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diff --git a/old/54212-0.txt b/old/54212-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 87dc096..0000000 --- a/old/54212-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,8727 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Modern Mephistopheles and A Whisper in -the Dark, by Lousia M. Alcott - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: A Modern Mephistopheles and A Whisper in the Dark - -Author: Lousia M. Alcott - -Release Date: February 20, 2017 [EBook #54212] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES *** - - - - -Produced by Mary Glenn Krause, David Edwards, ellinora, -University of Toronto - Robarts Library and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber Notes - - ● Obvious typos and punctuation errors corrected. - ● Inconsistencies in spelling and hyphenation retained. - ● Italics are represented by underscores surrounding the _italic text_. - ● Small capitals have been converted to ALL CAPS. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES - - AND - - A WHISPER IN THE DARK - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - LOUISA M. ALCOTT’S NOVELS. - - MOODS. - - WORK, a Story of Experience. - - A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES, and A WHISPER IN THE DARK. - - 3 vols. 16mo. $1.50 each. - - - ROBERTS BROTHERS, Publishers, - BOSTON. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A - - MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES - - AND - - A WHISPER IN THE DARK - - BY LOUISA M. ALCOTT - - AUTHOR OF “MOODS;” “WORK, A STORY OF EXPERIENCE;” - “LITTLE WOMEN,” ETC. - - [Illustration: QUI LEGIT REGIT.] - - BOSTON - ROBERTS BROTHERS - 1889 - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - _Copyright, 1877, 1889_ - BY ROBERTS BROTHERS - - - University Press - JOHN WILSON AND SON, CAMBRIDGE - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - “_The Indescribable, - Here it is done: - The Woman-Soul leadeth us - Upward and on!_” - - Second Part of FAUST. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A MODERN MEPHISTOPHELES. - - - - - I. - - -Without, a midwinter twilight, where wandering snowflakes eddied in the -bitter wind between a leaden sky and frost-bound earth. - -Within, a garret; gloomy, bare, and cold as the bleak night coming down. - - * * * * * - -A haggard youth knelt before a little furnace, kindling a fire, with an -expression of quiet desperation on his face, which made the simple -operation strange and solemn. - -A pile of manuscript lay beside him, and in the hollow eyes that watched -the white leaves burn was a tragic shadow, terrible to see,—for he was -offering the first-born of heart and brain as sacrifice to a hard fate. - -Slowly the charcoal caught and kindled, while a light smoke filled the -room. Slowly the youth staggered up, and, gathering the torn sheets, -thrust them into his bosom, muttering bitterly, “Of all my hopes and -dreams, my weary work and patient waiting, nothing is left but this. -Poor little book, we’ll go together, and leave no trace behind.” - -Throwing himself into a chair, he laid his head down upon the table, -where no food had been for days, and, closing his eyes, waited in stern -silence for death to come and take him. - -Nothing broke the stillness but the soft crackle of the fire, which -began to flicker with blue tongues of flame, and cast a lurid glow upon -the motionless figure with its hidden face. Deeper grew the wintry gloom -without, ruddier shone the fateful gleam within, and heavy breaths began -to heave the breast so tired of life. - -Suddenly a step sounded on the stair, a hand knocked at the door, and -when no answer came, a voice cried, “Open!” in a commanding tone, which -won instant obedience, and dispelled the deathful trance fast benumbing -every sense. - -“The devil!” ejaculated the same imperious voice, as the door swung -open, letting a cloud of noxious vapor rush out to greet the -new-comer,—a man standing tall and dark against the outer gloom. - -“Who is it? Oh! come in!” gasped the youth, falling back faint and -dizzy, as the fresh air smote him in the face. - -“I cannot, till you make it safe for me to enter. I beg pardon if I -interrupt your suicide; I came to help you live, but if you prefer the -other thing, say so, and I will take myself away again,” said the -stranger, pausing on the threshold, as his quick eye took in the meaning -of the scene before him. - -“For God’s sake, stay!” and, rushing to the window, the youth broke it -with a blow, caught up the furnace, and set it out upon the snowy roof, -where it hissed and glowed like an evil thing, while he dragged forth -his one chair, and waited, trembling, for his unknown guest to enter. - -“For my own sake, rather: I want excitement; and this looks as if I -might find it here,” muttered the man with a short laugh, as he watched -the boy, calmly curious, till a gust of fresh air swept through the -room, making him shiver with its sharp breath. - -“Jasper Helwyze, at your service,” he added aloud, stepping in, and -accepting courteously the only hospitality his poor young host could -offer. - -The dim light and shrouding cloak showed nothing but a pale, keen face, -with dark penetrating eyes, and a thin hand, holding a paper on which -the youth recognized the familiar words, “Felix Canaris.” - -“My name! You came to help me? What good angel sent you, sir?” he -exclaimed, with a thrill of hope,—for in the voice, the eye, the hand -that held the card with such tenacious touch, he saw and felt the -influence of a stronger nature, and involuntarily believed in and clung -to it. - -“Your bad angel, you might say, since it was the man who damned your -book and refused the aid you asked of him,” returned the stranger, in a -suave tone, which contrasted curiously with the vigor of his language. -“A mere chance led me there to-day, and my eye fell upon a letter lying -open before him. The peculiar hand attracted me, and Forsythe, being in -the midst of your farewell denunciation, read it out, and told your -story.” - -“And you were laughing at my misery while I was making ready to end it?” -said the youth, with a scornful quiver of the sensitive lips that -uttered the reproach. - -“We all laugh at such passionate folly when we have outlived it. You -will, a year hence; so bear no malice, but tell me briefly if you can -forget poetry, and be content with prose for a time. In plain words, can -you work instead of dream?” - -“I can.” - -“Good! then come to me for a month. I have been long from home, and my -library is neglected; I have much for you to do, and believe you are the -person I want, if Forsythe tells the truth. He says your father was a -Greek, your mother English, both dead, and you an accomplished, -ambitious young man who thinks himself a genius, and will not forgive -the world for doubting what he has failed to prove. Am I right?” - -“Quite right. Add also that I am friendless, penniless, and hopeless at -nineteen.” - -A brief, pathetic story, more eloquently told by the starvation written -on the pinched face, the squalor of the scanty garments, and the despair -in the desperate eye, than by the words uttered with almost defiant -bluntness. - -The stranger read the little tragedy at a glance, and found the chief -actor to his taste; for despite his hard case he possessed beauty, -youth, and the high aspirations that die hard,—three gifts often -peculiarly attractive to those who have lost them all. - -“Wait a month, and you may find that you have earned friends, money, and -the right to hope again. At nineteen, one should have courage to face -the world, and master it.” - -“Show me how, and I _will_ have courage. A word of sympathy has already -made it possible to live!” and, seizing the hand that offered help, -Canaris kissed it with the impulsive grace and ardor of his father’s -race. - -“When can you come to me?” briefly demanded Helwyze, gathering his cloak -about him as he rose, warned by the waning light. - -“At once, to-night, if you will! I possess nothing in the world but the -poor clothes that were to have been my shroud, and the relics of the -book with which I kindled my last fire,” answered the youth, with eager -eyes, and an involuntary shiver as the bitter wind blew in from the -broken window. - -“Come, then, else a mightier master than I may claim you before dawn, -for it will be an awful night. Put out your funeral pyre, Canaris, wrap -your shroud well about you, gather up your relics, and follow me. I can -at least give you a warmer welcome than I have received,” added Helwyze, -with that sardonic laugh of his, as he left the room. - -Before he had groped his slow way down the long stairs the youth joined -him, and side by side they went out into the night. - -A month later the same pair sat together in a room that was a dream of -luxury. A noble library, secluded, warm, and still; the reposeful -atmosphere that students love pervaded it; rare books lined its lofty -walls: poets and philosophers looked down upon their work with immortal -satisfaction on their marble countenances; and the two living occupants -well became their sumptuous surroundings. - -Helwyze leaned in a great chair beside a table strewn with books which -curiously betrayed the bent of a strong mind made morbid by physical -suffering. Doré’s “Dante” spread its awful pages before him; the old -Greek tragedies were scattered about, and Goethe’s “Faust” was in his -hand. An unimpressive figure at first sight, this frail-looking man, -whose age it would be hard to tell; for pain plays strange pranks, and -sometimes preserves to manhood a youthful delicacy in return for the -vigor it destroys. But at a second glance the eye was arrested and -interest aroused, for an indefinable expression of power pervaded the -whole face, beardless, thin-lipped, sharply cut, and colorless as ivory. -A stray lock or two of dark hair streaked the high brow, and below shone -the controlling feature of this singular countenance, a pair of eyes, -intensely black, and so large they seemed to burden the thin face. -Violet shadows encircled them, telling of sleepless nights, days of -languor, and long years of suffering, borne with stern patience. But in -the eyes themselves all the vitality of the man’s indomitable spirit -seemed concentrated, intense and brilliant as a flame, which nothing -could quench. By turns melancholy, meditative, piercing, or -contemptuous, they varied in expression with startling rapidity, unless -mastered by an art stronger than nature; attracting or repelling with a -magnetism few wills could resist. - -Propping his great forehead on his hand, he read, motionless as a -statue, till a restless movement made him glance up at his companion, -and fall to studying him with a silent scrutiny which in another would -have softened to admiration, for Canaris was scarcely less beautiful -than the Narcissus in the niche behind him. - -An utter contrast to his patron, for youth lent its vigor to the -well-knit frame, every limb of which was so perfectly proportioned that -strength and grace were most harmoniously blended. Health glowed in the -rich coloring of the classically moulded face, and lurked in the -luxuriant locks which clustered in glossy rings from the low brow to the -white throat. Happiness shone in the large dreamy eyes and smiled on the -voluptuous lips; while an indescribable expression of fire and force -pervaded the whole, redeeming its beauty from effeminacy. - -A gracious miracle had been wrought in that month, for the haggard youth -was changed into a wonderfully attractive young man, whose natural ease -and elegance fitted him to adorn that charming place, as well as to -enjoy the luxury his pleasure-loving senses craved. - -The pen had fallen from his hand, and lying back in his chair with eyes -fixed on vacancy, he seemed dreaming dreams born of the unexpected -prosperity which grew more precious with each hour of its possession. - -“Youth surely _is_ the beauty of the devil, and that boy might have come -straight from the witches’ kitchen and the magic draught,” thought -Helwyze, as he closed his book, adding to himself with a daring -expression, “Of all the visions haunting his ambitious brain not one is -so wild and wayward as the fancy which haunts mine. Why not play fate, -and finish what I have begun?” - -A pause fell, more momentous than either dreamed; then it was abruptly -broken. - -“Felix, the time is up.” - -“It is, sir. Am I to go or stay?” and Canaris rose, looking -half-bewildered as his brilliant castles in the air dissolved like mist -before a sudden gust. - -“Stay, if you will; but it is a quiet life for such as you, and I am a -dull companion. Could you bear it for a year?” - -“For twenty! Sir, you have been most kind and generous, and this month -has seemed like heaven, after the bitter want you took me from. Let me -show gratitude by faithful service, if I can,” exclaimed the young man, -coming to stand before his master, as he chose to call his benefactor, -for favors were no burden yet. - -“No thanks, I do it for my own pleasure. It is not every one who can -have antique beauty in flesh and blood as well as marble; I have a fancy -to keep my handsome secretary as the one ornament my library lacked -before.” - -Canaris reddened like a girl, and gave a disdainful shrug; but vanity -was tickled, nevertheless, and he betrayed it by the sidelong glance he -stole towards the polished doors of glass reflecting his figure like a -mirror. - -“Nay, never frown and blush, man; ‘beauty is its own excuse for being,’ -and you may thank the gods for yours, since but for that I should send -you away to fight your dragons single-handed,” said Helwyze, with a -covert smile, adding, as he leaned forward to read the face which could -wear no mask for him, “Come, you shall give me a year of your liberty, -and I will help you to prove Forsythe a liar.” - -“You will bring out my book?” cried Canaris, clasping his hands as a -flash of joy irradiated every lineament. - -“Why not? and satisfy the hunger that torments you, though you try to -hide it. I cannot promise success, but I _can_ promise a fair trial; and -if you stand the test, fame and fortune will come together. Love and -happiness you can seek for at your own good pleasure.” - -“You have divined my longing. I do hunger and thirst for fame; I dream -of it by night, I sigh for it by day; every thought and aspiration -centres in that desire; and if I did not still cling to that hope, even -the perfect home you offer me would seem a prison. I _must_ have it; the -success men covet and admire, suffer and strive for, and die content if -they win it only for a little time. Give me this and I am yours, body -and soul; I have nothing else to offer.” - -Canaris spoke with passionate energy, and flung out his hand as if he -cast himself at the other’s feet, a thing of little worth compared to -the tempting prize for which he lusted. - -Helwyze took the hand in a light, cold clasp, that tightened slowly as -he answered with the look of one before whose will all obstacles go -down,— - -“Done! Now show me the book, and let us see if we cannot win this time.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - II. - - -Nothing stirred about the vine-clad villa, except the curtains swaying -in the balmy wind, that blew up from a garden where mid-summer warmth -brooded over drowsy flowers and whispering trees. The lake below gleamed -like a mirror garlanded about with water-lilies, opening their white -bosoms to the sun. The balcony above burned with deep-hearted roses -pouring out their passionate perfume, as if in rivalry of the purple -heliotrope, which overflowed great urns on either side of the stone -steps. - -Nothing broke the silence but the breezy rustle, the murmurous lapse of -waters upon a quiet shore, and now and then the brief carol of a bird -waking from its noontide sleep. A hammock swung at one end of the -balcony, but it was empty; open doors showed the wide hall tenanted only -by statues gleaming, cool and coy, in shadowy nooks; and the spirit of -repose seemed to haunt the lovely spot. - -For an hour the sweet spell lasted; then it was broken by the faint, -far-off warble of a woman’s voice, which seemed to wake the sleeping -palace into life; for, as if drawn by the music, a young man came -through the garden, looking as Ferdinand might, when Ariel led him to -Miranda. - -Too beautiful for a man he was, and seemed to protest against it by a -disdainful negligence of all the arts which could enhance the gracious -gift. A picturesque carelessness marked his costume, the luxuriant curls -that covered his head were in riotous confusion; and as he came into the -light he stretched his limbs with the graceful abandon of a young -wood-god rousing from his drowse in some green covert. - -Swinging a knot of lilies in his hand, he sauntered up the long path, -listening with a smile, for as the voice drew nearer he recognized both -song and singer. - -“Little Gladys must not see me, or she will end her music too soon,” he -whispered to himself; and, stepping behind the great vase, he peered -between the plumy sprays to watch the coming of the voice that made his -verses doubly melodious to their creator’s ear. - -Through the shadowy hall there came a slender creature in a quaint white -gown, who looked as if she might have stepped down from the marble -Hebe’s pedestal; for there was something wonderfully virginal and fresh -about the maidenly figure with its deep, soft eyes, pale hair, and -features clearly cut as a fine cameo. Emerging from the gloom into a -flood of sunshine, which touched her head with a glint of gold, and -brought out in strong relief the crimson cover of the book, held -half-closed against her breast, she came down the steps, still singing -softly to herself. - -A butterfly was sunning its changeful wings on the carved balustrade, -and she paused to watch it, quite unconscious of the picture she made, -or the hidden observer who enjoyed it with the delight of one whose -senses were keenly alive to all that ministers to pleasure. A childish -act enough, but it contrasted curiously with the words she sung,—fervid -words, that seemed to drop lingeringly from her lips as if in a new -language; lovely, yet half learned. - -“Pretty thing! I wish I could sketch her as she stands, and use her as -an illustration to that song. No nightingale ever had a sweeter voice -for a love-lay than this charming girl,” thought the flattered listener, -as, obeying a sudden impulse, he flung up the lilies, stepped out from -his ambush, and half-said, half-sung, as he looked up with a glance of -mirthful meaning,— - - “Like a high-born maiden - In a palace tower, - Soothing her love-laden - Soul in secret hour, - With music sweet as love which overflows her bower.” - -The flowers dropped at her feet, and, leaning forward with the supple -grace of girlhood, she looked down to meet the dangerous dark eyes, -while her own seemed to wake and deepen with a sudden light as beautiful -as the color which dawned in her innocent face. Not the quick red of -shame, nor the glow of vanity, but a slow, soft flush like the shadow of -a rosy cloud on snow. No otherwise disconcerted, she smiled back at him, -and answered with unexpected aptness, in lines that were a truer -compliment than his had been,— - - “Like a poet hidden - In the light of thought, - Singing hymns unbidden, - Till the world is wrought - To sympathy with hopes and fears it heeded not.” - -It was this charm of swift and subtle sympathy which made the girl seem -sometimes like the embodied spirit of all that was most high and pure in -his own wayward but aspiring nature. And this the spell that drew him to -her now, glad to sun himself like the butterfly in the light of eyes so -clear and candid, that he could read therein the emotions of a maiden -heart just opening to its first, half-conscious love. - -Springing up the steps, he said with the caressing air as native to him -as his grace of manner. “Sit here and weave a pretty garland for your -hair, while I thank you for making my poor verses beautiful. Where did -you find the air that fits those words so well?” - -“It came itself; as the song did, I think,” she answered simply, as she -obeyed him, and began to braid the long brown stems, shaping a chaplet -fit for Undine. - -“Ah! you will never guess how that came!” he said, sitting at her feet -to watch the small fingers at their pretty work. But though his eyes -rested there, they grew absent; and he seemed to fall into a reverie not -wholly pleasant, for he knit his brows as if the newly won laurel wreath -sat uneasily upon a head which seemed made to wear it. - -Gladys watched him in reverential silence till he became conscious of -her presence again, and gave her leave to speak, with a smile which had -in it something of the condescension of an idol towards its devoutest -worshipper. - -“Were you making poetry, then?” she asked, with the frank curiosity of a -child. - -“No, I was wondering where I should be now if I had never made any;” and -he looked at the summer paradise around him with an involuntary shiver, -as if a chill wind had blown upon him. - -“Think rather what you will write next. It is so lovely I want more, -although I do not understand all this,” touching the book upon her knee -with a regretful sigh. - -“Neither do I; much of it is poor stuff, Gladys. Do not puzzle your -sweet wits over it.” - -“That is because you are so modest. People say true genius is always -humble.” - -“Then, I am not a true genius; for I am as proud as Lucifer.” - -“You may well be proud of such work as this;” and she carefully brushed -a fallen petal from the silken cover. - -“But I am _not_ proud of that. At times I almost hate it!” exclaimed the -capricious