress. Isabel sat at the roadside, leaning against a tree,
+sobbing. Romeo gave a long, low whistle of astonishment. "Say," he
+called, cheerfully, "what's wrong?"
+
+Isabel looked up, wiped her eyes, and began to weep more earnestly.
+Though Juliet's tears had moved him to anger and disdain, Isabel's grief
+roused all his chivalry. He sat down beside her and tried to take her
+handkerchief away from her eyes.
+
+"Don't," he said, softly. "What's the matter?"
+
+"Oh," sobbed Isabel, "I'm the most miserable girl in the whole world.
+Nobody wants me!"
+
+"What makes you say that?" demanded Romeo. "Look here, if you'll tell me
+who's been making you cry, I'll--"
+
+He did not finish the sentence, but his tone indicated that dire
+misfortune would be visited upon the luckless individual directly
+responsible for Isabel's tears.
+
+"You know," began Isabel, after her sobs had quieted somewhat, "I was
+engaged to Allison Kent until you ran over us. At first I couldn't go
+over--I was so bruised and lame and before I was well enough to go, I
+got a note from him, releasing me from the engagement."
+
+"Yes?" queried Romeo, encouragingly. "Go on."
+
+"Well, I didn't think I ought to go over, under the circumstances, but
+Aunt Francesca made me go--she's been mean to me, too. So I went and he
+was horrid to me--perfectly horrid. I offered him his ring and he almost
+threw his violin at me, and told me to keep that, too. I was afraid of
+him.
+
+"Well, since that, everything has been awful. I wrote to Mamma and told
+her about it and that I couldn't stay here any longer, and she didn't
+answer for a long time. Then she said I would have to stay where I was
+until she could make new arrangements for me and that she was glad I
+wasn't going to marry a cripple. She said something about 'the survival
+of the unfit,' but I didn't understand it.
+
+"And then, last night, when I heard that Allison wasn't going to lose
+his hand after all, I thought I ought to take his violin back to him and
+try to well,--to make up, you know. So I've just been there. He took the
+violin all right, but he didn't seem to want me. He said nothing could
+ever be as it was before. I was ready to get married and go away--I'd do
+almost anything for a change--but he actually seemed to be glad to get
+rid of me and they've given my automobile, that Colonel Kent himself
+gave to me for a wedding present, to that doctor who was out to your
+house last night. Oh," sobbed Isabel, "I wish I was dead. If you only
+hadn't run over us, everything would have been all right!"
+
+Romeo's young face was set in stern and unaccustomed lines. He, then,
+was directly responsible for Isabel's tears. He had run over them and
+hurt Isabel and made everything wrong for her, and, because she was a
+lady, she wasn't blaming him in the least. She had merely pointed out to
+him, as gently as she could, what he had done to her.
+
+A bright idea flashed into his mind, as he remembered that he was
+twenty-one now and could do as he pleased without consulting anybody. He
+reached into his pocket, drew out a handful of greenbacks and silver,
+even a gold piece or two. It would serve Juliet just right and make up
+to Isabel for what he had done.
+
+"I say, Isabel," he began awkwardly. "Would you be willing to marry me?"
+
+Isabel quickly dried her tears. "Why, I don't know," she answered, much
+astonished. Then the practical side of her nature asserted itself. "Have
+you got money enough?"
+
+Romeo tendered the handful of currency. "All this, and plenty more in
+the bank."
+
+"I know, but it was the bank I was talking about. Have you got enough
+for us to live at a nice hotel and go to the theatre every night?"
+
+"More than that," Romeo asserted, confidently. "I've got loads."
+
+"I--don't know," said Isabel, half to herself. "It would serve them all
+right. Allison used to be jealous of you," she added, with a sidelong
+glance that set his youthful heart to fluttering.
+
+"Juliet is jealous of you," Romeo responded disloyally. "We had an awful
+scrap this morning because I asked her why she didn't try to be a lady,
+like you."
+
+"Of course," replied Isabel, smoothing her gown with a dainty hand,
+"I've always liked Juliet, but I liked you better."
+
+"Really, Isabel? Did you always like me?"
+
+"Always."
+
+"Then come on. Let's skip out now, the way they do in the books. Let's
+take the next train."
+
+"Why not get married here?" objected Isabel, practically, "and take the
+four-thirty into town? There's a minister here, and while you're seeing
+about it, I can go home and get my coat."
+
+"All right, but don't stop for anything else. We've got to hustle. Don't
+tell anybody."
+
+"Not even Aunt Francesca?"
+
+"No, she'd make a fuss. And besides, she doesn't deserve it, if she's
+been mean to you." Romeo leaned over and bestowed a meaningless peck
+upon the fair cheek of his betrothed.
+
+"I'll never be mean to you," he said.
+
+"I know you won't," Isabel returned, trustfully. Then she laughed as she
+rose to her feet. "It will be a good joke on Allison," she said,
+gleefully.
+
+"It'll be a good joke on everybody," Romeo agreed, happily.
+
+"Listen," said Isabel. A faint chug-chug was heard in the distance,
+gradually coming nearer. "It's my car. I wish you hadn't been so quick
+to get rid of it last night. We could have gone away in it now."
+
+"Never mind, I'll buy you another."
+
+They hoped to reach the turn in the road before the car got there, but
+failed. Doctor Jack came to a dead stop. "Want a lift?" he asked.
+
+"No, thank you," said Romeo.
+
+"No, thank you," repeated Isabel, primly. Colonel Kent had greeted her
+with the most chilling politeness, and she burned to get away.
+
+"Say," resumed Romeo, "will you do something for me?"
+
+"Sure," replied the Doctor, cordially. "Anything."
+
+"Will you take a note out to my sister for me? I shan't get back for--
+some time."
+
+"You bet. Where is it?"
+
+"I haven't written it yet. Just wait a minute."
+
+Romeo tore a leaf from an old memorandum book which he carried, and
+wrote rapidly:
+
+  "DEAR JULE:
+
+  "Isabel and I have gone away to get married.   You can have half of
+everything. I'll let you   know where to send my clothes.
+
+                                              "R.C."
+
+He was tempted to add an apology for what he had said earlier in the
+day, but his newly acquired importance made him refrain from anything so
+compromising.
+
+He folded the note into a little cocked hat and addressed it. "Much
+obliged," he said, laconically. "So long."
+
+"So long," returned Doctor Jack, starting the engine.
+
+"Good-bye," said the Colonel, lifting his hat.
+
+Romeo left Isabel at Madame Bernard's gate. "Hurry up," he said, in a
+low tone. "I'll meet you under the big elm down the road."
+
+"All right," she whispered.
+
+Madame Bernard was asleep, so Isabel hastily crammed a few things into a
+suit-case and slipped out of the house, unseen and unheard. As the half-
+starved minister of the country parish was sorely in need of the
+generous fee Romeo pressed upon him in advance, the arrangements were
+pitifully easy. He was at the trysting place fully ten minutes before
+she came in sight, staggering under the unaccustomed burden of a heavy
+suit-case.
+
+It might not have occurred to him to relieve Juliet of a cumbrous piece
+of baggage, but he instinctively took it from Isabel. "Come on," he
+said. "We've got to hurry if we don't want to miss the four-thirty."
+
+"How long does it take to get married?" queried Isabel.
+
+"Not long, I guess. See how people fool around over it, and we're
+getting through with it in one afternoon. We're making a record, I
+guess."
+
+It seemed that they were, for when they came to the shabby little brown
+house, near the big white church, the minister, his wife, and a next-
+door neighbour were waiting. In a very short time, the ceremony was over
+and Mr. and Mrs. Romeo Crosby were on the train, speeding toward their
+honeymoon and the lively years that undoubtedly lay ahead of them.
+
+Allison had changed his mind about going out that afternoon, but
+promised to go next time. Colonel Kent remained at home, and Doctor Jack
+sped away alone upon his errand.
+
+When he reached Crosby's, Juliet clad in her best, was just leaving the
+house. She was outwardly cheerful, but her face still bore traces of
+tears.
+
+"Where were you going?" asked the Doctor, as Juliet greeted him. There
+was a new shyness in her manner, as of some unwonted restraint.
+
+"I was going into town. I wanted to see Aunt Francesca." She slipped
+easily into the habit of the others, seldom hearing the name "Madame
+Bernard."