poet, impetuously, then checked himself, and added more -composedly, “I mean to do so much better, that this first attempt shall -be forgotten.” - -“I think you will never do better; for this came from your heart, -without a thought of what the world would say. Hereafter all you write -may be more perfect in form but less true in spirit, because you will -have the fear of the world, and loss of fame before your eyes.” - -“How can you know that?” he asked, wondering that this young girl, so -lately met, should read him so well, and touch a secret doubt that kept -him idle after the first essay, which had been a most flattering -success. - -“Nay, I do not know, I only feel as if it must be so. I always sing best -when alone, and the thought of doing it for praise or money spoils the -music to my ear.” - -“I feel as if it would be possible to do _any thing_ here, and forget -that there is a world outside.” - -“Then it is not dull to you? I am glad, for I thought it would be, -because so many people want you, and you might choose many gayer places -in which to spend your summer holiday.” - -“I have no choice in this; yet I was willing enough to come. The first -time is always pleasant, and I am tired of the gayer places,” he said, -with a _blasé_ air that ill concealed how sweet the taste of praise had -been to one who hungered for it. - -“Yet it must seem very beautiful to be so sought, admired, and loved,” -the girl said wistfully, for few of fortune’s favors had fallen into her -lap as yet. - -“It is, and I was intoxicated with the wine of success for a time. But -after all, I find a bitter drop in it, for there is always a higher step -to take, a brighter prize to win, and one is never satisfied.” - -He paused an instant with the craving yet despondent look poets and -painters wear as they labor for perfection in “a divine despair;” then -added, in a tone of kindly satisfaction which rung true on the sensitive -ear that listened,— - -“But all that nonsense pleases Helwyze, and he has so few delights, I -would not rob him of one even so small as this, for I owe every thing to -him, you know.” - -“I do not know. May I?” - -“You may; for I want you to like my friend, and now I think you only -fear him.” - -“Mr. Canaris, I do not dislike your friend. He has been most kind to me, -I am grieved if I seem ungrateful,” murmured Gladys, with a vague -trouble in her artless face, for she had no power to explain the -instinctive recoil which had unconsciously betrayed itself. - -“Hear what he did for me, and then it may be easier to show as well as -to feel gratitude; since but for him you would have had none of these -foolish rhymes to sing.” - -With a look askance, a quick gesture, and a curious laugh, Canaris -tossed the book into the urn below, and the heliotrope gave a fragrant -sigh as it closed above the treasure given to its keeping. Gladys -uttered a little cry, but her companion took no heed, for clasping his -hands about his knee he looked off into the bloomy wilderness below as -if he saw a younger self there, and spoke of him with a pitiful sort of -interest. - -“Three years ago an ambitious boy came to seek his fortune in the great -city yonder. He possessed nothing but sundry accomplishments, and a -handful of verses which he tried to sell. Failing in this hope after -various trials, he grew desperate, and thought to end his life like poor -Chatterton. No, not like Chatterton,—for this boy was not an impostor.” - -“Had he no friend anywhere?” asked Gladys,—her work neglected while she -listened with intensest interest to the tale so tragically begun. - -“He thought not, but chance sent him one at the last hour, and when he -called on death, Helwyze came. It always seemed to me as if, -unwittingly, I conjured from the fire kindled to destroy myself a genie -who had power to change me from the miserable wretch I was, into the -happy man I am. For more than a year I have been with him,—first as -secretary, then _protégé_, now friend, almost son; for he asks nothing -of me except such services as I love to render, and gives me every aid -towards winning my way. Is not that magnificent generosity? Can I help -regarding him with superstitious gratitude? Am I not rightly named -Felix?” - -“Yes, oh yes! Tell me more, please. I have led such a lonely life, that -human beings are like wonder-books to me, and I am never tired of -reading them.” Gladys looked with a rapt expression into the face -upturned to hers, little dreaming how dangerous such lore might be to -her. - -“Then you should read Helwyze; he is a romance that will both charm and -make your heart ache, if you dare to try him.” - -“I dare, if I may, because I would so gladly lose my fear of him in the -gentler feeling that grows in me as I listen.” - -Canaris was irresistibly led on to confidences he had no right to make, -it was so pleasant to feel that he had the power to move the girl by his -words, as the wind sways a leaf upon its delicate stem. A half-fledged -purpose lurked in a dark corner of his mind, and even while denying its -existence to himself, he yielded to its influence, careless of -consequences. - -“Then I will go on and let compassion finish what I have begun. Till -thirty, Helwyze led a wonderfully free, rich life, I infer from hints -dropped in unguarded moments,—for confidential moods are rare. Every -good gift was his, and nothing to alloy his happiness, unless it was the -restless nature which kept him wandering like an Arab long after most -men have found some ambition to absorb, or some tie to restrain, them. -From what I have gathered, I know that a great passion was beginning to -tame his unquiet spirit, when a great misfortune came to afflict it, and -in an hour changed a life of entire freedom to one of the bitterest -bondage such a man can know.” - -“Oh, what?” cried Gladys, as he artfully paused just there to see her -bend nearer, and her lips part with the tremor of suspense. - -“A terrible fall; and for ten years he has never known a day’s rest from -pain of some sort, and never will, till death releases him ten years -hence, perhaps, if his indomitable will keeps him alive so long.” - -“Alas, alas! is there no cure?” sighed Gladys, as the violet eyes grew -dim for very pity of so hard a fate. - -“None.” - -A brief silence followed while the shadow of a great white cloud drifted -across the sky, blotting out the sunshine for a moment. - -All the flowers strayed down upon the steps and lay there forgotten, as -the hands that held them were clasped together on the girl’s breast, as -if the mere knowledge of a lot like this lay heavy at her heart. - -Satisfied with his effect, the story-teller was tempted to add another -stroke, and went on with the fluency of one who saw all things -dramatically, and could not help coloring them in his own vivid fancy. - -“That seems very terrible to you, but in truth the physical affliction -was not so great as the loss that tried his soul; for he loved ardently, -and had just won his suit, when the misfortune came which tied him to a -bed of torment for some years. A fall from heaven to hell could hardly -have seemed worse than to be precipitated from the heights of such a -happiness to the depths of such a double woe; for she, the beautiful, -beloved woman proved disloyal, and left him lying there, like -Prometheus, with the vulture of remembered bliss to rend his heart.” - -“Could he not forget her?” and Gladys trembled with indignation at the -perfidy which seemed impossible to a nature born for self-sacrifice. - -“He never will forget or forgive, although the man she married well -avenged him while he lived, and bequeathed her a memory which all his -gold could not gild. _Her_ fate is the harder now; for the old love has -revived, and Helwyze is dearer than in his days of unmarred strength. He -knows it, but will not accept the tardy atonement; for contempt has -killed _his_ love, and with him there is no resurrection of the dead. A -very patient and remorseful love is hers: for she has been humiliated in -spirit, as he can never be, by the bodily ills above which he has risen -so heroically that his courage has subdued the haughtiest woman I ever -met.” - -“You know her, then?” and Gladys bent to look into his face, with her -own shadowed by an intuition of the truth. - -“Yes.” - -“I am afraid to listen any more. It is terrible to know that such -bitterness and grief lie hidden in the hearts about me. Why did you tell -me this?” she demanded, shrinking from him, as if some prophetic fear -had stepped between them. - -“Why did I? Because I wished to make you pity my friend, and help me put -a little brightness into his hard life. You can do it if you will, for -you soothe and please him, and few possess the power to give him any -comfort. He makes no complaint, asks no pity, and insists on ignoring -the pain which preys upon him, till it grows too great to be concealed; -then shuts himself up alone, to endure it like a Spartan. Forgive me if -in my eagerness I have said too much, and forget whatever troubled you.” - -Canaris spoke with genuine regret, and hoped to banish the cloud from a -face which had been as placid as the lake below, till he disturbed it by -reflections that affrighted her. - -“It is easy to forgive, but not to forget, words which cannot be unsaid. -I was so happy here; and now it is all spoilt. She was a new-made -friend, and very kind to me when I was desolate. I shall seem a -thankless beggar if I go away before I have paid my debt as best I can. -How shall I tell her that I must?” - -“Of whom do you speak? I gave no name. I thought you would not guess. -Why must you go, Gladys?” asked the young man, surprised to see how -quickly she felt the chill of doubt, and tried to escape obligation, -when neither love nor respect brightened it. - -“I need give no name, because you know. It is as well, perhaps, that I -have guessed it. I ought not to have been so content, since I am here -through charity. I must take up my life and try to shape it for myself; -but the world seems very large now I am all alone.” - -She spoke half to herself, and looked beyond the safe, secluded garden, -to the gray mountains whose rough paths her feet had trod before they -were led here to rest. - -Quick to be swayed by the varying impulses which ruled him with -capricious force, Canaris was now full of pity for the trouble he had -wrought, and when she rose, like a bird startled from its nest, he rose -also, and, taking the hand put out as if involuntarily asking help, he -said with regretful gentleness,— - -“Do not be afraid, we will befriend you. Helwyze shall counsel and I -will comfort, if we can. I should not have told that dismal story; I -will atone for it by a new song, and you shall grow happy in singing -it.” - -She hesitated, withdrew her hand, and looked askance at him, as if one -doubt bred others. An approaching footstep made her start, and stand a -moment with head erect, eye fixed, and ear intent, like a listening -deer, then whispering, “It is she; hide me till I learn to look as if I -did not know!”—Gladys sprung down the steps, and vanished like a wraith, -leaving no token of her presence but the lilies in the dust, for the -young man followed fleetly. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - III. - - -A woman came into the balcony with a swift step, and paused there, as if -disappointed to find it deserted. A woman in the midsummer of her life, -brilliant, strong, and stately; clad in something dusky and diaphanous, -unrelieved by any color, except the pale gold of the laburnum clusters, -that drooped from deep bosom and darkest hair. Pride sat on the -forehead, with its straight black brows, passion slept in the Southern -eyes, lustrous or languid by turns, and will curved the closely folded -lips of vivid red. - -But over all this beauty, energy, and grace an indescribable blight -seemed to have fallen, deeper than the loss of youth’s first freshness, -darker than the trace of any common sorrow. Something felt, rather than -seen, which gave her the air of a dethroned queen; conquered, but -protesting fiercely, even while forced to submit to some inexorable -decree, whose bitterest pang was the knowledge that the wrong was -self-inflicted. - -As she stood there, looking down the green vista, two figures crossed -it. A smile curved the sad mouth, and she said aloud, “Faust and -Margaret, playing the old, old game.” - -“And Mephistopheles and Martha looking on,” added a melodious voice, -behind her, as Helwyze swept back the half-transparent curtain from the -long window where he sat. - -“The part you give me is not a flattering one,” she answered, veiling -mingled pique and pleasure with well-feigned indifference. - -“Nor mine; yet I think they suit us both, in a measure. Do you know, -Olivia, that the accidental reading of my favorite tragedy, at a certain -moment, gave me a hint which has afforded amusement for a year.” - -“You mean your fancy for playing Mentor to that boy. A dangerous task -for you, Jasper.” - -“The danger is the charm. I crave excitement, occupation; and what but -something of this sort is left me? Much saving grace in charity, we are -told; and who needs it more than I? Surely I have been kinder to Felix -than the Providence which left him to die of destitution and despair?” - -“Perhaps not. The love of power is strong in men like you, and grows by -what it feeds on. If I am not mistaken, this whim of a moment has -already hardened into a purpose which will mould his life in spite of -him. It is an occupation that suits your taste, for you enjoy his beauty -and his promise; you like to praise and pamper him till vanity and love -of pleasure wax strong, then you check him with an equal satisfaction, -and find excitement in curbing his high spirit, his wayward will. By -what tie you hold him I cannot tell; but I know it must be something -stronger than gratitude, for, though he chafes against the bond, he -_dares_ not break it.” - -“Ah, that is my secret! What would you not give if I would teach you the -art of taming men as I once taught you to train a restive horse?”—and -Helwyze looked out at her with eyes full of malicious merriment. - -“You have taught me the art of taming a woman; is not that enough?” -murmured Olivia, in a tone that would have touched any man’s heart with -pity, if with no tenderer emotion. - -But Helwyze seemed not to hear the reproach, and went on, as if the -other topic suited his mood best. - -“I call Canaris my Greek slave, sometimes, and he never knows whether to -feel flattered or insulted. His father was a Greek adventurer, you know -(ended tragically, I suspect), and but for the English mother’s legacy -of a trifle of moral sense, Felix would be as satisfactory a young -heathen as if brought straight from ancient Athens. It was this peculiar -mixture of unscrupulous daring and fitful virtue which attracted me, as -much as his unusual beauty and undoubted talent. Money can buy almost -any thing, you know; so I bought my handsome Alcibiades, and an -excellent bargain I find him.” - -“But when you tire of him, what then? You cannot sell him again, nor -throw him away, like a book you weary of. Neither can you leave him -neglected in the lumber-room, with distasteful statues or bad pictures. -Affection, if you have it, will not outlast your admiration, and I have -much curiosity to know what will become of your ‘handsome Alcibiades’ -then.” - -“Then, my cousin, I will give him to you, for I have fancied of late -that you rather coveted him. You could not manage him now,—the savage in -him is not quite civilized yet,—but wait a little, and I will make a -charming plaything for you. I know you will treat him kindly, since it -is truly said, Those who have served, best know how to rule.” - -The sneer stung her deeply, for there was no humiliation this proud -woman had not suffered at the hands of a brutal and unfaithful husband. -Pity was as bitter a draught to her as to the man who thus cruelly -reminded her of the long bondage which had left an ineffaceable blight -upon her life. The wound bled inwardly, but she retaliated, as only such -a woman could. - -“Love is the one master who can rule and bind without danger or -disgrace. I shall remember that, and when you give me Felix he will find -me a gentler mistress than I was ten years ago—to you.” - -The last words dropped from her lips as softly as if full of tender -reminiscence, but they pricked pride, since they could not touch a -relentless heart. Helwyze betrayed it by the sombre fire of his eye, the -tone in which he answered. - -“And I will ask of you the only gift I care to accept,—your new -_protégée_, Gladys. Tell me where you found her; the child interests me -much.” - -“I know it;” and, stifling a pang of jealous pain, Olivia obeyed with -the docility of one in whom will was conquered by a stronger power. - -“A freak took me to the hills in March. My winter had been a vain chase -after happiness, and I wanted solitude. I found it where chance led -me,—in this girl’s home. A poor, bleak place enough; but it suited me, -for there were only the father and daughter, and they left me to myself. -The man died suddenly, and no one mourned, for he was a selfish tyrant. -The girl was left quite alone, and nearly penniless, but so happy in her -freedom that she had no fears. I liked the courage of the creature; I -knew how she felt; I saw great capacity for something fine in her. I -said, ‘Come with me for a little, and time will show you the next step.’ -She came; time has shown her, and the next step will take her from my -house to yours, unless I much mistake your purpose.” - -Leaning in the low, lounging chair, Helwyze had listened motionless, -except that the fingers of one thin hand moved fitfully, as if he played -upon some instrument inaudible to all ears but his own. A frequent -gesture of his, and most significant, to any one who knew that his -favorite pastime was touching human heart-strings with marvellous -success in producing discords by his uncanny skill. - -As Olivia paused, he asked in a voice as suave as cold,— - -“My purpose? Have I any?” - -“You say she interests you, and you watch her in a way that proves it. -Have you not already resolved to win her for your amusement, by some -bribe as cunning as that you gave Canaris for his liberty?” - -“I have. You are a shrewd woman, Olivia.” - -“Yet she is not beautiful;” and her eye vainly searched the inscrutable -countenance, that showed so passionless and pale against the purple -cushion where it leaned. - -“Pardon me, the loveliest woman I have seen for years. A beautiful, -fresh soul is most attractive when one is weary of more material charms. -This girl seems made of spirit, fire, and dew; a mixture rare as it is -exquisite, and the spell is all the greater because of its fine and -elusive quality. I promise myself much satisfaction in observing how -this young creature meets the trials and temptations life and love will -bring her; and to do this she must be near at hand.” - -“Happy Gladys!” - -Olivia smiled a scornful smile, but folded her arms to curb the -rebellious swelling of her heart at the thought of another woman nearer -than herself. She turned away as she spoke; but Helwyze saw the quiver -of her lips, and read the meaning of the piercing glance she shot into -the garden, as if to find and annihilate that unconscious rival. - -Content for the moment with the touch of daily torture which was the -atonement exacted for past disloyalty, he lifted the poor soul from -despair to delight by the utterance of three words, accompanied by a -laugh as mirthless as musical,— - -“Happy Felix, rather.” - -“Is _he_ to marry her?” and Olivia fronted him, glowing with a sudden -joy which made her lovely as well as brilliant. - -“Who else?” - -“Yourself.” - -“I!” and the word was full of a bitterness which thrilled every nerve -the woman had, for an irrepressible regret wrung it from lips sternly -shut on all complaint, except to her. - -“Why not?” she cried, daring to answer with impetuous warmth and candor. -“What woman would not be glad to serve you for the sake of the luxury -with which you would surround her, if not for the love you might win and -give, if you chose?” - -“Bah! what have I to do with love? Thank Heaven my passions are all -dead, else life would be a hell, not the purgatory it is,” he said, -glancing at his wasted limbs, with an expression which would have been -pathetic, had it not been defiant; for that long discipline of pain had -failed to conquer the spirit of the man, and it seemed to sit aloof, -viewing with a curious mixture of compassion and contempt the slow ruin -of the body which imprisoned it. - -With an impulse womanly as winning, Olivia plucked a wine-dark rose from -the trellis nearest her, and, bending towards him, laid it in his hand, -with a look and gesture of one glad to give all she possessed, if that -were possible. - -“Your love of beauty still survives, and is a solace to you. Let me -minister to it when I can; and be assured I offer my little friend as -freely as I do my choicest rose.” - -“Thanks; the flower for me, the friend for Felix. Young as he is, he -knows how to woo, and she will listen to his love-tale as willingly as -she did to the highly colored romance he was telling her just now. You -would soon find her a burden, Olivia, and so should I, unless she came -in this way. We need do nothing but leave the young pair to summer and -seclusion; they will make the match better and more quickly than we -could. Then a month for the honeymoon business, and all can be -comfortably settled before October frosts set in.” - -“You often say, where women are is discord; yet you are planning to -bring one into your house in the most dangerous way. Have you no fears, -Jasper?” - -“Not of Gladys; she is so young, I