+
+"I'll take you. Here's a note from your brother."
+
+Juliet opened it, read the fateful message, and turned white as death.
+
+"What is it?" asked the Doctor, much alarmed.
+
+In answer, she offered him the note, her hand shaking pitifully. The
+Doctor read it twice before he grasped the full meaning of it. "Well,
+I'll be--" he said, half to himself.
+
+Unable to stand, Juliet sat down upon the well-worn door-step and he sat
+down beside her. "It's all my fault," she said, solemnly. "Romie told me
+this morning that I wasn't a lady, and he wanted me to be like her. He
+said I was a tomboy, and I told him that if I was, he'd done it himself,
+and he got mad and went away, and now--"
+
+Juliet burst into tears, but she had no handkerchief, so Doctor Jack
+gave her his.
+
+"'Tears, idle tears,'" he quoted lightly. "I say, kid, don't take it so
+hard."
+
+"I--I'm not a lady," she sobbed.
+
+"You are," he assured her. "You're the finest little lady I know."
+
+"Don't--don't," she sobbed. "Don't make fun of me. Romie said that you
+were--laughing at me--yesterday-because I was--a--a tomboy!"
+
+"Kid," he said, softly, almost unmanned by a sudden tenderness quite
+foreign to his experience. "Oh, my dear little girl, won't you look at
+me?"
+
+The tone was wholly new to Juliet--she did not know that any man could
+be so tender, so beautifully kind. "It's because he's a doctor," she
+thought. "He's used to seeing people when they don't feel right."
+
+"I'm so sorry," he was saying. "Your brother didn't mean anything by it,
+little girl. He was just teasing."
+
+"He wasn't," returned Juliet, wiping her eyes. "Don't you think I know
+when he's teasing and when he isn't? I'm not a lady; I'm only a tomboy,
+and now he's gone away with her and left me all alone."
+
+"You'll never be alone if I can help it," he assured her, fervently.
+"Look here, do you suppose you could ever learn to like me?"
+
+"Why, I like you now--I've always liked you."
+
+"I know, but I don't mean that. Do you think you could ever like me a
+whole lot? Enough to marry me, I mean?"
+
+"Why, I don't know--I never thought--" Juliet's voice trailed off into
+an inarticulate murmur of astonishment.
+
+"Won't you try?" he pleaded. "Oh, Juliet, I've loved you ever since I
+first saw you!"
+
+The high colour surged into her face. He was not joking--he meant every
+word. Even Juliet could see that.
+
+"Won't you try, dear? That's all I'll ask for, now."
+
+"Why, yes," she said, her wide blue eyes fixed upon his. "I'd try almost
+anything--for you, but I'm only a tomboy."
+
+Doctor Jack caught her cold little hands in his. "Kiss me," he said,
+huskily.
+
+Juliet's face burned, but she lifted her lips to his, obediently and
+simply as a child. The man hesitated for an instant, then pushed her
+away from him; not unkindly, but firmly.
+
+"No, I won't take it, Princess," he said, in a strange tone. "I'll wait
+until you wake up." "I'm--not asleep," she stammered.
+
+"You are in some ways." Then he added, irrelevantly, "Thank God!"
+
+"I don't know," remarked Juliet, at the end of an uncomfortable pause,
+"what to do with myself. I don't want to stay here alone and I wouldn't
+go anywhere near them--not for the world."
+
+"Where did you say you were going, when I came?"
+
+"To Aunt Francesca's--Madame Bernard, you know."
+
+"Good business," he answered, nodding vigorous approval. "Come on. She
+seems to be the unfailing refuge of the shipwrecked mariner in this
+district. If I'm not much mistaken, she'll take you into her big house
+and her bigger heart."
+
+"Oh," said Juliet, wistfully, "do you think she would take me--and make
+me into a lady?"
+
+"I think she'll take you," he responded, after a brief struggle with
+himself, "but I don't want you made over. I want you to stay just
+exactly as you are. Oh, you dear little kid," he muttered, "you'll try
+to care, won't you?"
+
+"I'll try," she promised, sweetly, as she climbed into the big red
+machine. "I didn't think I'd ever be in this car."
+
+"You can come whenever you like. It's mine, now."
+
+Juliet did not seem to hear. The car hummed along the dusty road, making
+a soothing, purring noise. Pensively she looked across the distant
+fields, whence came the hum and whir of reaping. There was a far-away
+look in her face that the man beside her was powerless to understand.
+She was making swift readjustments as best she might, and, wisely, he
+left her to herself.
+
+As they approached Madame Bernard's, Juliet turned to him. "I was just
+thinking," she sighed, "how quickly you grow up after you get to be
+twenty-one."
+
+He made no answer. He swallowed hard and turned the car into the
+driveway. Aunt Francesca came out on the veranda, followed by Mr.
+Boffin, as Juliet jumped out of the car. She had the crumpled note in
+her cold little hand.
+
+Without a word, she offered it to Madame Bernard and waited. The
+beautiful face instantly became soft with pity. "My dear child," she
+breathed. "My dear little motherless child!"
+
+Juliet went into her open arms as straight as a homing pigeon to its
+nest. "Oh, Aunt Francesca," she sobbed, "will you take me and make a
+lady out of me?"
+
+"You're already a lady," laughed the older woman amid her tears. "Come
+in, Juliet dear--come home!"
+
+
+
+
+
+
+XXIV
+
+THE HOUSE WHERE LOVE LIVED
+
+It was past the middle of October, and Allison's injured hand was not
+only free of its bandages, but he had partially regained the use of it.
+Doctor Jack still lingered, eagerly seizing every excuse that presented
+itself.
+
+"I suppose I ought to be back looking for another job," he regretfully
+observed to Allison, "but I like it here, and besides, I want to hear
+you play on your fiddle before I go."
+
+Allison laughed and hospitably urged him to stay as long as he chose.
+Colonel Kent added, heartily, after an old Southern fashion: "My house
+is yours."
+
+Crimson and golden leaves rained from the maples, and the purple winds
+of Autumn swept them into drifts at the roadside. Amethystine haze
+shimmered in the valleys and lay, cloud-like, upon the distant hills.
+Through the long aisles of trees a fairy patter of tiny furred feet
+rustled back and forth upon the fallen leaves. Only a dropping nut or a
+busy squirrel broke the exquisite peace of the forest, where the myriad
+life of the woods waited, in hushed expectancy, for the tide of the year
+to turn.
+
+Like a scarlet shuttle plying through the web of Autumn, the big red
+touring car hummed and whirred, with a happy young man at the wheel and
+a laughing girl beside him. Juliet's momentary self-consciousness was
+gone, and she was her sunny self again, though she still occasionally
+wept in secret, longing for her brother.
+
+"Aunt Francesca," she said, one day, when the two were sewing on dainty
+garments destined to adorn Juliet, "do you think Romie will ever come
+back to me?"
+
+"Not in the sense you mean, dear," replied Madame, gently. "We live in a
+world of change and things are never the same, even from day to day."
+
+"She made him think I was a tomboy, and now she'll teach him not to love
+me. Why does she want everything?"
+
+"Some women do, when they marry. Many are not content to be sweetheart
+and wife, but must take the place of mother and sisters too. But
+remember, Juliet, when a woman closes a man's heart against those of his
+own blood, the one door she has left open will some day be slammed in
+her own face."
+
+"And then--?"
+
+"Then the other doors will swing ajar, turning slowly on rusty hinges,
+but the women for whom they are opened will never cross the threshold
+again."
+
+"Why?"
+
+"Because they have ceased to care. There is nothing so dead as a woman's
+dead love. When the fire goes out and no single ember is left, the ashes
+are past the power of flame to rekindle."
+
+"Do you think that, after a while, I won't care for Romie any more?"
+
+"Not as you used to--that is impossible even now."
+
+Juliet sighed and hastily wiped away a tear. With a quick, sure stroke,
+her life seemed to have been divided.
+
+"Don't, dear. Remember what you have had. I often think a woman has
+crossed the line between youth and maturity, when she begins to put
+away, in the lavender of memory, the lovely things she has had--and is
+never to have again. The after years are made up, so many times, of
+things one has had--rounded off and put away forever."
+
+"I know," returned Juliet, with a far-away look in her eyes. "I remember
+the day I grew up--almost the hour. It was the day I came here."