can mould her as I please, and that -suits me. She will become my house well, this tender, transparent little -creature, with her tranquil eyes, and the sincere voice which makes -truth sweeter than falsehood. You must come and see her there; but never -try to alter her, or the charm will be destroyed.” - -“You may be satisfied: but how will it be with Felix? Hitherto your sway -has been undivided, now you must share it; for with all her gentleness -she is strong, and will rule him.” - -“And I, Gladys. Felix suits me excellently, and it will only add another -charm to the relation if I control him through the medium of another. My -young lion is discovering his power rapidly, and I must give him a Una -before he breaks loose and chooses for himself. If matters must be -complicated, I choose to do it, and it will occupy my winter pleasantly -to watch the success of this new combination.” - -While he talked, Helwyze had been absently stripping leaf after leaf -from the great rose, till nothing but the golden heart remained -trembling on the thorny stem. - -Olivia had watched the velvet petals fall one by one, feeling a sad -sympathy with the ill-used gift; yet, as the last leaf fluttered to the -ground, she involuntarily lifted up her hand to break another, glad if -even in the destruction of so frail a thing he could find a moment’s -pleasure. - -“No, let them hang; their rich color pleases best among the green; their -cloying perfume is too heavy for the house. A snowdrop, leaning from its -dainty sheath undaunted by March winds, is more to my taste now,” he -said, dropping the relics of the rose, with the slow smile which often -lent such significance to a careless word. - -“I cannot give you that: spring flowers are all gone long ago,” began -Olivia, regretfully. - -“Nay, you give me one in Gladys; no spring flower could be more delicate -than she, gathered by your own hand from the bleak nook where you found -her. It is the faint, vernal fragrance of natures, coyly hidden from -common eye and touch, which satisfies and soothes senses refined by -suffering.” - -“Yet you will destroy it, like the rose, in finding out the secret of -its life. I wondered why this pale, cold innocence was so attractive to -a man like you. There was a time when you would have laughed at such a -fancy, and craved something with more warmth and brilliancy.” - -“I am wiser now, and live here, not here,” he answered, touching first -his forehead then his breast, with melancholy meaning. “While my brain -is spared me I can survive the ossification of all the heart I ever had, -since, at best, it is an unruly member. Almost as inconvenient as a -conscience; that, thank fortune, I never had. Yes; to study the -mysterious mechanism of human nature is a most absorbing pastime, when -books weary, and other sources of enjoyment are forbidden. Try it, and -see what an exciting game it becomes, when men and women are the pawns -you learn to move at will. Goethe’s boyish puppet-show was but a symbol -of the skill and power which made the man the magician he became.” - -“An impious pastime, a dearly purchased fame, built on the broken hearts -of women!” exclaimed Olivia, walking to and fro with the noiseless step -and restless grace of a leopardess pacing its cage. - -Helwyze neither seemed to see nor hear her, for his gloomy eyes stared -at a little bird tilting on a spray that swung in the freshening wind, -and his thoughts followed their own path. - -“‘Pale, cold innocence.’ It _is_ curious that it should charm me. A good -sign, perhaps; for poets tell us that fallen angels sigh for the heaven -they have lost, and try to rise again on the wings of spirits stronger -and purer than themselves. Would they not find virtue insipid after a -fiery draught of sin? Did not Paradise seem a little dull to Dante, in -spite of Beatrice? I wish I knew.” - -“Is it for this that you want the girl’s help?” asked Olivia, pausing in -her march to look at him. “I shall wait with interest to see if she -lifts you up to sainthood, or you drag her down to your level, where -intellect is God, conscience ignored, and love despised. Unhappy Gladys! -I should have said, because I cannot keep her from you, if I would; and -in your hands she will be as helpless as the dumb creatures surgeons -torture, that they may watch a living nerve, count the throbbing of an -artery, or see how long the poor things will live bereft of some vital -part. Let the child alone, Jasper, or you will repent of it.” - -“Upon my word, Olivia, you are in an ominously prophetic mood. I hear a -carriage; and, as I am invisible to all eyes but your gifted ones, -pardon me if I unceremoniously leave the priestess on her tripod.” - -And the curtain dropped between them as suddenly as it had been lifted, -depriving the woman of the one troubled joy of her life,—companionship -with him. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IV. - - -“Felix, are you asleep?” - -“No, sir, only resting.” - -“Have you been at work?” - -“Decidedly; I rowed across the lake and back.” - -“Alone?” - -“Gladys went with me, singing like a mermaid all the way.” - -“Ah!” - -Both men were lounging in the twilight; but there was a striking -difference in their way Of doing it. Canaris lay motionless on a couch, -his head pillowed on his arms, enjoying the luxury of repose, with the -_dolce far niente_ only possible to those in whose veins runs Southern -blood. Helwyze leaned in a great chair, which looked a miracle of -comfort; but its occupant stirred restlessly, as if he found no ease -among its swelling cushions; and there was an alert expression in his -face, betraying that the brain was at work on some thought or purpose -which both absorbed and excited. - -A pause followed the brief dialogue, during which Canaris seemed to -relapse into his delicious drowse, while Helwyze sat looking at him with -the critical regard one bestows on a fine work of art. Yet something in -the spectacle of rest he could not share seemed to annoy him; for, -suddenly turning up the shaded lamp upon his table, he dispelled the -soft gloom, and broke the silence. - -“I have a request to make. May I trouble you to listen?” - -There was a tone of command in the courteously worded speech, which made -Canaris sit erect, with a respectful— - -“At your service, sir.” - -“I wish you to marry,” continued Helwyze, with such startling abruptness -that the young man gazed at him in mute amazement for a moment. Then, -veiling his surprise by a laugh, he asked lightly,— - -“Isn’t it rather soon for that, sir? I am hardly of age.” - -“Geniuses are privileged; and I am not aware of any obstacle, if _I_ am -satisfied,” answered Helwyze, with an imperious gesture, which seemed to -put aside all objections. - -“Do you seriously mean it, sir?” - -“I do.” - -“But why such haste?” - -“Because it is my pleasure.” - -“I will not give up my liberty so soon,” cried the young man, with a -mutinous flash of the eye. - -“I thought you had already given it up. If you choose to annul the -agreement, do it, and go. You know the forfeit.” - -“I forgot this possibility. Did I agree to obey in all things?” - -“It was so set down in the bond. Entire obedience in return for the -success you coveted. Have I failed in my part of the bargain?” - -“No, sir; no.” - -“Then do yours, or let us cancel the bond, and part.” - -“How can we? What can I do without you? Is there no way but this?” - -“None.” - -Canaris looked dismayed,—and well he might, for it seemed impossible to -put away the cup he had thirsted for, when its first intoxicating -draught was at his lips. - -Helwyze had spoken with peculiar emphasis, and his words were full of -ominous suggestion to the listener’s ear; for he alone knew how much -rebellion would cost him, since luxury and fame were still dearer than -liberty or honor. He sprung up, and paced the room, feeling like some -wild creature caught in a snare. - -Helwyze, regardless of his chafing, went on calmly, as if to a willing -hearer, eying him vigilantly the while, though now his own manner was as -persuasive as it had been imperative before. - -“I ask no more than many parents do, and will give you my reasons for -the demand, though that was not among the stipulations.” - -“A starving man does not stop to weigh words, or haggle about promises. -I was desperate, and you offered me salvation; can you wonder that I -clutched the only hand held out to me?” demanded Canaris, with a world -of conflicting emotions in his expressive face, as he paused before his -master. - -“I am not speaking of the first agreement, that was brief as simple. The -second bargain was a more complicated matter. You were not desperate -then; you freely entered into it, reaped the benefits of it, and now -wish to escape the consequences of your own act. Is that fair?” - -“How could I dream that you would exact such obedience as this? I am too -young; it is a step that may change my whole life; I must have time,” -murmured Canaris, while a sudden change passed over his whole face, his -eye fell before the glance bent on him, as the other spoke. - -“It need not change your life, except to make it freer, perhaps happier. -Hitherto you have had all the pleasure, now I desire my share. You often -speak of gratitude; prove it by granting my request, and, in adding a -new solace to my existence, you will find you have likewise added a new -charm to your own.” - -“It is so sudden,—I do desire to show my gratitude,—I have tried to do -my part faithfully so far,” began Canaris, as if a look, a word, had -tamed his high spirit, and enforced docility sorely against his will. - -“So far, I grant that, and I thank you for the service which I desire to -lessen by the step you decline to take. I have spoilt you for use, but -not for ornament. I still like to see you flourish; I enjoy your -success; I cannot free you; but I _can_ give you a mate, who will take -your place and amuse me at home, while you sing and soar abroad. Is that -sufficiently poetical for a poet’s comprehension?” and Helwyze smiled, -that satiric smile of his, still watching the young man’s agitated -countenance. - -“But why need _I_ marry? Why cannot”—there Canaris hesitated, for he -lacked the courage to make the very natural suggestion Olivia had done. - -Helwyze divined the question on his lips, and answered it with stern -brevity. - -“That is impossible;” then added, with the sudden softening of tone -which made his voice irresistibly seductive, “I have given one reason -for my whim: there are others, which affect you more nearly and -pleasantly, perhaps. Little more than a year ago, your first book came -out, making you famous for a time. You have enjoyed your laurels for a -twelvemonth, and begin to sigh for more. The world has petted you, as it -does any novelty, and expects to be paid for its petting, else it will -soon forget you.” - -“No fear of that!” exclaimed the other, with the artless arrogance of -youth. - -“If I thought you would survive the experiment, I would leave you to -discover what a fickle mistress you serve. But frost would soon blight -your budding talent, so we will keep on the world’s sunny side, and -tempt the Muse, not terrify her.” - -Nothing could be smoother than the voice in which these words were said; -but a keen ear would have detected an accent of delicate irony in it, -and a quick eye have seen that Canaris winced, as if a sore spot had -been touched. - -“I should think marriage would do that last, most effectually,” he -answered, with a scornful shrug, and an air of great distaste. - -“Not always: some geniuses are the better for such bondage. I fancy you -are one of them, and wish to try the experiment. If it fails, you can -play Byron, to your heart’s content.” - -“A costly experiment for some one.” Canaris paused in his impatient -march, to look down with a glance of pity at the dead lily still knotted -in his button-hole. - -Helwyze laughed at the touch of sentiment,—a low, quiet laugh; but it -made the young man flush, and hastily fling away the faded flower, whose -pure loveliness had been a joy to him an hour ago. With a half docile, -half defiant look, he asked coldly,— - -“What next, sir?” - -“Only this: you have done well. Now, you must do better, and let the -second book be free from the chief fault which critics found,—that, -though the poet wrote of love, it was evident he had never felt it.” - -“Who shall say that?” with sudden warmth. - -“I, for one. You know nothing of love, though you may flatter yourself -you do. So far, it has been pretty play enough, but I will not have you -waste yourself, or your time. You need inspiration, this will give it -you. At your age, it is easy to love the first sweet woman brought near -you, and almost impossible for any such to resist your wooing. An early -marriage will not only give heart and brain a fillip, but add the new -touch of romance needed to keep up the world’s interest in the rising -star, whose mysterious advent piques curiosity as strongly as his work -excites wonder and delight.” - -Composure and content had been gradually creeping back into the -listener’s mien, as a skilful hand touched the various chords that -vibrated most tunefully in a young, imaginative, ardent nature. Vivid -fancy painted the “sweet woman” in a breath, quick wit saw at once the -worldly wisdom of the advice, and ambition found no obstacle impassable. - -“You are right, sir, I submit; but I claim the privilege of choosing my -inspirer,” he said, warily. - -“You have already chosen, if I am not much mistaken. A short wooing, but -a sure one; for little Gladys has no coquetry, and will not keep you -waiting for her answer.” - -“Gladys is a child,” began Canaris, still hesitating to avow the truth. - -“The fitter mate for you.” - -“But, sir, you are mistaken: I do not love her.” - -“Then, why teach her to love you?” - -“I have not: I was only kind. Surely I cannot be expected to marry every -young girl who blushes when I look at her,” he said, with sullen -petulance, for women had spoilt the handsome youth, and he was as -ungrateful as such idols usually are. - -“Then, who?—ah! I perceive; I had forgotten that a boy’s first -_tendresse_ is too often for a woman twice his age. May I trouble you?” -and Helwyze held up the empty glass with which he had been toying while -he talked. - -Among the strew of books upon the table at his elbow stood an antique -silver flagon, coolly frosted over by the iced wine it held. This -Canaris obediently lifted; and, as he stooped to fill the rosy bowl of -the Venetian goblet, Helwyze leaned forward, till the two faces were so -close that eye looked into eye, as he said, in one swift sentence, “It -was to win Olivia for _yourself_, then, that you wooed Gladys for _me_, -three hours ago?” - -The flagon was not heavy, but it shook in the young man’s grasp, and the -wine overflowed the delicate glass, dyeing red the hand that held it. -One face glowed with shame and anger; the other remained unmoved, except -a baffling smile upon the lips, that added, in mild reproach,— - -“My Ganymede has lost his skill; it is time I filled his place with a -neat-handed Hebe. Make haste, and bring her to me soon.” - -Mutely Canaris removed all traces of the treacherous mishap, inwardly -cursing his imprudent confidences, wondering what malignant chance -brought within ear-shot one who rarely left his own apartments at the -other end of the villa; and conscious of an almost superstitious fear of -this man, who read so surely, and dragged to light so ruthlessly, hidden -hopes and half-formed designs. - -Vouchsafing no enlightenment, Helwyze sipped the cool draught with an -air of satisfaction, continuing the conversation in a tone of -exasperating calmness. - -“Among other amusing fables with which you beguiled poor Gladys, I think -you promised counsel and comfort. Keep your word, and marry her. It is -the least you can do, after destroying her faith in the one friend she -possessed. A pleasant, but a dangerous pastime, and not in the best -taste; let me advise you to beware of it in future.” - -There was a covert menace in the tone, a warning in the significant grip -of the pale fingers round the glass, as if about to snap its slender -stem. Canaris was white now with impotent wrath, and a thrill went -through his vigorous young frame, as if the wild creature was about to -break loose, and defy its captor. - -But the powerful eye was on him, with a spark of fire in its depths, and -controlled till words, both sweet and bitter, soothed and won him. - -“I know that any breath of tenderness would pass by Olivia as idly as -the wind. You doubt this, and a word will prove it. I am not a tyrant, -though I seem such; therefore you are free to try your fate before you -gratify my whim and make Gladys happy.” - -“You think the answer will be ‘No?’” and Canaris forgot every thing but -the hope which tempted, even while reason told him it was vain. - -“It always has been; it always will be, if I know her.” - -“Will be till _you_ ask.” - -“Rest easy; I am done with love.” - -“But if she answers ‘Yes’?” - -“Then bid good-bye to peace,—and me.” - -The answer startled the young lover, and made him shrink from what he -ardently desired; for the new passion was but an enthralment of the -senses, and he knew it by the fine instinct which permits such men to -see and condemn their lower nature, even while yielding to its sway. - -But pride silenced doubt, and native courage made it impossible to shun -the trial or accept the warning. His eye lit, his head rose, and he -spoke out manfully, though unconsciously he wore the look of one who -goes to lead a forlorn hope,— - -“I shall try my fate to-night, and, if I fail, you may do what you like -with me.” - -“Not a coward, thank Heaven!” mused Helwyze, as he looked after the -retreating figure with the contemptuous admiration one gives to any -foolhardy enterprise bravely undertaken. “He must have his lesson, and -will be the tamer for it, unless Olivia takes me at my word, and humors -the boy, for vengeance’ sake. That would be a most dramatic -complication, and endanger my winter’s comfort seriously. Come, suspense -is a new emotion; I will enjoy it, and meantime make sure of Gladys, or -I may be left in the lurch. A reckless boy and a disappointed woman are -capable of any folly.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - V. - - -Helwyze folded black velvet _paletôt_ about him, stroked the damp hair -off his forehead, and, with hands loosely clasped behind his back, went -walking slowly through the quiet house, to find the bright drawing-room -and breezy balcony already deserted. - -No sound of voice or step gave him the clew he sought; and, pausing in -the hall, he stood a moment, his finger on his lip, wondering whither -Gladys had betaken herself. - -“Not with them, assuredly. Dreaming in the moonshine somewhere. I must -look again.” - -Retracing his noiseless steps, he glanced here and there with eyes which -nothing could escape, for trifles were significant to his quick wit; and -he found answers to unspoken queries in the relics the vanished trio -left behind them. Olivia’s fan, flung down upon a couch, made him smile, -as if he saw her toss it there when yielding half-impatiently to the -entreaties of Canaris. An ottoman, pushed hastily aside, told where the -young lover sat, till he beguiled her out to listen to the pleading -which would wax eloquent and bold under cover of the summer night. The -instrument stood open, a favorite song upon the rack, but the glimmering -keys were mute; and the wind alone was singing fitfully. A little hat -lay in the window, as if ready to be caught up in glad haste when the -summons came; but the dew had dimmed the freshness of its azure ribbons, -and there was a forlorn look about the girlish thing, which told the -story of a timid hope, a silent disappointment. - -“Where the deuce is the child?” and Helwyze cast an ireful look about -the empty room; for motion wearied him, and any thwarting of his will -was dangerous. Suddenly his eye brightened, and he nodded, as if well -pleased; for below the dark drapery that hung before an arch, a fold of -softest white betrayed the wearer. - -“Now I have her!” he whispered, as if to some familiar; and, parting the -curtains, looked down upon the little figure sitting there alone, bathed -in moonlight as purely placid as the face turned on him when he spoke. - -“Might one come in? The house seems quite deserted, and I want some -charitable soul to say a friendly word to me.” - -“Oh, yes! What can I do, sir?” With the look of a suddenly awakened -child, Gladys rose up, and involuntarily put out her hand as if to heap -yet more commodiously the pillows of the couch which filled the alcove; -then paused, remembering what Canaris had told her of the invalid’s -rejection of all sympathy, and stood regarding him with a shy, yet -wistful glance, which plainly showed the impulse of her tender heart. - -Conscious that the surest way to win this simple creature was by -submitting to be comforted,—for in her, womanly compassion was stronger -than womanly ambition, vanity, or interest,—Helwyze shed a reassuring -smile upon her, as he threw himself down, exclaiming, with a sigh of -satisfaction, doubly effective from one who so seldom owned the -weariness that oppressed him,— - -“Yes: you shall make me comfortable, if you kindly will; the heat -exhausts me, and I cannot sleep. Ah, this is pleasant! You have the gift -of piling pillows for weary heads, Gladys. Now, let the moonlight make a -picture of you, as it did before I spoilt it; then I shall envy no man.” - -Pleased, yet abashed, the girl sank back into her place on the wide -window ledge, and bent her face over the blooming linden spray that lay -upon her lap, unconsciously making of herself a prettier picture than -before. - -“Musing here alone? Not sorrowfully, I hope?” - -“I never feel alone, sir, and seldom sorrowful.” - -“‘They never are alone that are accompanied with noble thoughts;’ yet it -would not be unnatural if you felt both sad and solitary, so young, so -isolated, in this big, bad world of ours.” - -“A beautiful and happy world to me, sir. Even loneliness is pleasant, -because with it comes—liberty.” - -The last word fell from her lips involuntarily; and, with a wonderfully -expressive gesture, she lifted her arms as if some heavy fetter had -newly dropped away. - -Ardent emphasis and forceful action both surprised and interested -Helwyze, confirming his suspicion that this girlish bosom hid a spirit -as strong as pure, capable of deep suffering, exquisite happiness, -heroic effort. His eye shone, and he gave a satisfied nod; for his first -careless words had struck fire from the girl, making his task easier and -more attractive. - -“And how will you use this freedom? A precious, yet a perilous, gift for -such as you.” - -“Can any thing so infinitely sweet and sacred be dangerous? He who -planted the longing for it here, and gave it me when most needed, will -surely teach me how to use it. I have no fear.” - -The bent head was erect now; the earnest face turned full on Helwyze -with such serene faith shining in it, that the sneer died off his lips, -and something like genuine compassion touched him, at the sight of such -brave innocence tranquilly confronting the unknown future. - -“May nothing molest, or make afraid. While here, you are quite safe;—you -_do_, then, think of going?” he added, as a quick change arrested him. - -“I do, sir, and soon. I only wait to see how, and where.” - -It was difficult to believe that so resolute a tone could come into a -voice so gentle, or that lips whose shape was a smile could curl with -such soft scorn. But both were there; for the memory of that other -woman’s story embittered even gratitude, since in the girl’s simple -creed disloyalty to love was next to disloyalty to God. - -Helwyze watched her closely, while his fingers fell to tapping idly on -the sofa scroll; and the spark brightened under the lids that contracted -with the intent expression of concentrated sight. - -“Perhaps I can show you how and when. May I?” he asked, assuming a -paternal air, which inwardly amused him much. - -Gladys looked, hesitated, and a shade of perplexity dimmed the clear -brightness of her glance, as if vaguely conscious of distrust, and -troubled by its seeming causelessness. - -Helwyze saw it, and quickly added the magical word which lulled -suspicion, roused interest, and irresistibly allured her fancy. - -“Pardon me; I should not have ventured to speak, if Felix had not hinted -that you began to weary of dependence, as all free spirits must; your -own words confirm the hint; and I desired to share my cousin’s pleasure -in befriending, if I might, one who can so richly repay all obligation. -Believe me, Gladys, your voice is a treasure, which, having discovered, -we want to share between us.” - -If the moonlight had been daybreak, the girl’s cheek could not have -shown a rosier glow, as she half-averted it to hide the joy she felt at -knowing Canaris had taken thought for her so soon. Her heart fluttered -with tender hopes and fears, like a nestful of eager birds; and, -forgetting doubt in delight, she yielded to the lure held out to her. - -“You are most kind: I shall be truly grateful if you will advise me, -sir. Mrs. Surry has done so much, I can ask no more, but rather hasten -to relieve her of all further care of me.” - -“She will be loth to lose you; but the friend of whom I am about to -speak needs you much, and can give you what you love better even than -kindness,—independence.” - -“Yes: that is what I long for! I will do any thing for daily bread, if I -may earn it honestly, and eat it in freedom,” leaning nearer, with -clasped hands and eager look. - -“Could you be happy to spend some hours of each day in reading, singing -to, and amusing a poor soul, who sorely needs such pleasant comforting?” - -“I could. It would be very sweet to do it; and I know how, excellently -well, for I have had good training. My father was an invalid, and I his -only nurse for years.” - -“Fortunate for me in all ways,” thought Helwyze, finding another reason -for his purpose; while Gladys, bee-like, getting sweetness out of -bitter-herbs, said to herself, “Those weary years had their use, and are -not wasted, as I feared.” - -“I think these duties will not be difficult nor distasteful,” continued -Helwyze, marking the effect of each attraction, as he mentioned it with -modest brevity. “It is a quiet place; plenty of rare books to read, fine -pictures to study, and music to enjoy; a little clever society, to keep -wits bright and enliven solitude; hours of leisure, and entire liberty -to use them as you will. Would this satisfy you, Gladys, till something -better can be found?” - -“Better!” echoed the girl, with the expression of one who, having asked -for a crust, is bidden to a feast. “Ah, sir, it sounds too pleasant for -belief. I long for all these lovely things, but never hoped to have -them. Can I earn so much happiness? Am I a fit companion for this poor -lady, who must need the gentlest nursing, if she suffers in the midst of -so much to enjoy?” - -“You will suit exactly; have no fear of that, my good child. Just be -your own happy, helpful self, and you can make sunshine anywhere. We -will talk more of this when you have turned it over in that wise young -head of yours. Olivia may have some more attractive plan to offer.” - -But Gladys shook “the wise young head” with a decided air, as piquante -as the sudden resolution in her artless voice. - -“I shall choose for myself; your plan pleases me better than any Mrs. -Surry is likely to propose. She says I must not work, but rest and enjoy -myself. I will work; I love it; ease steals away my strength, and -pleasure seems to dazzle me. I must be strong, for I have only myself to -lean upon; I must see clearly, for my only guide is my own conscience. I -_will_ think of your most kind offer, and be ready to accept it whenever -you like to try me, sir.” - -“Thanks; I like to try you now, then; sit here and croon some drowsy -song, to show how well you can lull wakeful senses into that blessed -oblivion called sleep.” - -As he spoke, Helwyze drew a low seat beside the couch, and beckoned her -to come and take it; for she had risen as if to go, and he had no mind -to be left alone yet. - -“I am so pleased you asked me to do this, for it is my special gift. -Papa was very stubborn, but he always had to yield, and often called me -his ‘sleep compeller.’ Let me drop the curtain first, light is so -exciting, and draws the insects. I shall keep them off with this pretty -fan, and you will find the faint perfume soothing.” - -Full of the sweetest good-will, Gladys leaned across the couch to darken -the recess before the lullaby began. But Helwyze, feeling in a mood for -investigation and experiment, arrested the outstretched hand, and, -holding it in his, turned the full brilliance of his fine eyes on hers, -asking with most seductive candor,— - -“Gladys, if _I_ were the friend of whom we spoke, would you come to me? -You compel truth as well as sleep, and I cannot deceive you, while you -so willingly serve me.” - -A moment she stood looking down into the singular countenance before her -with a curious intentness in her own. A slight quickening of the breath -was all the sign she gave of a consciousness of the penetrative glance -fixed upon her, the close grasp of his hand; otherwise unembarrassed as -a child, she regarded him with an expression maidenly modest, but quite -composed. Helwyze keenly enjoyed these glimpses of the new character -with which he chose to meddle, yet was both piqued and amused by her -present composure, when the mere name of Felix filled her with the -delicious shamefacedness of a first love. - -It was a little curious that during the instant the two surveyed each -other, that, while the girl’s color faded, a light red tinged the man’s -pale cheek, her eye grew clear and cold as his softened, and the small -hand seemed to hold the larger by the mere contact of its passive -fingers. - -Slow to arrive, the answer was both comprehensive and significant, but -very brief, for three words held it. - -“Could I come?” - -Helwyze laughed with real enjoyment. - -“You certainly have the gift of surprises, if no other, and it makes you -charming, Gladys. I fancied you as unsophisticated as if you were eight, -instead of eighteen, and here I find you as discreet as any woman of the -world,—more so than many. Where did you learn it, child?” - -“From myself; I have no other teacher.” - -“Ah! ‘instinct is a fine thing, my masters.’ _You_ could not have a -better guide. Rest easy, little friend, the proprieties shall be -preserved, and you _can_ come, if you decide to do me the honor. My old -housekeeper is a most decorous and maternal creature, and into her -keeping you will pass. Felix pleased me well, but his time is too -valuable now; and, selfish as I am, I hesitate to keep for my own -comfort the man who can charm so many. Will you come, and take his -place?” - -Helwyze could not deny himself the pleasure of calling back the -tell-tale color, for the blushes of a chaste woman are as beautiful as -the blooming of a flower. Quickly the red tide rose, even to the brow, -the eyes fell, the hand thrilled, and the steady voice faltered -traitorously, “I could not fill it, sir.” - -Still detaining her, that he might catch the sweet aroma of an opening -heart, Helwyze added, as the last temptation to this young Eve, whom he -was beguiling out of the safe garden of her tranquil girlhood into the -unknown world of pain and passion, waiting for womankind beyond,— - -“Not for my own sake alone do I want you, but for his. Life is full of -perils for him, and he needs a home. I cannot make one for him, except -in this way, for my house is my prison, and he wearies of it naturally. -But I _can_ give it a new charm, add a never-failing attraction, and -make it homelike by a woman’s presence. Will you help me in this?” - -“I am not wise enough; Mrs. Surry is often with you: surely she could -make it homelike far better than I,” stammered Gladys, chilled by a -sudden fear, as she remembered Canaris’ face as he departed with Olivia -an hour ago. - -“Pardon; that is precisely what she cannot do. Such women weary while -they dazzle, the gentler sort win while they soothe. We shall see less -of her in future; it is not well for Felix. Take pity on _me_, at least, -and answer ‘Yes.’” - -“I do, sir.” - -“How shall I thank you?” and Helwyze kissed the hand as he released it, -leaving a little thorn of jealousy behind to hoodwink prudence, -stimulate desire, and fret the inward peace that was her best -possession. - -Glad to take refuge in music, the girl assumed her seat, and began to -sing dreamily to the slow waving of the green spray. Helwyze feigned to -be courting slumber, but from the ambush of downcast lids he stole -sidelong glances at the countenance so near his own, that he could mark -the gradual subsiding of emotion, the slow return of the repose which -made its greatest charm for him. And so well did he feign, that -presently, as if glad to see her task successfully ended, Gladys stole -away to the seclusion of her own happy thoughts. - -Busied with his new plans and purposes, Helwyze waited till his patience -was rewarded by seeing the face of Canaris appear at the window, glance -in, and vanish as silently as it came. But one look was enough, and in -that flash of time the other read how the rash wooing had sped, or -thought he did, till Olivia came sweeping through the room, flung wide -the curtains, and looked in with eyes as brilliant as if, they had -borrowed light of the fire-flies dancing there without. - -“A fan, a cigarette, a scarlet flower behind the ear, and the Spanish -donna would be quite perfect,” he said, surveying with lazy admiration -the richly colored face, which looked out from the black lace, wrapped -mantilla-wise over the dark hair and whitely gleaming arms. - -“Is the snowdrop gone? Then I will come in, and hear how the new -handmaid suits. I saw her at her pleasing task.” - -“So well that I should like to keep her at it long and often. Where is -Felix?” - -His words, his look, angered Olivia, and she answered with smiling -ambiguity,— - -“Out of his misery, at last.” - -“Cruel as ever. I told him it would be so.” - -“On the contrary, I have been kind, as I promised to be.” - -“Then his face belied him.” - -“Would it please you, if I had ventured to forestall your promised gift, -and accepted all Felix has to offer me, himself. I have my whims, like -you, and follow them as recklessly.” - -Helwyze knit his brows, but answered negligently, “Folly never pleases -me. It will be amusing to see which tires first. I shall miss him; but -his place is already filled, and Gladys has the charm of novelty.” - -“You have spoken, then?” - -“Forewarned, forearmed; I have her promise, and Felix can go when he -likes.” - -Olivia paled, dropped her mask, and exclaimed in undisguised alarm,— - -“There is no need: I have no thought of such folly! My kindness to Felix -was the sparing him an avowal, which was simply absurd. A word, a laugh, -did it, for ridicule cures more quickly and surely than compassion.” - -“I thought so. Why try to fence with me, Madama? you always get the -worst of it,” and Helwyze made the green twig whistle through the air -with a sharp turn of the wrist, as he rose to go; for these two, bound -together by a mutual wrong, seldom met without bitter words, the dregs -of a love which might have blest them both. - -He found Felix waiting for him, in a somewhat haughty mood; Olivia -having judged wisely that ridicule, though a harsh, was a speedy cure -for the youthful delusion, which had been fostered by the isolation in -which they lived, and the ardent imagination of a poet. - -“You were right, sir. What are your commands?” he asked, controlling -disappointment, pique, and unwillingness with a spirit that won respect -and forbearance even from Helwyze, who answered with a cordial warmth, -as rare as charming,— - -“I have none: the completion of my wish I leave to you. Consult your own -time and pleasure, and, when it is happily accomplished, be assured I -shall not forget that you have shown me the obedience of a son.” - -Quick as a child to be touched, and won by kindness, Canaris flushed -with grateful feeling and put out his hand impulsively, as he had done -when selling his liberty, for now he was selling his love. - -“Forgive my waywardness. I _will_ be guided by you, for I owe you my -life, and all the happiness I have known in it. Gladys shall be a -daughter to you; but give me time—I must teach myself to forget.” - -His voice broke as he stumbled over the last words, for pride was sore, -and submission hard. But Helwyze soothed the one and softened the other -by one of the sympathetic touches which occasionally broke from him, -proving that the man’s heart, was not yet quite dead. Laying his hand -upon the young man’s shoulder, he said in a tone which stirred the -hearer deeply,— - -“I feared this pain was in store for you, but could not save you from -it. Accept the gentle comforter I bring you, for I have known the same -pain, and _I_ had no Gladys.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VI. - - -So the days went by, fast and fair in outward seeming, while an -undercurrent of unquiet emotion rolled below. Helwyze made no sign of -impatience, but silently forwarded his wish, by devoting himself to -Olivia; thereby making a green oasis in the desert of her life, and -leaving the young pair to themselves. - -At first, Canaris shunned every one as much as possible; but sympathy, -not solitude, was the balm he wanted, and who could give it him so -freely as Gladys? Her mute surprise and doubt and grief at this -capricious coldness, after such winning warmth, showed him that the -guileless heart was already his, and added a soothing sense of power to -the reluctance and regret which by turns tormented him. - -Irresistibly drawn by the best instincts of a faulty but aspiring nature -to that which was lovely, true, and pure, he soon returned to Gladys, -finding in her sweet society a refreshment and repose Olivia’s could -never give him. Love he did not feel, but affection, the more helpful -for its calmness; confidence, which was given again fourfold; and -reverence, daily deepening as time showed him the gentle strength and -crystal clarity of the spirit he was linking to his own by ties which -death itself could not sever. But the very virtues which won, also made -him hesitate, though rash enough when yielding to an attraction far less -noble. A sense of unworthiness restrained him, even when reluctance had -passed from resignation to something like desire, and he paused, as one -might, who longed to break a delicate plant, yet delayed, lest it should -wither too quickly in his hand. - -Helwyze and Olivia watched this brief wooing with peculiar interest. -She, being happy herself, was full of good hope for Gladys, and let her -step, unwarned, into the magic circle drawn around her. He sat as if at -a play, enjoying the pretty pastoral enacted before him, content to let -“summer and seclusion” bring the young pair together as naturally and -easily as spring-time mates the birds. Suspense gave zest to the new -combination, surprise added to its flavor, and a dash of danger made it -unusually attractive to him. - -Canaris came to him one day, with a resolute expression on his face, -which rendered it noble, as well as beautiful. - -“Sir, I will not do this thing; I dare not.” - -“Dare not! Is cowardice to be added to disobedience and falsehood?” and -Helwyze looked up from his book with a contemptuous frown. - -“I will not be sneered out of my purpose; for I never did a braver, -better act than when I say to you, ‘I dare not lie to Gladys.’” - -“What need of lying? Surely you love her now, or you are a more -accomplished actor than I thought you.” - -“I have tried,—tried too faithfully for her peace, I fear; but, though I -reverence her as an angel, I do _not_ love her as a woman. How can I -look into her innocent, confiding face, and tell her,—she who is all -truth,—that I love as she does?” - -“Yet that is the commonest, most easily forgiven falsehood a man can -utter. Is it so hard for _you_ to deceive?” - -Quick and deep rose the hot scarlet to Canaris’s face, and his eyes -fell, as if borne down by the emphasis of that one word. But the -sincerity of his desire brought courage even out of shame; and, lifting -his head with a humility more impressive than pride or anger, he said, -steadily,— - -“If this truth redeems that falsehood, I shall, at least, have recovered -my own self-respect. I never knew that I had lost it, till Gladys showed -me how poor I was in the virtue which makes her what she is.” - -“What conscientious qualm is this? Where would this truth-telling bring -you? How would your self-respect bear the knowledge that you had broken -the girl’s heart? for, angel as you call her, she has one, and you have -stolen it.” - -“At your bidding.” - -“Long before I thought of it. Did you imagine you could play with her, -to pique Olivia, without harm to Gladys? Is yours a face to smile on a -woman, day after day, and not teach her to love? In what way but this -_can_ you atone for such selfish thoughtlessness? Come, if we are to -talk of honor and honesty, do it fairly, and not shift the -responsibility of your acts upon my shoulders.” - -“Have I done that? I never meant to trouble her. Is there no way out of -it but this? Oh, sir, I am not fit to marry her! What am I, to take a -fellow-creature’s happiness into my hands? What have I to offer her but -the truth in return for her love, if I must take it to secure her -peace?” - -“If you offer the truth, you certainly _will_ have nothing else, and not -even receive love in return, perhaps; for her respect may go with all -the rest. If I know her, the loss of that would wound her heart more -deeply than the disappointment your silence will bring her now. Think of -this, and be wise as well as generous in the atonement you should make.” - -“Bound, whichever way I look; for when I meant to be kindest I am -cruel.” - -Canaris stood perplexed, abashed, remorseful; for Helwyze had the art to -turn even his virtues into weapons against him, making his new-born -regard for Gladys a reason for being falsely true, dishonorably tender. -The honest impulse suddenly looked weak and selfish, compassion seemed -nobler than sincerity, and present peace better than future happiness. - -Helwyze saw that he was wavering, and turned the scale by calling to his -aid one of the strongest passions that rule men,—the spirit of -rivalry,—knowing well its power over one so young, so vain and -sensitive. - -“Felix, there must be an end of this; I am tired of it. Since you are -more enamoured of truth than Gladys, choose, and abide by it. I shall -miss my congenial comrade, but I will not keep him if he feels my -friendship slavery. I release you from all promises: go your way, in -peace; I can do without you.” - -A daring offer, and Helwyze risked much in making it; but he knew the -man before him, and that in seeming to set free, he only added another -link to the invisible chain by which he held him. Canaris looked -relieved, amazed, and touched, as he exclaimed, incredulously,— - -“Do you mean it, sir?” - -“I do; but in return for your liberty I claim the right to use mine as I -will.” - -“Use it? I do not understand.” - -“To comfort Gladys.” - -“How?” - -“You do not love her, and leave her doubly forlorn, since you have given -her a