+
+Madame stooped to kiss the girl's rosy cheek, then swiftly turned the
+talk to linen and lace. Always quick to observe, Juliet had acquired
+little graces of tone and manner, softened her abruptness, and, guided
+by loving tact, had begun to bloom like a primrose in a sunny window.
+
+"When--when Miss Bernard comes back again," asked Juliet, wistfully,
+"shall I have to go?"
+
+"No, dear--indeed no! This is your home until the right man comes a-
+wooing, and takes you to a little house of your own."
+
+Scarlet signals flamed in Juliet's cheeks as she earnestly devoted
+herself to her sewing, and Madame smiled. Already, in quiet moments, she
+had planned a pretty wedding gown for Juliet, and a still prettier
+wedding.
+
+Allison came frequently, sometimes alone and sometimes with his father
+or Doctor Jack. He had remarked once that when he desired to consult his
+physician, he always knew where to find him. Madame affected not to
+notice that a strange young man had become a veritable part of her
+family, for she liked Doctor Jack and made him very welcome, morning,
+noon, and night.
+
+On Wednesdays, the men of the other household dined with her. Saturdays,
+she and Juliet were honoured guests at the Colonel's, though he
+deprecated his own hospitality. "A house needs a woman at the head of
+it," he said. "It was different when Miss Rose was here."
+
+"Indeed it was," thought Allison, though he did not put it into words.
+
+At the end of the month, when it was cool enough to make an open fire
+seem the most cheerful of companions, Madame had them all at her own
+table. Juliet was surpassingly lovely in her first long gown, of ivory-
+tinted chiffon, ornamented only by hand embroidery and a bit of deep-
+toned lace. Her wavy hair was gathered into a loose knot, from which
+tiny tendrils escaped to cling about her face. Madame had put a pink
+rose into her hair, slipped another into her belt, and had been well
+pleased with the work of her own hands.
+
+After dinner, while Juliet played piquet with the Colonel, and Doctor
+Jack sat quietly in the shadow, where he could watch every play of light
+and shade upon the girl's lovely changing face, Allison drew Madame into
+the library and quietly closed the door.
+
+"Aunt Francesca," he said, without preliminary, "I've been more kinds of
+a fool in a few months than most men can manage to be in a lifetime."
+
+"Yes," Madame agreed, with a cool little smile.
+
+"Where is Rose?" he demanded.
+
+"Rose," replied Madame, lightly, "has gone away."
+
+"I know that," he flashed back. "I realise it every day and every hour
+of my life. I asked where she was."
+
+"And I," answered Madame, imperturbably, "have told you. She is simply
+'away.'"
+
+"Is she well?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"Is she happy?'
+
+"Of course. Why not? Beauty, health, talent, sufficient income, love--
+what more can a woman desire?"
+
+"Aunt Francesca! Tell me, please. Where is Rose?"
+
+"When I was married," answered Madame, idly fingering an ivory paper
+knife, "I went to live in a little house in the woods."
+
+"Yes? Where is Rose?"
+
+"It was only a tiny place, but a brook sang in front of it, night and
+day."
+
+"Must have been pretty. Where did Rose go?"
+
+"It was very quiet there. It would have been a good place to work, if
+either of us had been musical, or anything of that sort."
+
+"Charming," replied Allison, absently.
+
+"It wasn't far from town, either. We could take a train at two o'clock,
+and reach Holly Springs a little after three. It was half a mile up the
+main road from the station, and, as we had no horse, we always walked."
+
+"Nice walk," said Allison, dejectedly.
+
+"I have never been back since--since I was left alone. Sometimes I have
+thought my little house ought to have someone to look after it. A house
+gets lonely, too, with no one to care for it."
+
+"I suppose so. Is Rose coming back?"
+
+"I have often thought of the little Summer cottages, huddled together
+like frightened children, when the life and laughter had gone and Winter
+was swiftly approaching. How cold their walls must be and how empty the
+heart of a little house, when there is no fire there! So like a woman,
+when love has gone out of her life."
+
+Allison sighed and began to sharpen his pencil. Madame observed that his
+hands were trembling.