glimpse of love. I must befriend her, as you will not; and when -she comes to me, as she has promised, if she is happy, I shall keep -her.” - -“As _fille adoptive_.” - -Canaris affirmed, not asked, this; and, in the changed tone, the -suspicious glance, Helwyze saw that he had aimed well. With a smile that -was a sneer, he answered coldly,— - -“Hardly that: the paternal element is sadly lacking in me; and, if it -were not, I fear a man of forty could not adopt a girl of eighteen -without compromising her, especially one so lonely and so lovely as poor -little Gladys.” - -“You will marry her? Yet when I hinted it, you said, ‘Impossible!’” - -“I did; but then I did not know how helpful she could be, how glad to -love, how easy to be won by kindness. _Ennui_ drives one to do the -rashest things; and when you are gone, I shall find it difficult to fill -your place. ’Tis a pity to tie the pretty creature to such a clod. But, -if I can help and keep her in no other way, I may do it, remembering -that her captivity would be a short one; it should be my care that it -was a very light one while it lasted.” - -“But she loves _me_!” exclaimed Canaris, with jealous inconsistency. - -“I fear so; yet you reject her for a scruple. Hearts are easily caught -in the rebound; and who will hold hers more gently than I? Olivia will -tell you I _can_ be gentle when it suits me.” - -The name stung Canaris, where pride was sorest; and the thought, that -this man could take from him both the woman whom he loved and the girl -who loved him, roused an ignoble desire to silence the noble one. He -showed it instantly, for his eye shot a quick glance at the mirror; a -smile that was almost insolent passed over his face; and his air was -full of the proud consciousness of youth, health, comeliness, and -talent. - -“Thanks for my freedom; I shall know how to use it. Since I may tell -Gladys the truth, I do not dread her love so much; and will atone -generously, if I can. I think she will accept poverty with me rather -than luxury with you. At least she shall have her choice.” - -“Well said. You will succeed, since you possess all the gifts which win -women except wealth and”— - -“Stop! you shall _not_ say it,” cried Canaris, hotly. “Are you possessed -of a devil, that you torment me so?” He clenched his hands, and walked -fast through the room, as if to escape from some fierce impulse. - -A certain, almost brutal, frankness characterized the intercourse of -these men at times; for the tie between them was a peculiar one, and -fretted both, though both clung to it with strange tenacity. With equal -candor and entire composure Helwyze answered the excited question. - -“We are all possessed, more or less; happy the man who is master. My -demon is a bad one; for your intellectual devil is hard to manage, since -he demands the best of us, and is not satisfied or cheated as easily as -some that are stronger, yet less cunning. Yours is ambition,—an -insatiable fellow, who gives you no rest. I had a fancy to help you rule -him; but he proves less interesting that I thought to find him, and is -getting to be a bore. See what you can do, alone; only, when he gets the -upper hand again, excuse me from interfering: once is enough.” - -Canaris made no reply, but dashed out of the room, as if he could bear -no more, leaving Helwyze to throw down his book, muttering impatiently,— - -“Here is a froward favorite, and excitement with a vengeance! He will -not speak yet; for with all his fire he is wary, and while he fumes I -must work. But how? but how?” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VII. - - -A storm raged all that night; but dawn came up so dewy and serene, that -the world looked like a child waking after anger, with happy smiles upon -its lips, penitential tears in its blue eyes. - -Canaris was early astir, after a night as stormy within as without, -during which he had gone through so many alternations of feeling, that, -weary and still undecided, he was now in the mood to drift whithersoever -the first eddy impelled him. Straight to Gladys, it seemed; and, being -superstitious, he accepted the accident as a good omen, following his -own desire, and calling it fate. - -Wandering in the loneliest, wildest spot of all the domain, he came upon -her as suddenly as if a wish had brought her to the nook haunted for -both by pleasant memories. Dew-drenched her feet, hatless her head; but -the feet stood firmly on the cliff which shelved down to the shore -below, and the upturned head shone bright against the deep blue of the -sky. Morning peace dwelt in her eyes, morning freshness glowed on her -cheek, and her whole attitude was one of unconscious aspiration, as she -stood there with folded hands and parted lips, drinking in the -storm-cooled breeze that blew vigorous and sweet across the lake. - -“What are you doing here so early, little dryad?” and Canaris paused, -with an almost irresistible desire to put out his arms and hold her, -lest she fly away, so airy was her perch, so eager her look into the -boundless distance before her. - -“Only being happy!” and she looked down into his face with such tender -and timid joy in her own, he hardly had need to ask,— - -“Why, Gladys?” - -“Because of this,” showing a string of pearls that hung from her hand, -half-hidden among the trailing bits of greenery gathered in her walk. - -“Who gave you that?” demanded Canaris, eying it with undisguised -surprise; for the pearls were great, globy things, milk-white, and so -perfect that any one but Gladys would have seen how costly was the gift. - -“Need you ask?” she said, blushing brightly. - -“Why not? Do you suspect me?” - -“You cannot deceive me by speaking roughly and looking stern. Who but -you would put these in my basket without a word, and let me find them -there when I laid my work away last night? I was so pleased, so proud, I -could not help keeping them, though far too beautiful for me.” - -Then Canaris knew who had done it; and his hand tightened over the -necklace, while his eye went towards the lake, as if he longed to throw -it far into the water. He checked himself, and, turning it about with a -disdainful air, said, coldly,— - -“If _I_ had given you this, it should have been quite perfect. The cross -is not large nor fine enough to match the chain. Do you see?” - -“Ah, but the little cross is more precious than all the rest! That is -the one jewel my mother left me, and I put it there to make my rosary -complete;” and Gladys surveyed it with a pretty mixture of devout -affection and girlish pleasure. - -“I’ll give you a better one than this,—a string of tiny carved saints in -scented wood, blessed by holy hands, and fit to say prayers like yours -upon. You will take it, though my gift is not half so costly as his?” he -said, eagerly. - -“Whose?” - -“Helwyze gave you that.” - -“But why?” and Gladys opened wide her clear, large eyes in genuine -astonishment. - -“He is a generous master; your singing pleases him, and he pays you so,” -replied Canaris, bitterly. - -“He is not my master!” - -“He will be.” - -“Never! I shall not go, if I am to be burdened with benefits. I will -earn my just due, but not be overpaid. Tell him so.” - -Gladys caught back the chain, unclasped the cross, and threw the pearls -upon the grass, where they lay, gleaming, like great drops of frozen -dew, among the green. Canaris liked that; thought proudly, “_I_ have no -need to bribe;” and hastened to make his own the thing another seemed to -covet. Drawing nearer, he looked up, asking, in a tone that gave the -question its true meaning,— - -“May _I_ be your master, Gladys?” - -“Not even you.” - -“Your slave, then?” - -“Never that.” - -“Your lover?” - -“Yes.” - -“But I can give you nothing except myself.” - -“Love is enough;” and finding his arms about her, his face, warm and -wistful, close to hers, Gladys bent to give and take the first kiss, -which was all they had to bestow upon each other. - -Singularly unimpassioned was the embrace in which they stood for a brief -instant. Canaris held her with a clasp more jealous than fond; Gladys -clung to him, yet trembled, as if some fear subdued her joy; and both -vaguely felt the incompleteness of a moment which should be perfect. - -“You do love me, then?” she whispered, wondering at his silence. - -“Should I ask you to be my wife if I did not?” and the stern look melted -into an expression of what seemed, to her, reproach. - -“No; ah, no! I fancied that I might have deceived myself. I am so young, -you are so kind. I never had a—friend before;” and Gladys smiled shyly, -as the word which meant “lover” dropped from her lips. - -“I am not kind: I am selfish, cruel, perhaps, to let you love me so. You -will never reproach me for it, Gladys? I mean to save you from ills you -know nothing of; to cherish and protect you—if I can.” - -Verily in earnest now; for the touch of those innocent lips reminded him -of all his promise meant, recalled his own unfitness to guide or guard -another, when so wayward and unwise himself. Gladys could not understand -the true cause of his beseeching look, his urgency of tone; but saw in -them only the generous desire to keep safe the creature dearest to him, -and loved him the more for it. - -“I never can think you selfish, never will reproach you but will love -and trust and honor you all my life,” she answered, with a simplicity as -solemn as sincere; and, holding out the hand that held her dead mother’s -cross, Canaris pledged his troth upon it with the mistaken chivalry -which makes many a man promise to defend a woman against all men but -himself. - -“Now you can be happy again,” he said, feeling that he had done his best -to keep her so. - -She thought he meant look out upon the lake, dreaming of him as when he -found her; and, turning, stretched forth her arms as if to embrace the -whole world, and tell the smiling heaven her glad secret. - -“Doubly happy; then I only hoped, now I _know_!” - -Something in the exultant gesture, the fervent tone, the radiant face, -thrilled Canaris with a sudden admiration; a feeling of proud -possession; a conviction that he had gained, not lost; and he said -within himself,— - -“I am glad I did it. I will cherish her; she will inspire me; and good -_shall_ come out of seeming evil.” - -His spirits rose with a new sense of well-being and well-doing. He -gathered up the rejected treasure, and gave it back to Gladys, saying -lightly,— - -“You may keep it as a wedding-gift; then he need give no other. He meant -it so, perhaps, and it will please him. Will you, love?” - -“If you ask it. But why must brides wear pearls? They mean tears,” she -added, thoughtfully, as she received them back. - -“Perhaps because then the sorrows of their lives begin. Yours shall not: -I will see to that,” he promised, with the blind confidence of the -self-sacrificing mood he was in. - -Gladys sat down upon the rock to explore a pocket, so small and empty -that Canaris could not help smiling, as he, too, leaned and looked with -a lover’s freedom. - -“Only my old chain. I must put back the cross, else I shall lose it,” -laughed Gladys, as she brought out a little cord of what seemed woven -yellow silk. - -“Is it your hair?” he asked, his eye caught by its peculiar sunshiny -hue. - -“Yes; I could not buy a better one, so I made this. My hair is all the -gold I have.” - -“Give it to me, and you wear mine. See, I have an amulet as well as -you.” - -Fumbling in his breast, Canaris undid a slender chain, whence hung a -locket, curiously chased, and tarnished with long wear. This he unslung, -and, opening, showed Gladys the faded picture of a beautiful, sad woman. - -“That is my Madonna.” - -“Your mother?” - -“Yes.” - -“Mine now.” The girl touched it with her lips, then softly closed and -laid it on her lap. - -Silently Canaris stood watching her, as she re-slung both poor but -precious relics, while the costlier one slipped down, as if ashamed to -lie beside them. He caught and swung it on his finger, thinking of -something he had lately read to Helwyze. - -“Kharsu, the Persian, sent a necklace to Schirin, the princess, whom he -loved. She was a Christian, and hung a cross upon his string of pearls, -as you did,” he said aloud. - -“But I am not a princess, and Mr. Helwyze does not love me; so the -pretty story is all spoiled.” - -“This thing recalled it. _I_ have given you a necklace, and you are -hanging a cross upon it. Wear the one, and use the other, for my sake. -Will you, Gladys?” - -“Did Schirin convert Kharsu?” asked the girl, catching his thought more -from his face than his words; for it wore a look of mingled longing and -regret, which she had never seen before. - -“That I do not know; but you must convert me: I am a sad heathen, -Helwyze says.” - -“Has _he_ tried?” - -“No.” - -“Then I will!” - -“You see I’ve had no one to teach me any thing but worldly wisdom, and I -sometimes feel as I should be better for a little of the heavenly sort. -So when you wear the rosary I shall give you—‘Fair saint, in your -orisons be all my sins remembered;’” and Canaris put his hand upon her -head, smiling, as if half-ashamed of his request. - -“I am no Catholic, but I _will_ pray for you, and you shall not be lost. -The mother in heaven and the wife on earth will keep you safe,” -whispered Gladys, in her fervent voice, feeling and answering with a -woman’s quickness the half-expressed desire of a nature conscious of its -weakness, yet unskilled in asking help for its greatest need. - -Silently the two young lovers put on their amulets, and, hand in hand, -went back along the winding path, till they reached the great eglantine -that threw its green arches across the outlet from the wood. All beyond -was radiantly bright and blooming; and as Canaris, passing first to hold -back the thorny boughs, stood an instant, bathed in the splendor of the -early sunshine, Gladys exclaimed, her face full of the tender idolatry -of a loving woman,— - -“O Felix, you are so good, so great, so beautiful, if it were not -wicked, I should worship you!” - -“God forbid! Do not love me too much, Gladys: I do not deserve it.” - -“How can I help it, when I feel very like the girl who lost her heart to -the Apollo?” she answered, feeling that she never could love _too much_. - -“And broke her heart, you remember, because her god was only a stone.” - -“Mine is not, and he will answer when I call.” - -“If he does not, he will be harder and colder than the marble!” - -When Canaris, some hours later, told Helwyze, he looked well pleased, -thinking, “Jealousy is a helpful ally. I do not regret calling in its -aid, though it has cost Olivia her pearls.” Aloud he said, with a -gracious air, which did not entirely conceal some secret anxiety,— - -“Then you have made a clean breast of it, and she forgives all -peccadilloes?” - -“I have not told her; and I will not, till I have atoned for the meanest -of them. May I ask you to be silent also for her sake?” - -“You are wise.” Then, as if glad to throw off all doubt and care, he -asked, in a pleasantly suggestive tone,— - -“The wedding will soon follow the wooing, I imagine, for you make short -work of matters, when you do begin?” - -“You told me to execute your wish in my own way. I will do so, without -troubling Mrs. Surry, or asking you to give us your blessing, since -playing the father to orphans is distasteful to you.” - -Very calm and cool was Canaris now; but a sense of wrong burned at his -heart, marring the satisfaction he felt in having done what he believed -to be a just and generous act. - -“It is; but I will assume the character long enough to suggest, nay, -_insist_, that however hasty and informal this marriage may be, you will -take care that it _is_ one.” - -“Do you mean that for a hint or a warning, sir? I have lied and stolen -by your advice; shall I also betray?” asked Canaris, white with -indignation, and something like fear; for he began to feel that whatever -this man commanded he must do, spite of himself. - -“Strong language, Felix. But I forgive it, since I am sincere in wishing -well to Gladys. Marry when and how you please, only do not annoy me with -another spasm of virtue. It is a waste of time, you see, for the thing -is done.” - -“Not yet; but soon will be, for you are fast curing me of a too tender -conscience.” - -“Faster than you think, my Faust; since to marry without love betrays as -surely as to love without marriage,” said Helwyze to himself, expressing -in words the thought that had restrained the younger, better man. - -A week later, Canaris came in with Gladys on his arm, looking very like -a bride in a little bonnet tied with white, and a great nosegay of all -the sweet, pale flowers blooming in the garden that first Sunday of -September. - -“Good-bye, sir; we are going.” - -“Where, may I ask? To church?” - -“We have been;” and Canaris touched the ungloved hand that lay upon his -arm, showing the first ring it had ever worn. - -“Ah! then I can only say, Heaven bless you, Gladys; a happy honeymoon, -Felix, and welcome home when—you are tired of each other.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - VIII. - - -“Home at last, thank Heaven!” exclaimed Canaris, as the door opened, -letting forth a stream of light and warmth into the chilly gloom of the -October night. Gladys made no answer but an upward look, which seemed to -utter the tender welcome he had forgotten to give; and, nestling her -hand in his, let him lead her through the bright hall, up the wide -stairway to her own domain. - -“As we return a little before our time, we must not expect a jubilee. -Look about you, love, and rest. I will send Mrs. Bland presently, and -tell Helwyze we are come.” - -He hurried away, showing no sign of the _ennui_ which had fitfully -betrayed itself during the last week. Gladys watched him wistfully, then -turned to see what home was like, with eyes that brightened beautifully -as they took in the varied charms of the luxurious apartments prepared -for her. The newly kindled light filled the room with a dusky splendor; -for deepest crimson glowed everywhere, making her feel as if she stood -in the heart of a great rose whose silken petals curtained her round -with a color, warmth, and fragrance which would render sleep a “rapture -of repose.” Womanlike, she enjoyed every dainty device and sumptuous -detail; yet the smile of pleasure was followed by a faint sigh, as if -the new magnificence oppressed her, or something much desired had been -forgotten. - -Stepping carefully, like one who had no right there, she passed on to a -charming drawing-room, evidently intended for but two occupants, and all -the pleasanter to her for that suggestion. Pausing on the threshold of -another door, she peeped in, expecting to find one of those scented, -satin boudoirs, which are fitter for the coquetries of a Parisian belle, -than for a young wife to hope and dream and pray in. - -But there was no splendor here; and, with a cry of glad surprise, its -new owner took possession, wondering what gentle magic had guessed and -gathered here the simple treasures she best loved. White everywhere, -except the pale green of the softly tinted walls, and the mossy carpet -strewn with mimic snowdrops. A sheaf of lilies in a silver vase stood on -the low chimney-piece above the hearth, where a hospitable fire lay -ready to kindle at a touch; and this was the only sign of luxury the -room displayed. Quaint furniture, with no ornament except its own grace -or usefulness, gave the place a homelike air; and chintz hangings, fresh -and delicate as green leaves scattered upon snow could make them, seemed -to shut out the world, securing the sweet privacy a happy woman loves. - -Gladys felt this instantly, and, lifting her hand to draw the pretty -draperies yet closer, discovered a new surprise, which touched her to -the heart. Instead of looking out into the darkness of the autumn night, -she found a little woodland nook imprisoned between the glass-door and -the deep window beyond. A veritable bit of the forest, with slender -ferns nodding in their sleep, hardy vines climbing up a lichened stump -to show their scarlet berries, pine-needles pricking through the moss, -rough arbutus leaves hiding coyly till spring should freshen their -russet edges, acorns looking as if just dropped by some busy squirrel, -and all manner of humble weeds, growing here as happily as when they -carpeted the wood for any careless foot to tread upon. - -These dear familiar things were as grateful to Gladys as the sight of -friendly faces; and, throwing wide the doors, she knelt down to breathe -with childish eagerness the damp, fresh odors that came out to meet her. - -“How sweet of him to make such a lovely nest for me, and then slip away -before I could thank him,” thought the tender-hearted creature, with -tears in the eyes that dwelt delightedly upon the tremulous maiden-hair -bending to her touch, and the sturdy grasses waking up in this new -summer. - -A sound of opening doors dispelled her reverie; and with girlish -trepidation she hastened to smooth the waves of her bright hair, assume -the one pretty dress she would accept from Olivia, and clasp the bridal -pearls about her neck; then hastened down before the somewhat dreaded -Mrs. Bland appeared. - -It pleased her to go wandering alone through the great house, warmed and -lighted everywhere; for Helwyze made this his world, and gathered about -him every luxury which taste, caprice, or necessity demanded. A -marvellously beautiful and varied home it seemed to simple Gladys, as -she passed from picture-gallery to music-room, eyed with artless wonder -the subdued magnificence of the _salon_, or paused enchanted in a -conservatory whose crystal walls enclosed a fairyland of bloom and -verdure. - -Here and there she came upon some characteristic whim or arrangement, -which made her smile with amusement, or sigh with pity, remembering the -recluse who tried to cheer his solitude by these devices. One recess -held a single picture glowing with the warm splendor of the East. A -divan, a Persian rug, an amber-mouthed _nargileh_, and a Turkish coffee -service, all gold and scarlet, completed the illusion. In another -shadowy nook tinkled a little fountain guarded by one white-limbed -nymph, who seemed to watch with placid interest the curious -sea-creatures peopling the basin below. The third showed a study-chair, -a shaded lamp, and certain favorite books, left open, as if to be taken -up again when the mood returned. In one of these places Gladys lingered -with fresh compassion stirring at her heart, though it looked the least -inviting of them all. Behind the curtains of a window looking out upon -the broad street on which the mansion faced stood a single chair, and -nothing more. - -“He shall not be so lonely now, if I can interest or amuse him,” thought -Gladys, as she looked at the worn spot in the carpet, the crumpled -cushion on the window-ledge; mute witnesses that Helwyze felt drawn -towards his kin, and found some solace in watching the activity he could -no longer share. - -Knowing that she should find him in the library, where most of his time -was spent, she soon wended her way thither. The door stood hospitably -open; and, as she approached, she saw the two men standing together, -marked, as never before, the sharp contrast between them, and felt a -glow of wifely pride in the young husband whom she was learning to love -with all the ardor of a pure and tender soul. - -Canaris was talking eagerly, as he turned the leaves of a thin -manuscript which lay between them. Helwyze listened, with his eyes fixed -on the speaker so intently that it startled the new-comer, when, without -a sound to warn him of her approach, he turned suddenly upon her with -the smile which dazzled without warming those on whom it was shed. - -“I have been chiding this capricious fellow for the haste which spoils -the welcome I hoped to give you. But I pardon him, since he brings the -sunshine with him,” he said, going to meet her, with genuine pleasure in -his face. - -“I could not have a kinder welcome, sir. I was glad to come; Felix -feared you might be needing him.” - -“So duty brought him back a week too soon? A poet’s honeymoon should be -a long one; I regret to be the cause of its abridgment.” - -Something in the satirical glimmer of his eye made Gladys glance at her -husband, who spoke out frankly,— - -“There were other reasons. Gladys hates a crowd, and so do I. Bad -weather made it impossible to be romantic, so we thought it best to come -home and be comfortable.” - -“I trust you will be; but I have little to offer, since the attractions -of half a dozen cities could not satisfy you.” - -“Indeed, we should be most ungrateful if we were not happy here,” cried -Gladys, eagerly. “Only let me be useful as well as happy, else I shall -not deserve this lovely home you give us.” - -“She is anxious to begin her ministrations; and I can recommend her, for -she is quick to learn one’s ways, patient with one’s whims, fruitful in -charming devices for amusement, and the best of comrades,” said Canaris, -drawing her to him with a look more grateful than fond. - -“From that speech, and other signs, I infer that Felix is about to leave -me to your tender mercies, and fall to work upon his new book; since it -seems he could not resist making poetry when he should have been making -love. Are you not jealous of the rival who steals him from you, even -before the honeymoon has set?” asked Helwyze, touching the little -manuscript before him. - -“Not if she makes him great, and I can make him happy,” answered Gladys, -with an air of perfect content and trust. - -“I warn you that the Muse is a jealous mistress, and will often rob you -of him. Are you ready to give him up, and resign yourself to more -prosaic companionship?” - -“Why need I give him up? He says I do not disturb him when he writes. He -allowed me to sit beside him while he made these lovely songs, and watch -them grow. He even let me help with a word sometimes, and I copied the -verses fairly, that he might see how beautiful they were. Did I not, -Felix?” - -Gladys spoke with such innocent pride, and looked up in her husband’s -face so gratefully, that he could not but thank her with a caress, as he -said, laughing,— - -“Ah, that was only play. I’ve had my holiday, and now I must work at a -task in which no one can help me. Come and see the den where I shut -myself up when the divine frenzy seizes me. Mr. Helwyze is jailer, and -only lets me out when I have done my stint.” - -Full of some pleasurable excitement, Canaris led his wife across the -room, threw open a door, and bade her look in. Like a curious child, she -peeped, but saw only a small, bare _cabinet de travail_. - -“No room, you see, even for a little thing like you. None dare enter -here without my keeper’s leave. Remember that, else you may fare like -Bluebeard’s Fatima.” Canaris spoke gayly, and turned a key in the door -with a warning click, as he glanced over his shoulder at Helwyze. Gladys -did not see the look, but something in his words seemed to disturb her. - -“I do not like this place, it is close and dark. I think I shall not -want to come, even if you _are_ here;” and, waiting for no reply, she -stepped out from the chill of the unused room, as if glad to escape. - -“Mysterious intuition! she felt that we had a skeleton in here, though -it is such a little one,” whispered Canaris, with an uneasy laugh. - -“Such a sensitive plant will fare ill between us, I am afraid,” answered -Helwyze, as he followed her, leaving the other to open drawers and -settle papers, like one eager to begin his work. - -Gladys was standing in the full glare of the fire, as if its cheerful -magic could exorcise all dark fancies. Helwyze eyed the white figure for -an instant, feeling that his lonely hearthstone had acquired a new -charm; then joined her, saying quietly,— - -“This is the place where Felix and I have lived together for nearly two -years. Do you like it?” - -“More than I can tell. It does not seem strange to me, for he has often -described it; and when I thought of coming here, I was more curious to -see this room than any other.” - -“It will be all the pleasanter henceforth if Felix can spare you to me -sometimes. Come and see the corner I have prepared, hoping to tempt you -here when he shuts us out. It used to be his; so you will like it, I -think.” Helwyze paced slowly down the long room, Gladys beside him, -saying, as she looked about her hungrily,— - -“So many books! and doubtless you have read them all?” - -“Not quite; but you may, if you will. See, here is your place; come -often, and be sure you never will disturb me.” - -But one book lay on the little table, and its white cover, silver -lettered, shone against the dark cloth so invitingly that Gladys took it -up, glowing with pleasure as she read her own name upon the volume she -knew and loved so well. - -“For me? you knew that nothing else would be so beautiful and precious. -Sir, why are you so generous?” - -“It amuses me to do these little things, and you must humor me, as Felix -does. You shall pay for them in your own coin, so there need be no sense -of obligation. Rest satisfied I shall get the best of the bargain.” -Before she could reply a servant appeared, announced dinner, and -vanished as noiselessly as he came. - -“This has been a bachelor establishment so long that we are grown -careless. If you will pardon all deficiencies of costume, we will not -delay installing Madame Canaris in the place she does us the honor to -fill.” - -“But I am not the mistress, sir. Please change nothing; my place at home -was very humble; I am afraid I cannot fill the new one as I ought,” -stammered Gladys, somewhat dismayed at the prospect which the new name -and duty suggested. - -“You will have no care, except of us. Mrs. Bland keeps the machinery -running smoothly, and we lead a very quiet life. My territory ends at -that door; all beyond is yours. I chiefly haunt this wing, but sometimes -roam about below stairs a little, a very harmless ghost, so do not be -alarmed if you should meet me.” - -Helwyze spoke lightly, and tapped at the door of the den as he passed. - -“Come out, slave of the pen, and be fed.” - -Canaris came, wearing a preoccupied air, and sauntered after them, as -Helwyze led the new mistress to her place, shy and rosy, but resolved to -do honor to her husband at all costs. - -Her first act, however, gave them both a slight shock of surprise; for -the instant they were seated, Gladys laid her hands together, bent her -head, and whispered Grace, as if obeying a natural impulse to ask -Heaven’s blessing on the first bread she broke in her new home. The -effect of the devoutly simple act was characteristically shown by the -three observers. The servant paused, with an uplifted cover in his hand, -respectfully astonished; Canaris looked intensely annoyed; and Helwyze -leaned back with the suggestion of a shrug, as he glanced critically -from the dimpled hands to the nugget of gold that shone against the -bended neck. The instant she looked up, the man whisked off the silver -cover with an air of relief; Canaris fell upon his bread like a hungry -boy, and Helwyze tranquilly began to talk. - -“Was the surprise Felix prepared for you a satisfactory one? Olivia and -I took pleasure in obeying his directions.” - -“It was lovely! I have not thanked him yet, but I shall. You, also, sir, -in some better way than words. What made you think of it?” she asked, -looking at Canaris with a mute request for pardon of her involuntary -offence. - -Glad to rush into speech, Canaris gave at some length the history of his -fancy to reproduce, as nearly as he could, the little room at home, -which she had described to him with regretful minuteness; for she had -sold every thing to pay the debts which were the sole legacy her father -left her. While they talked, Helwyze, who ate little, was observing -both. Gladys looked more girlish than ever, in spite of the mingled -dignity and anxiety her quiet but timid air betrayed. Canaris seemed in -high spirits, talking rapidly, laughing often, and glancing about him as -if glad to be again where nothing inharmonious disturbed his taste and -comfort. Not till dessert was on the table, however, did he own, in -words, the feeling of voluptuous satisfaction which was enhanced by the -memory that he had been rash enough to risk the loss of all. - -“It is not so very terrible, you see, Gladys. You eat and drink like a -bird; but I know you enjoy this as much as I do, after those detestable -hotels,” he said, detecting an expression of relief in his young wife’s -face, as the noiseless servant quitted the room for the last time. - -“Indeed I do. It is so pleasant to have all one’s senses gratified at -once, and the common duties of life made beautiful and easy,” answered -Gladys, surveying with feminine appreciation the well-appointed table -which had that air of accustomed elegance so grateful to fastidious -tastes. - -“Ah, ha! this little ascetic of mine will become a Sybarite yet, and -agree with me that enjoyment _is_ a duty,” exclaimed Canaris, looking -very like a young Bacchus, as he held up his wine to watch its rich -color, and inhale its bouquet with zest. - -“The more delicate the senses, the more delicate the delight. I suspect -Madame finds her grapes and water as delicious as you do your olives and -old wine,” said Helwyze, finding a still more refined satisfaction than -either in the pretty contrast between the purple grapes and the white -fingers that pulled them apart, the softly curling lips that were the -rosier for their temperate draughts, and the unspoiled simplicity of the -girl sitting there in pearls and shimmering silk. - -“When one has known poverty, and the sad shifts which make it seem mean, -as well as hard, perhaps one does unduly value these things. I hope I -shall not; but I do find them very tempting,” she said, thoughtfully -eying the new scene in which she found herself. - -Helwyze seemed to be absently listening to the musical chime of silver -against glass; but he made a note of that hope, wondering if hardship -had given her more of its austere virtue than it had her husband. - -“How shall you resist temptation?” he asked, curiously. - -“I shall work. This is dangerously pleasant; so let me begin at once, -and sing, while you take your coffee in the drawing-room. I know the -way; come when you will, I shall be ready;” and Gladys rose with the -energetic expression which often broke through her native gentleness. -Canaris held the door for her, and was about to resume his seat, when -Helwyze checked him:— - -“We will follow at once. Was I not right in my prediction?” he asked, as -they left the room together. - -“That we should soon tire of each other? You were wrong in that.” - -“I meant the ease with which you would soon learn to love.” - -“I have not learned—yet.” - -“Then this vivacity is a cloak for the pangs of remorse, is it?” and -Helwyze laughed incredulously. - -“No: it is the satisfaction I already feel in the atonement I mean to -make. I have a grand idea. _I_, too, shall work, and give Gladys reason -to be proud of me, if nothing more.” - -Something of her own energy was in his mien, and it became him. But -Helwyze quenched the noble ardor by saying, coldly,— - -“I see: it is the old passion under a new name. May your virtuous -aspirations be blest!” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - IX. - - -Helwyze was right, and Canaris found that his sudden marriage did -stimulate public interest wonderfully. There had always been something -mysterious about this brilliant young man and his relations with his -patron; who was as silent as the Sphinx regarding his past, and -tantalizingly enigmatical about his plans and purposes for the future. -The wildest speculations were indulged in: many believed them to be -father and son; others searched vainly for the true motive of this -charitable caprice; and every one waited with curiosity to see the end -of it. All of which much amused Helwyze, who cared nothing for the -world’s opinion, and found his sense of humor tickled by the ludicrous -idea of himself in the new _rôle_ of benefactor. - -The romance seemed quite complete when it was known that the young poet -had brought home a wife whose talent, youth, and isolation seemed to -render her peculiarly fitted for his mate. - -Though love was lacking, vanity was strong in Canaris, and this was -gratified by the commendation bestowed on the new ornament he wore; for -as such simple Gladys was considered, and shone with reflected lustre, -her finer gifts and graces quite eclipsed by his more conspicuous and -self-asserting ones. - -With unquestioning docility she gave herself into his hands, following -where he led her, obeying his lightest wish, and loving him with a -devotion which kept alive regretful tenderness when it should have -cherished a loyal love. He gladly took her into all the gayety which for -a time surrounded them, and she enjoyed it with a girl’s fresh delight. -He showed her wise and witty people whom she admired or loved; and she -looked and listened with an enthusiast’s wonder. He gave her all he had -to give, novelty and pleasure; though the one had lost its gloss for -him, and too much of the other he was forced to accept from Helwyze’s -hands. But through all the experiences that now rapidly befell her, -Gladys was still herself; innocently happy, stanchly true, -characteristically independent, a mountain stream, keeping its waters -pure and bright, though mingled with the swift and turbid river which -was hurrying it toward the sea. - -Curiosity being satisfied, society soon found some fresher novelty to -absorb it. Women still admired Canaris, but marriage lessened his -attractions for them; men still thought him full of promise, but were -fast forgetting the first successful effort which had won their -applause; and the young lion found that he must roar loud and often, if -he would not be neglected. Shutting himself into his cell, he worked -with hopeful energy for several months, often coming out weary, but -excited, with the joyful labor of creation. At such times there was no -prose anywhere; for heaven and earth were glorified by the light of that -inner world, where imagination reigns, and all things are divine. Then -he would be in the gayest spirits, and carry Gladys off to some hour of -pleasant relaxation at theatre, opera, or ball, where flattery refreshed -or emulation inspired him; and next day would return to his task with -redoubled vigor. - -At other times his fickle mistress deserted him; thought would not soar, -language would not sing, poetry fled, and life was unutterably “flat, -stale, and unprofitable.” Then it was Gladys, who took possession of -him; lured him out for a brisk walk, or a long drive into a wholesomer -world than that into which he took her; sung weary brain to sleep with -the sweetest lullabies of brother bards; or made him merry by the -display of a pretty wit, which none but he knew she could exert. With -wifely patience and womanly tact she managed her wayward but beloved -lord, till despondency yielded to her skill, and the buoyant spirit of -hope took him by the hand, and led him to his work again. - -In the intervals between these fits of intellectual intoxication and -succeeding depression, Gladys devoted herself to Helwyze with a -faithfulness which surprised him and satisfied her; for, as she said, -her “bread tasted bitter if she did not earn it.” He had expected to be -amused, perhaps interested, but not so charmed, by this girl, who -possessed only a single talent, a modest share of beauty, and a mind as -untrained as a beautiful but neglected garden. This last was the real -attraction; for, finding her hungry for knowledge, he did not hesitate -to test her taste and try her mental mettle, by allowing her free range -of a large and varied library. Though not a scholar, in the learned -sense of the word, he had the eager, sceptical nature which interrogates -all things, yet believes only in itself. This had kept him roaming -solitarily up and down the earth for years, observing men and manners; -now it drove him to books; and, as suffering and seclusion wrought upon -body and brain, his choice of mute companions changed from the higher, -healthier class to those who, like himself, leaned towards the darker, -sadder side of human nature. Lawless here, as elsewhere, he let his mind -wander at will, as once he had let his heart, learning too late that -both are sacred gifts, and cannot safely be tampered with. - -All was so fresh and wonderful to Gladys, that her society grew very -attractive to him; and pleasant as it was to have her wait upon him with -quiet zeal, or watch her busied in her own corner, studying, or sewing -with the little basket beside her which gave such a homelike air, it was -still pleasanter to have her sit and read to him, while he watched this -face, so intelligent, yet so soft; studied this mind, at once sensitive -and sagacious, this nature, both serious and ardent. It gave a curious -charm to his old favorites when she read them; and many hours he -listened contentedly to the voice whose youth made Montaigne’s worldly -wisdom seem the shrewder; whose music gave a certain sweetness to -Voltaire’s bitter wit or Carlyle’s rough wisdom; whose pitying wonder -added pathos to the melancholy brilliancy of Heine and De Quincy. -Equally fascinating to him, and far more dangerous to her, were George -Sand’s passionate romances, Goethe’s dramatic novels, Hugo and Sue’s -lurid word-pictures of suffering and sin; the haunted world of -Shakespeare and Dante, the poetry of Byron, Browning, and Poe. - -Rich food and strong wine for a girl of eighteen; and Gladys soon felt -the effects of such a diet, though it was hard to resist when duty -seconded inclination, and ignorance hid the peril. She often paused to -question with eager lips, to wipe wet eyes, to protest with indignant -warmth, or to shiver with the pleasurable pain of a child who longs, yet -dreads, to hear an exciting story to the end. Helwyze answered -willingly, if not always wisely; enjoyed the rapid unfolding of the -woman, and would not deny himself any indulgence of this new whim, -though conscious that the snow-drop, transplanted suddenly from the free -fresh spring-time, could not live in this close air without suffering. - -This was the double life Gladys now began to lead. Heart and mind were -divided between the two, who soon absorbed every feeling, every thought. -To the younger man she was a teacher, to the elder a pupil; in the one -world she ruled, in the other served; unconsciously Canaris stirred -emotion to its depths, consciously Helwyze stimulated intellect to its -heights; while the soul of the woman, receiving no food from either, -seemed to sit apart in the wilderness of its new experience, tempted by -evil as well as sustained by good spirits, who guard their own. - -One evening this divided mastery was especially felt by Helwyze, who -watched the young man’s influence over his wife with a mixture of -interest and something like jealousy, as it was evidently fast becoming -stronger than his own. Sitting in his usual place, he saw Gladys flit -about the room, brushing up the hearth, brightening the lamps, and -putting by the finished books, as if the day’s duties were all done, the -evening’s rest and pleasure honestly earned, eagerly waited for. He well -knew that this pleasure consisted in carrying Canaris away to her own -domain; or, if that were impossible, she would sit silently looking at -him while he read or talked in his fitful fashion on any subject his -master