+
+"I see," he said. "I don't deserve to know where she is, and Rose
+doesn't want me chasing after her. Never mind--I had it coming to me, I
+guess. What a hopeless idiot I've been!"
+
+"Yes," agreed Madame, cordially. "Carlyle says that 'there is no other
+entirely fatal person.'"
+
+Something in her tone gave him courage for another question. "Once for
+all, Aunt Francesca, will you tell me where Rose is?"
+
+"George Washington was a great man," Madame observed. "He never told a
+lie. If he had promised not to tell anything, he never told it." Then
+she added, with swift irrelevance, "this used to be a very pleasant time
+of the year at Holly Springs."
+
+A great light broke in upon Allison. "Aunt Francesca!" he cried. He put
+his arms around her, lifted her from her chair, and nearly smothered her
+in a bear-like embrace. "God bless you!"
+
+"He has," murmured Madame, disengaging herself. "My foster son has been
+a dunce, but his reason is now restored."
+
+The two o'clock train to Holly Springs did not leave town until three,
+so Allison waited for an hour in the station, fuming with impatience.
+Both Colonel Kent and the Doctor had offered to accompany him,
+individually or together, but he had brusquely put them aside.
+
+"Don't worry," he said. "My name and address are in my pocket and also
+inside my hat. I'll check my grip and be tenderly considerate of my left
+hand. Good-bye."
+
+When he had gone Colonel Kent anxiously turned to the doctor. "Where do
+you suppose--and why--"
+
+"Cherchez la femme," returned the Doctor.
+
+"What makes you think so? It's not--"
+
+"It's about the only errand a man can go on, and not be willing to take
+another chap along. And I'll bet anything I've got, except my girl and
+my buzz-cart, that it isn't the fair, false one we met at the hour of
+her elopement."
+
+"Must be Rose, then," said the Colonel, half to himself, "but I thought
+nobody knew where she was."
+
+"Love will find a way," hummed Doctor Jack. "I suppose you don't care to
+go for a ride this afternoon?"
+
+"Not I," laughed the Colonel. "Why don't you take Juliet?"
+
+"All right, since you ask me to. I wonder," he continued to himself, as
+he went toward Madame Bernard's at the highest rate of speed, "just how
+a fellow would go to work to find a woman who had left no address? Sixth
+sense, I suppose, or perhaps seventh or eighth."
+
+Yet Allison was doing very well, with only the five senses of the normal
+human being to aid him in his search. He left the train at the sleepy
+little place known as "Holly Springs," and walked up the main road as
+though he knew the way.
+
+"Half a mile," he said to himself, "and a little brown house in the
+woods with a brook singing in front of it. Ought to get to it pretty
+soon."
+
+The prattling brook was half asleep in its narrow channel, but the
+gentle murmur was audible to one who stopped in the road to listen. It
+did not cross the road, but turned away, frightened, from the dusty
+highway of a modest civilisation, and went back into the woods, where it
+met another brook and travelled to the river in company.
+
+The house, just back of the singing stream, was a little place, as
+Madame Bernard had said, but, though he rapped repeatedly, no one
+answered. So he lifted the latch and cautiously stepped in.
+
+A grand piano, unblushingly new, and evidently of recent importation
+from the city, occupied most of the tiny living-room. The embers of a
+wood fire lay on the hearth and the room was faintly scented with the
+sweet smoke of hard pine. A well-known and well-worn sonata was on the
+music rack; a volume of Chopin had fallen to the floor. Allison picked
+it up, and put it in its place. On the piano was some of his own music,
+stamped with his Berlin address.
+
+A familiar hat, trimmed with crushed roses, lay on the window seat. The
+faint, indefinable scent of attar of roses was dimly to be discerned as
+a sort of background for the fragrant smoke. An open book lay face
+downward on the table; a bit of dainty needlework was thrown carelessly
+across the chair. An envelope addressed to "Madame Francesca Bernard"
+was on the old-fashioned writing desk, and a single page of rose-stamped
+paper lay near it, bearing, in a familiar hand: "My Dearest."
+
+The two words filled Allison with panic. Not knowing how Rose was wont
+to address the little old lady they both loved, he conjured up the
+forbidding spectre of The Other Man, that had haunted him for weeks
+past.