chose to introduce. - -The desire to make her forget the husband whose neglect would have -sorely grieved her if his genius had not been his excuse in her eyes for -many faults, possessed Helwyze that night; and he amused himself by the -effort, becoming more intent with each failure. - -As the accustomed hour drew near, Gladys took her place on the footstool -before the chair set ready for Felix, and fell a musing, with her eyes -on the newly replenished fire. Above, the unignited fuel lay black and -rough, with here and there a deep rift opening to the red core beneath; -while to and fro danced many colored flames, as if bent on some eager -quest. Many flashed up the chimney, and were gone; others died -solitarily in dark corners, where no heat fed them; and some vanished -down the chasms, to the fiery world below. One golden spire, tremulous -and translucent, burned with a brilliance which attracted the eye; and, -when a wandering violet flame joined it, Gladys followed their motions -with interest, seeing in them images of Felix and herself, for childish -fancy and womanly insight met and mingled in all she thought and felt. - -Forgetting that she was not alone, she leaned forward, to watch what -became of them, as the wedded flames flickered here and there, now -violet, now yellow. But the brighter always seemed the stronger, and the -sad-colored one to grow more and more golden, as if yielding to its -sunshiny mate. - -“I hope they will fly up together, out into the wide, starry sky, which -is their eternity, perhaps,” she thought, smiling at her own eagerness. - -But no; the golden flame flew up, and left the other to take on many -shapes and colors, as it wandered here and there, till, just as it -glowed with a splendid crimson, Gladys was forced to hide her dazzled -eyes and look no more. Turning her flushed face away, she found Helwyze -watching her as intently as she had watched the fire, and, reminded of -his presence, she glanced toward the empty chair with an impatient sigh -for Felix. - -“You are tired,” he said, answering the sigh. “Mrs. Bland told me what a -notable housewife you are, and how you helped her set the upper regions -to rights to-day. I fear you did too much.” - -“Oh, no, I enjoyed it heartily. I asked for something to do, and she -allowed me to examine and refold the treasures you keep in the great -carved wardrobe, lest moths or damp or dust had hurt the rich stuffs, -curious coins, and lovely ornaments stored there. I never saw so many -pretty things before,” she answered, betraying, by her sudden animation, -the love of “pretty things,” which is one of the strongest of feminine -foibles. - -He smiled, well pleased. - -“Olivia calls that quaint press from Brittany my bazaar, for there I -have collected the spoils of my early wanderings; and when I want a -_cadeau_ for a fair friend, I find it without trouble. I saw in what -exquisite order you left my shelves, and, as you were not with me to -choose, I brought away several trifles, more curious than costly, hoping -to find a thank-offering among them.” - -As he spoke, he opened one of the deep drawers in the writing-table, as -if to produce some gift. But Gladys said, hastily,— - -“You are very kind, sir; but these fine things are altogether too grand -for me. The pleasure of looking at and touching them is reward enough; -unless you will tell me about them: it must be interesting to know what -places they came from.” - -Feeling in the mood for it, Helwyze described to her an Eastern bazaar, -so graphically that she soon forgot Felix, and sat looking up as if she -actually saw and enjoyed the splendors he spoke of. Lustrous silks -sultanas were to wear; misty muslins, into whose embroidery some -dark-skinned woman’s life was wrought; cashmeres, many-hued as rainbows; -odorous woods and spices, that filled the air with fragrance never blown -from Western hills; amber, like drops of frozen sunshine; fruits, which -brought visions of vineyards, olive groves, and lovely palms dropping -their honeyed clusters by desert wells; skins mooned and barred with -black upon the tawny velvet, that had lain in jungles, or glided with -deathful stealthiness along the track of human feet; ivory tusks that -had felled Asiatic trees, gored fierce enemies, or meekly lifted princes -to their seats. - -These, and many more, he painted rapidly; and, as he ended, shook out of -its folds a gauzy fabric, starred with silver, which he threw over her -head, pointing to the mirror set in the door of the _armoire_ behind -her. - -“See if that is not too pretty to refuse. Felix would surely be inspired -if you appeared before him shimmering like Suleika, when Hatem says to -her,— - - “‘Here, take this, with the pure and silver streaking, - And wind it, Darling, round and round for me; - What is your Highness? Style scarce worth the speaking, - When thou dost look, I am as great as He.’” - -Gladys did look, and saw how beautiful it made her; but, though she did -not understand the words he quoted, the names suggested a sultan and his -slave, and she did not like either the idea or the expression with which -Helwyze regarded her. Throwing off the gauzy veil, she refolded and put -it by, saying, in that decided little way of hers, which was prettier -than petulance,— - -“My Hatem does not need that sort of inspiration, and had rather see his -Suleika in a plain gown of his choosing, than dressed in all the -splendors of the East by any other hand.” - -“Come, then, we must find some better _souvenir_ of your visit, for I -never let any one go away empty-handed;” with that he dipped again into -the drawer, and held up a pretty bracelet, explaining, as he offered it -with unruffled composure, though she eyed it askance, attracted, yet -reluctant, a charming picture of doubt and desire,— - -“Here are the Nine Muses, cut in many-tinted lava. See how well the -workman suited the color to the attribute of each Muse. Urania is blue; -Erato, this soft pink; Terpsichore, violet; Euterpe and Thalia, black -and white; and the others, these fine shades of yellow, dun, and drab. -That pleases you, I know; so let me put it on.” - -It did please her; and she stretched out her hand to accept it, -gratified, yet conscious all the while of the antagonistic spirit which -often seized her when with Helwyze. He put on the bracelet with a -satisfied air; but the clasp was imperfect, and, at the first turn of -the round wrist, the Nine Muses fell to the ground. - -“It is too heavy. I am not made to wear handcuffs of any sort, you see: -they will not stay on, so it is of no use to try;” and Gladys picked up -the trinket with an odd sense of relief; though poor Erato was cracked, -and Thalia, like Fielding’s fair Amelia, had a broken nose. She rose to -lay it on the table, and, as she turned away, her eye went to the clock, -as if reproaching herself for that brief forgetfulness of her husband. -Half amused, half annoyed, and bent on having his own way, even in so -small a thing as this, Helwyze drew up a chair, and, setting a Japanese -tray upon the table, said, invitingly,— - -“Come and see if these are more to your taste, since fine raiment and -foolish ornaments fail to tempt you.” - -“Oh, how curious and beautiful!” cried Gladys, looking down upon a -collection of Hindoo gods and goddesses, in ebony or ivory: some -hideous, some lovely, all carved with wonderful delicacy, and each with -its appropriate symbol,—Vishnu, and his serpent; Brahma, in the sacred -lotus; Siva, with seven faces; Kreeshna, the destroyer, with many -mouths; Varoon, god of the ocean; and Kama, the Indian Cupid, bearing -his bow of sugar-cane strung with bees, to typify love’s sting as well -as sweetness. This last Gladys examined longest, and kept in her hand as -if it charmed her; for the minute face of the youth was beautiful, the -slender figure full of grace, and the ivory spotless. - -“You choose him for your idol? and well you may, for he looks like -Felix. Mine, if I have one, is Siva, goddess of Fate, ugly, but -powerful.” - -“I will have no idol,—not even Felix, though I sometimes fear I may make -one of him before I know it;” and Gladys put back the little figure with -a guilty look, as she confessed the great temptation that beset her. - -“You are wise: idols are apt to have feet of clay, and tumble down in -spite of our blind adoration. Better be a Buddhist, and have no god but -our own awakened thought; ‘the highest wisdom,’ as it is called,” said -Helwyze, who had lately been busy with the Sâkya Muni, and regarded all -religions with calm impartiality. - -“These are false gods, and we are done with them, since we know the true -one,” began Gladys, understanding him; for she had read aloud the life -of Gautama Buddha, and enjoyed it as a legend; while he found its mystic -symbolism attractive, and nothing repellent in its idolatry. - -“But do we? How can you prove it?” - -“It needs no proving; the knowledge of it was born in me, grows with my -growth, and is the life of my life,” cried Gladys, out of the fulness of -that natural religion which requires no revelation except such as -experience brings to strengthen and purify it. - -“All are not so easily satisfied as you,” he said, in the sceptical tone -which always tried both her patience and her courage; for, woman-like, -she could feel the truth of things, but could not reason about them. He -saw her face kindle, and added, rapidly, having a mind to try how firmly -planted the faith of the pretty Puritan was: “Most of us agree that -Allah exists in some form or other, but we fall out about who is the -true Prophet. You choose Jesus of Nazareth for yours; I rather incline -to this Indian Saint. They are not unlike: this Prince left all to -devote his life to the redemption of mankind, suffered persecutions and -temptations, had his disciples, and sent out the first apostles of whom -we hear; was a teacher, with his parables, miracles, and belief in -transmigration or immortality. His doctrine is almost the same as the -other; and the six virtues which secure Nirvâna, or Heaven, are charity, -purity, patience, courage, contemplation, and wisdom. Come, why not take -him for a model?” - -Gladys listened with a mixture of perplexity and pain in her face, and -her hand went involuntarily to the little cross which she always wore; -but, though her eye was troubled, her voice was steady, as she answered, -earnestly,— - -“Because I have a nobler one. My Prince left a greater throne than yours -to serve mankind; suffered and resisted more terrible persecution and -temptation; sent out wiser apostles, taught clearer truth, and preached -an immortality for all. Yours died peacefully in the arms of his -friends, mine on a cross; and, though he came later, he has saved more -souls than Buddha. Sir, I know little about those older religions; I am -not wise enough even to argue about my own: I can only believe in it, -love it, and hold fast to it, since it is all I need.” - -“How can you tell till you try others? This, now, is a fine one, if we -are not too bigoted to look into it fairly. Wise men, who have done so, -say that no faith—not even the Christian—has exercised so powerful an -influence on the diminution of crime as the old, simple doctrine of -Sâkya Muni; and this is the only great historic religion that has not -taken the sword to put down its enemies. Can you say as much for yours?” - -“No; but it is worth fighting for, and I _would_ fight, as the Maid of -Orleans did for France, for this is my country. Can you say of _your_ -faith that it sustained you in sorrow, made you happy in loneliness, -saved you from temptation, taught, guided, blessed you day by day with -unfailing patience, wisdom, and love? I think you cannot; then why try -to take mine away till you can give me a better?” - -Seldom was Gladys so moved as now, for she felt as if he was about to -meddle with her holy of holies; and, without stopping to reason, she -resisted the attempt, sure that he would harm, not help, her, since -neither his words nor example had done Felix any good. - -Helwyze admired her all the more for her resistance, and thought her -unusually lovely, as she stood there flushed and fervent with her plea -for the faith that was so dear to her. - -“Why, indeed! You would make an excellent martyr, and enjoy it. Pity -that you have no chance of it, and so of being canonized as a saint -afterward. That is decidedly your line. Then, you won’t have any of my -gods? not even this one?” he asked, holding up the handsome Kama, with a -smile. - -“No, not even that. I will have only one God, and you may keep your -idols for those who believe in them. My faith may not be the oldest, but -it _is_ the best, if one may judge of the two religions by the happiness -and peace they give,” answered Gladys, taking refuge in a very womanly, -yet most convincing, argument, she thought, as she pointed to the -mirror, which reflected both figures in its clear depths. - -Helwyze looked, and though without an atom of vanity, the sight could -not but be trying, the contrast was so great between her glad, young -face, and his, so melancholy and prematurely old. - -“Satma, Tama—Truth and Darkness,” he muttered to himself; adding aloud, -with a vengeful sort of satisfaction in shocking her pious nature,— - -“But _I_ have no religion; so that defiant little speech is quite thrown -away, my friend.” - -It did shock her; for, though she had suspected the fact, there was -something dreadful in hearing him confess it, in a tone which proved his -sincerity. - -“Mr. Helwyze, do you really mean that you believe in nothing invisible -and divine? no life beyond this? no God, no Christ to bless and save?” -she asked, hardly knowing how to put the question, as she drew back -dismayed, but still incredulous. - -“Yes.” - -He was both surprised, and rather annoyed, to find that it cost him an -effort to give even that short answer, with those innocent eyes looking -so anxiously up at him, full of a sad wonder, then dim with sudden dew, -as she said eagerly, forgetting every thing but a great compassion,— - -“O sir, it is impossible! You think so now; but when you love and trust -some human creature more than yourself, then you will find that you do -believe in Him who gives such happiness, and be glad to own it.” - -“Perhaps. Meantime _you_ will not make me happy by letting me give you -any thing; why is it, Gladys?” - -The black brows were knit, and he looked impatient with himself or her. -She saw it, and exclaimed with the sweetest penitence,— - -“Give me your pardon for speaking so frankly. I mean no disrespect; but -I cannot help it when you say such things, though I know that gratitude -should keep me silent.” - -“I like it. Do not take yourself to task for that, or trouble about me. -There are many roads, and sooner or later we shall all reach heaven, I -suppose,—if there is one,” he added, with a shrug, which spoiled the -smile that went before. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - X. - - -Gladys stood silent for a moment, with her eyes fixed on the little -figures, longing for wisdom to convince this man, whom she regarded with -mingled pity, admiration and distrust, that he could not walk by his own -light alone. He guessed the impulse that kept her there, longed to have -her stay, and felt a sudden desire to reinstate himself in her good -opinion. That wish, or the hope to keep her by some new and still more -powerful allurement, seemed to actuate him as he hastily thrust the gods -and goddesses out of sight, and opened another drawer, with a quick -glance over his shoulder towards that inner room. - -At that instant the clock struck, and Gladys started, saying, in a tone -of fond despair,— - -“Where _is_ Felix? Will he never come?” - -“I heard him raging about some time ago, but perfect silence followed, -so I suspect he caught the tormenting word, idea, or fancy, and is busy -pinning it,” answered Helwyze, shutting the drawer as suddenly as he -opened it, with a frown which Gladys did not see; for she had turned -away, forgetting him and his salvation in the one absorbing interest of -her life. - -“How long it takes to write a poem! Three whole months, for he began in -September; and it was not to be a long one, he said.” - -“He means this to be a masterpiece, so labors like a galley-slave, and -can find no rest till it is done. Good practice, but to little purpose, -I am afraid. Poetry, even the best, is not profitable now-a-days, I am -told,” added Helwyze, speaking with a sort of satisfaction which he -could not conceal. - -“Who cares for the profit? It is the fame Felix wants, and works for,” -answered Gladys, defending the absent with wifely warmth. - -“True, but he would not reject the fortune if it came. He is not one of -the ethereal sort, who can live on glory and a crust; his gingerbread -must not only be gilded, but solid and well-spiced beside. You adore -your poet, respect also the worldly wisdom of your spouse, madame.” - -When Helwyze sneered, Gladys was silent; so now she mused again, leaning -on the high back of the chair which she longed to see occupied. He mused -also, with his eyes upon the fire, fingers idly tapping, and a furtive -smile round his mouth, as if some purpose was taking shape in that busy -brain of his. Suddenly he spoke, in a tone of kindly interest, well -knowing where her thoughts were, and anxious to end her weary waiting. - -“Perhaps the poor fellow has fallen asleep, tired out with striving -after immortality. Go and wake him, if you will, for it is time he -rested.” - -“May I? He does not like to be disturbed; but I fear he is ill: he has -eaten scarcely any thing for days, and looks so pale it troubles me. I -will peep first; and if he is busy, creep away without a word.” - -Stepping toward the one forbidden, yet most fascinating spot in all the -house, she softly opened the door and looked in. Canaris was there, -apparently asleep, as Helwyze thought; for his head lay on his folded -arms as if both were weary. Glancing over her shoulder with a nod and a -smile, Gladys went in, anxious to wake and comfort him; for the little -room looked solitary, dark, and cold, with dead ashes on the hearth, the -student lamp burning dimly, and the food she had brought him hours ago -still standing untasted, among the blotted sheets strewn all about. At -her first touch he looked up, and she was frightened by the expression -of his face, it was so desperately miserable. - -“Dear, what is it?” she asked, quickly, with her arms about him, as if -defying the unknown trouble to reach him there. - -“Disappointment,—nothing else;” and he leaned his head against her, -grateful for sympathy, since she could give no other help. - -“You mean your book, which does not satisfy you even yet?” she said, -interpreting the significance of the weary, yet restless, look he wore. - -“It never will! I have toiled and tried, with all my heart and soul and -mind, if ever a man did; but I cannot do it, Gladys. It torments me, and -I cannot escape from it; because, though it is all here in my brain, it -_will not_ be expressed in words.” - -“Do not try any more; rest now, and by and by, perhaps, it will be -easier. You have worked too hard, and are worn out; forget the book, and -come and let me take care of you. It breaks my heart to see you so.” - -“I was doing it for your sake,—all for you; and I thought this time it -would be very good, since my purpose was a just and generous one. But it -is not, and I hate it!” - -With a passionate gesture, Canaris hurled a pile of manuscript into the -further corner of the room, and pushed his wife from him, as if she too -were an affliction and a disappointment. It grieved her bitterly; but -she would not be repulsed; and, holding fast in both her own the hand -that was about to grasp another sheaf of papers, she cried, with a tone -of tender authority, which both controlled and touched him,— - -“No, no, you shall not, Felix! Put me away, but do not spoil the book; -it has cost us both too much.” - -“Not you; forgive me, it is myself with whom I am vexed;” and Canaris -penitently kissed the hands that held his, remembering that she could -not know the true cause of his effort and regret. - -“I _shall_ be jealous, if I find that I have given you up so long in -vain. I must have something to repay me for the loss of your society all -this weary time. I have worked to fill your place: give me my reward.” - -“Have you missed me, then? I thought you happy enough with Helwyze and -the books.” - -“Missed you! happy enough! O Felix! you do not know me, if you think I -_can_ be happy without you. He is kind, but only a friend; and all the -books in the wide world are not as much to me as the one you treat so -cruelly.” She clasped tightly the hands she held, and looked into his -face with eyes full of unutterable love. Such tender flattery could not -but soothe, such tearful reproach fail to soften, a far prouder, harder -man than Canaris. - -“What reward will you have?” he asked, making an effort to be cheerful -for her sake. - -“Eat, drink, and rest; then read me every word you have written. I am no -critic; but I would try to be impartial: love makes even the ignorant -wise, and I shall see the beauty which I know is in it.” - -“I put you there, or tried; so truth and beauty should be in it. Some -time you shall hear it, but not now. I could not read it to-night, -perhaps never; it is such a poor, pale shadow of the thing I meant it to -be.” - -“Let me read it,” said a voice behind them; and Helwyze stood upon the -threshold, wearing his most benignant aspect. - -“You?” ejaculated Canaris; while Gladys shrunk a little, as if the -proposition did not please her. - -“Why not? Young poets never read their own verses well; yet what could -be more soothing to the most timorous or vain than to hear