+
+Sighing, he sat down at the piano, and began to drum idly, with one
+hand. "Wonder if I could use the other," he thought. "Pretty stiff, I
+guess."
+
+He began to play, from memory:
+
+[Illustration: musical notation]
+
+and outside a woman paused, almost at the threshold, with her hands upon
+her heart. In a sudden throb of pain, the old days came back. She saw
+herself at the piano, aching with love and longing, while just beyond,
+in an old moonlit garden, Allison made love to Isabel.
+
+[Illustration: musical notation]
+
+Was it a ghost, or was it--? No, she was only foolish. Aunt Francesca
+had promised not to tell, and she never broke her word. Besides, why
+should he seek her?
+
+[Illustration: musical notation]
+
+"It's only someone who has stopped in passing," Rose thought, "to ask
+the way to the next town, or to get a glass of water, or--I won't be
+foolish! I'll go in!"
+
+So she crossed the threshold, into the house where Love lived.
+
+At the sound of her step, the man turned quickly, the music ending in a
+broken chord.
+
+"You!" she gasped. "Oh, how could you come!"
+
+"By train," answered Allison, gently, "and then by walking. I've
+frightened you, Rose."
+
+"No," she stammered sinking into a chair. "I'm--I'm surprised, of
+course. I'm glad you're well enough to be about again. Did--is anything
+wrong with Aunt Francesca?" she asked, anxiously.
+
+"Indeed there isn't. She was blooming like a lilac bush in May, when I
+saw her last night."
+
+"Did-did--she tell you?"
+
+"She did not," he returned, concisely.
+
+"Then how--how--?"
+
+"I just came. What made you think you could get away from me?"
+
+"I wasn't--getting away," she returned with difficulty. "I was just
+tired--and I came here to--to rest--and to work," she concluded, lamely.
+"You didn't need me."
+
+"Not need you," he cried, stretching his trembling hands toward her.
+"Oh, Rose, I need you always!"
+
+Slowly the colour ebbed from her face, leaving her white to the lips.
+"Don't," she said, pitifully.
+
+"Oh, I know," he flashed back, bitterly. "I've lost any shadow of right
+I might ever have had, because I was a blind fool, and I never had any
+chance anyway. All I can do is to go on loving you, needing you, wanting
+you; seeing your face before me every hour of the day and night,
+thirsting for you with every fibre of me. All I have to keep is an empty
+husk of memory--those few weeks you were kind to me. At least I had you
+with me, though your heart belonged to someone else."
+
+"Someone else?" she repeated, curiously. The colour was coming back
+slowly now.
+
+"Yes. Have you forgotten you told me? That day, don't you remember, you
+said you had loved another man who did not care for you?"
+
+Rose nodded. Her face was like a crimson flower swaying on a slender
+stem. "I said," she began, "that I had loved a man who did not care for
+me, and that I always would. Wasn't that it?"
+
+"Something like that. I wish to God I could change places with him."
+
+"Did I," hesitated Rose, "are you sure--that I said--another man, or was
+it just--a man?"
+
+"Rose! What do you mean?"
+
+Covered with lovely confusion, she stumbled over to the window, where
+she might hide her burning face from him. "Don't you think," she asked,
+unsteadily, "that it is beautiful here? This is Aunt Francesca's little
+house, where she came when she was first married. She always calls it
+'the little house where Love lived.'"
+
+"And I came here," she went on, courageously, "because, in a house where
+Love--had lived, I thought there might be some--for--"
+
+Her voice trailed off into an indistinct murmur. "Rose," cried Allison,
+"couldn't you give me just what I had before? Couldn't we go back, and
+never mind the other man?"
+
+"There's never any going back," she answered, in a whisper. Her heart
+was beating wildly because he was so near. "And did I say--are you sure
+I said--another man?"
+
+"Rose! Rose! Look at me! Tell me, for God's sake, who he was--or is. I
+can't bear it!"
+
+She turned toward him. "Look," she said, softly. "Look in my face and
+see."
+
+For a tense instant he hesitated. Then, with a little cry of joy, he
+clasped her close forever, having seen his own face mirrored in her
+happy eyes.
+
+THE END
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Old Rose and Silver, by Myrtle Reed
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