them read by -an admiring and sympathetic friend? Come, let me have my reward, as well -as Gladys;” and Helwyze laid his hand upon the unscattered pile of -manuscript. - -“A penance, rather. It is so blurred, so rough, you could not read it; -then the fatigue,”—began Canaris, pleased, yet reluctant still. - -“I can read any thing, make rough places smooth, and not tire, for I -have a great interest in this story. He has shown me some of it, and it -_is_ good.” - -Helwyze spoke to Gladys, and his last words conquered her reluctance, -whetted her curiosity; he looked at Canaris, and his glance inspired -hope, his offer tempted, for his voice could make music of any thing, -his praise would be both valuable and cheering. - -“Let him, Felix, since he is so kind, I so impatient that I do not want -to wait;” and Gladys went to gather up the leaves, which had flown -wildly about the room. - -“Leave those, I will sort them while you begin. The first part is all -here. I am sick of it, and so will you be, before you are through. Go, -love, or I may revoke permission, and make the bonfire yet.” - -Canaris laughed as he waved her away; and Gladys, seeing that the cloud -had lifted, willingly obeyed, lingering only to give a touch to the -dainty luncheon, which was none the worse for being cold. - -“Dear, eat and drink, then _my_ feast will be the sweeter.” - -“I will; I’ll eat and drink stupendously when you are gone; I wish you -_bon appetit_,” he said, filling the glass, and smiling as he drank. - -Contented now, Gladys hurried away, to find Helwyze already seated by -the study-table, with the manuscript laid open before him. He looked up, -wearing an expression of such pleasurable excitement, that it augured -well for what was coming, and she slipped into the chair beside the one -set ready for Canaris on the opposite side of the hearth, still hoping -he would come and take it. Helwyze began, and soon she forgot every -thing,—carried away by the smoothly flowing current of the story which -he read so well. A metrical romance, such as many a lover might have -imagined in the first inspiration of the great passion, but few could -have painted with such skill. A very human story, but all the truer and -sweeter for that fact. The men and women in it were full of vitality and -color; their faces spoke, hearts beat, words glowed; and they seemed to -live before the listener’s eye, as if endowed with eloquent flesh and -blood. - -Gladys forgot their creator utterly, but Helwyze did not; and even while -reading on with steadily increasing effect, glanced now and then towards -that inner room, where, after a moment of unnecessary bustle, perfect -silence reigned. Presently a shadow flickered on the ceiling, a shadow -bent as if listening eagerly, though not a sound betrayed its approach -as it seemed to glide and vanish behind the tall screen which stood -before the door. Gladys saw nothing, her face being intent upon the -reader, her thoughts absorbed in following the heart-history of the -woman in whom she could not help finding a likeness to herself. - -Helwyze saw the shadow, however, and laughed inwardly, as if to see the -singer irresistibly drawn by his own music. But no visible smile -betrayed this knowledge; and the tale went on with deepening power and -pathos, till at its most passionate point he paused. - -“Go on; oh, pray go on!” cried Gladys, breathlessly. - -“Are you not tired of it?” asked Helwyze; with a keen look. - -“No, no! You are? Then let me read.” - -“Not I; but there is no more here. Ask Felix if we _may_ go on.” - -“I must! I will! Where is he?” and Gladys hurried round the screen, to -find Canaris flung down anyway upon a seat, looking almost as excited as -herself. - -“Ah,” she cried, delightedly, “you could not keep away! You know that it -is good, and you are glad and proud, although you will not own it.” - -“Am I? Are you?” he asked, reading the answer in her face, before she -could whisper, with the look of mingled awe and adoration which she -always wore when speaking of him as a poet,— - -“Never can I tell you what I feel. It almost frightens me to find how -well you know me and yourself, and other hearts like ours. What gives -you this wonderful power, and shows you how to use it?” - -“Don’t praise it too much, or I shall wish I had destroyed, instead of -re-sorting, the second part for you to hear.” Canaris spoke almost -roughly, and rose, as if about to go and do it now. But Gladys caught -his hand, saying gayly, as she drew him out into the fire-light with -persuasive energy,— - -“That you shall never do; but come and enjoy it with us. You need not be -so modest, for you know you like it. Now I am perfectly happy.” - -She looked so, as she saw her husband sink into the tall-backed chair, -and took her place beside him, laughing at the almost comic mixture of -sternness, resignation, and impatience betrayed by his set lips, silent -acquiescence, and excited eyes. - -“Now we are ready;” and Gladys folded her hands with the rapturous -contentment of a child at its first fairy spectacle. - -“All but the story. I will fetch it;” and Helwyze stepped quickly behind -the screen before either could stir. - -Gladys half rose, but Canaris drew her down again, whispering, in an -almost resentful tone,— - -“Let him, if he will; you wait on him too much. I put the papers in -order; he will read them easily enough.” - -“Nay, do not be angry, dear; he does it to please me, and surely no one -could read it better. I know you would feel too much to do it well,” she -answered, her hand in his, with its most soothing touch. - -There was no time for more. Helwyze returned, and, after a hasty -resettling of the manuscript, read on, without pausing, to the story’s -end, as if unconscious of fatigue, and bent on doing justice to the -power of the _protégé_ whose success was his benefactor’s best reward. -At first, Gladys glanced at her husband from time to time; but presently -the living man beside her grew less real than that other, who, despite a -new name and country, strange surroundings, and far different -circumstances, was so unmistakably the same, that she could not help -feeling and following his fate to its close, with an interest almost as -intense as if, in very truth, she saw Canaris going to his end. Her -interest in the woman lessened, and was lost in her eagerness to have -the hero worthy of the love she gave, the honor others felt for him; -and, when the romance brought him to defeat and death, she was so -wrought upon by this illusion, that she fell into a passion of sudden -tears, weeping as she had never wept before. - -Felix sat motionless, his hand over his eyes, lips closely folded, lest -they should betray too much emotion; the irresistible conviction that it -_was_ good, strengthening every instant, till he felt only the -fascination and excitement of an hour, which foretold others even more -delicious. When the tale ended, the melodious voice grew silent, and -nothing was heard but the eloquent sobbing of a woman. Words seemed -unnecessary, and none were uttered for several minutes, then Helwyze -asked briefly,— - -“Shall we burn it?” - -As briefly Canaris answered “No;” and Gladys, quickly recovering the -self-control so seldom lost, looked up with “a face, clear shining after -rain,” as she said in the emphatic tone of deepest feeling,— - -“It would be like burning a live thing. But, Felix, you must not kill -that man: I cannot have him die so. Let him live to conquer all his -enemies, the worst in himself; then, if you must end tragically, let the -woman go; she would not care, if he were safe.” - -“But she is the heroine of the piece; and, if it does not end with her -lamenting over the fallen hero, the dramatic point is lost,” said -Helwyze; for Canaris had sprung up, and was walking restlessly about the -room, as if the spirits he had evoked were too strong to be laid even by -himself. - -“I know nothing about that; but I feel the moral point would be lost, if -it is not changed. Surely, powerful as pity is, a lofty admiration is -better; and this poem would be nobler, in every way, if that man ends by -living well, than by dying ignominiously in spite of his courage. I -cannot explain it, but I am sure it is so; and I will not let Felix -spoil his best piece of work by such a mistake.” - -“Then you like it? You would be happy if I changed and let it go before -the world, for your sake more than for my own?” - -Canaris paused beside her, pale with some emotion stronger than -gratified vanity or ambitious hope. Gladys thought it was love; and, -carried out of herself by the tender pride that overflowed her heart and -would not be controlled, she let an action, more eloquent than any -words, express the happiness she was the first to feel, the homage she -would be the first to pay. Kneeling before him, she clasped her hands -together, and looked up at him with cheeks still wet, lips still -tremulous, eyes still full of wonder, admiration, fervent gratitude, and -love. - -In one usually so self-restrained as Gladys such joyful abandonment was -doubly captivating and impressive. Canaris felt it so; and, lifting her -up, pressed her to a heart whose loud throbbing thanked her, even while -he gently turned her face away, as if he could not bear to see and -receive such worship from so pure a source. The unexpected humility in -his voice touched her strangely, and made her feel more deeply than ever -how genuine was the genius which should yet make him great, as well as -beloved. - -“I will do what you wish, for you see more clearly than I. You _shall_ -be happy, and I _will_ be proud of doing it, even if no one else sees -any good in my work.” - -“They will! they must! It may not be the grandest thing you will ever -do, but it is so human, it cannot fail to touch and charm; and to me -that is as great an act as to astonish or dazzle by splendid learning or -wonderful wit. Make it noble as well as beautiful, then people will love -as well as praise you.” - -“I will try, Gladys. I see now what I should have written, and—if I -can—it shall be done.” - -“I promised you inspiration, you remember: have I not kept my word?” -asked Helwyze, forgotten, and content to be forgotten, until now. - -Canaris looked up quickly; but there was no gratitude in his face, as he -answered, with his hand on the head he pressed against his shoulder, and -a certain subdued passion in his voice,— - -“You have: not the highest inspiration; but, if _she_ is happy, it will -atone for much.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XI. - - -And Gladys _was_ happy for a little while. Canaris labored doggedly till -all was finished as she wished. Helwyze lent the aid which commands -celerity; and early in the new year the book came out, to win for itself -and its author the admiration and regard she had prophesied. But while -the outside world, with which she had little to do except through her -husband, rejoiced over him and his work, she, in her own small world, -where he was all in all, was finding cause to wonder and grieve at the -change which took place in him. - -“I have done my task, now let me play,” he said; and play he did, quite -as energetically as he had worked, though to far less purpose. Praise -seemed to intoxicate him, for he appeared to forget every thing else, -and bask in its sunshine, as if he never could have enough of it. His -satisfaction would have been called egregious vanity, had it not been so -gracefully expressed, and the work done so excellent that all agreed the -young man had a right to be proud of it, and enjoy his reward as he -pleased. He went out much, being again caressed and fêted to his heart’s -content, leaving Gladys to amuse Helwyze; for a very little of this sort -of gayety satisfied her, and there was something painful to her in the -almost feverish eagerness with which her husband sought and enjoyed -excitement of all kinds. Glad and proud though she was, it troubled her -to see him as utterly engrossed as if existence had no higher aim than -the most refined and varied pleasure; and she began to feel that, though -the task was done, she had not got him back again from that other -mistress, who seemed to have bewitched him with her dazzling charms. - -“He will soon have enough of it, and return to us none the worse. -Remember how young he is; how natural that he should love pleasure -overmuch, when he gets it, since he has had so little hitherto,” said -Helwyze, answering the silent trouble in the face of Gladys; for she -never spoke of her daily increasing anxiety. - -“But it does not seem to make him happy; and for that reason I sometimes -think it cannot be the best kind of pleasure for him,” answered Gladys, -remembering how flushed and weary he had been when he came in last -night, so late that it was nearly dawn. - -“He is one who will taste all kinds, and not be contented till he has -had his fill. Roaming about Europe with that bad, brilliant father of -his gave him glimpses of many things which he was too poor to enjoy -then, but not too young to remember and desire now, when it is possible -to gratify the wish. Let him go, he will come back to you when he is -tired. It is the only way to manage him, I find.” - -But Gladys did not think so; and, finding that Helwyze would not speak, -she resolved that she would venture to do it, for many things disturbed -her, which wifely loyalty forbade her to repeat; as well as a feeling -that Helwyze would not see cause for anxiety in her simple fears, since -he encouraged Felix in this reckless gayety. - -Some hours later, she found Canaris newly risen, sitting at his -_escritoire_ in their own room, with a strew of gold and notes before -him, which he affected to be counting busily; though when she entered -she had seen him in a despondent attitude, doing nothing. - -“How pale you look. Why will you stay so late and get these weary -headaches?” she asked, stroking the thick locks off his forehead with a -caressing touch. - - “‘Too late I stayed, forgive the crime; - Unheeded flew the hours; - For lightly falls the foot of time, - That only treads on flowers.’” - -sang Canaris, looking up at her with an assumption of mirth, sadder than -the melancholy which it could not wholly hide. - -“You make light of it, Felix; but I am sure you will fall ill, if you do -not get more sleep and quieter dreams,” she said, still smoothing the -glossy dark rings of which she was so proud. - -“_Cara mia_, what do you know about my dreams?” he asked, with a hint of -surprise in the manner, which was still careless. - -“You toss about, and talk so wildly sometimes, that it troubles me to -hear you.” - -“I will stop it at once. What do I talk about? Something amusing, I -hope,” he asked, quickly. - -“That I cannot tell, for you speak in French or Italian; but you sigh -terribly, and often seem angry or excited about something.” - -“That is odd. I do not remember my dreams, but it is little wonder my -poor wits are distraught, after all they have been through lately. Did I -talk last night, and spoil your sleep, love?” asked Canaris, idly piling -up a little heap of coins, though listening intently for her reply. - -“Yes: you seemed very busy, and said more than once, ‘Le jeu est fait, -rien ne va plus.’ ‘Rouge gagne et couleur,’—or, ‘Rouge perd et couleur -gagne.’ I know what those words mean, because I have read them in a -novel; and they trouble me from your lips, Felix.” - -“I must have been dreaming of a week I once spent in Homberg, with my -father. We don’t do that sort of thing here.” - -“Not under the same name, perhaps. Dear, do you ever play?” asked -Gladys, leaning her cheek against the head which had sunk a little, as -he leaned forward to smooth out the crumpled notes before him. - -“Why not? One must amuse one’s self.” - -“Not so. Please promise that you will try some safer way? This is -not—honest.” She hesitated over the last word, for his tone had been -short and sharp, but uttered it bravely, and stole an arm about his -neck, mutely asking pardon for the speech which cost her so much. - -“What is? Life is all a lottery, and one must keep trying one’s luck -while the wheel goes round; for prizes are few and blanks many, you -know.” - -“Ah, do not speak in that reckless way. Forgive me for asking questions; -but you are all I have, and I must take care of you, since no one else -has the right.” - -“Or the will. Ask what you please. I will tell you any thing, my visible -conscience;” and Canaris took her in the circle of his arm, subdued by -the courageous tenderness that made her what he called her. - -“Is that all yours?” she whispered, pointing a small forefinger rather -sternly at the money before him, and sweetening the question with a -kiss. - -“No, it is yours, every penny of it. Put it in the little drawer, and -make merry with it, else I shall be sorry I won it for you.” - -“That I cannot do. Please do not ask me. There is always enough in the -little drawer for me, and I like better to use the money you have -earned.” - -“Say, rather, the salary which _you_ earn and _I_ spend. It is all -wrong, Gladys; but I cannot help it!” and Canaris pushed away his -winnings, as if he despised them and himself. - -“It is my fault that you did this, because I begged you not to let Mr. -Helwyze give me so much. I can take any thing from you, for I love you, -but not from him; so you try to make me think you have enough to gratify -my every wish. Is not that true?” - -“Yes: I hate to have you accept any thing from him, and find it harder -to do so myself, than before you came. Yet I cannot help liking play; -for it is an inherited taste, and he knows it.” - -“And does not warn you?” - -“Not he: I inherit my father’s luck as well as skill, and Helwyze enjoys -hearing of my success in this, as in other things. We used to play -together, till he tired of it. There is nothing equal to it when one is -tormented with _ennui_!” - -“Felix, I fear that, though a kind friend, he is not a wise one. Why -does he encourage your vices, and take no interest in strengthening your -virtues? Forgive me, but we all have both, and I want you to be as good -as you are gifted,” she said, with such an earnest, tender face, he -could not feel offended. - -“He does not care for that. The contest between the good and evil in me -interests him most, for he knows how to lay his hand on the weak or -wicked spots in a man’s heart; and playing with other people’s passions -is his favorite amusement. Have you not discovered this?” - -Canaris spoke gloomily, and Gladys shivered as she held him closer, and -answered in a whisper,— - -“Yes, I feel as if under a microscope when with him; yet he is very kind -to me, and very patient with my ignorance. Felix, is he trying to -discover the evil in me, when he gives me strange things to read, and -sits watching me while I do it?” - -“_Gott bewahre!_—but of this I am sure, he will find no evil in you, my -white-souled little wife, unless he puts it there. Gladys, refuse to -read what pains and puzzles you. I will not let him vex your peace. Can -he not be content with me, since I am his, body and soul?” - -Canaris put her hastily away, to walk the room with a new sense of wrong -hot within him at the thought of the dangers into which he had brought -her against his will. But Gladys, caring only for him, ventured to add, -with her kindling eyes upon his troubled face,— - -“I will not let him vex _your_ peace! Refuse to do the things which you -feel are wrong, lest what are only pleasures now may become terrible -temptations by and by. I love and trust you as he never can; I will not -believe your vices stronger than your virtues; and I will defend you, if -he tries to harm the husband God has given me.” - -“Bless you for that! it is so long since I have had any one to care for -me, that I forget my duty to you. I am tired of all this froth and -folly; I will stay at home hereafter; that will be safest, if not -happiest.” - -He began impetuously, but his voice fell, and was almost inaudible at -the last word, as he turned away to hide the expression of regret which -he could not disguise. But Gladys heard and saw, and the vague fear -which sometimes haunted her stirred again, and took form in the bitter -thought, “Home is not happy: am I the cause?” - -She put it from her instantly, as if doubt were dishonor, and spoke out -in the cordial tone which always cheered and soothed him,— - -“It shall be both, if I can make it so. Let me try, and perhaps I can do -for you what Mr. Helwyze says I have done for him,—caused him to forget -his troubles, and be glad he is alive.” - -Canaris swung round with a peculiar expression on his face. - -“He says that, does he? Then he is satisfied with his bargain! I thought -as much, though he never condescended to confess it to me.” - -“What bargain, Felix?” - -“The pair of us. We were costly, but he got us, as he gets every thing -he sets his heart upon. He was growing tired of me; but when I would -have gone, he kept me, by making it possible for me to win you for -myself—and him. Six months between us have shown you this, I know, and -it is in vain to hide from you how much I long to break away and be free -again—if I ever can.” - -He looked ready to break away at once, and Gladys sympathized with him, -seeing now the cause of his unrest. - -“I know the feeling, for I too am tired of this life; not because it is -so quiet, but so divided. I want to live for you alone, no matter how -poor and humble my place may be. Now I am so little with you, I -sometimes feel as if I should grow less and less to you, till I am -nothing but a burden and a stumbling-block. Can we not go, and be happy -somewhere else? must we stay here all our lives?” she asked, confessing -the desire which had been strengthening rapidly of late. - -“While he lives I must stay, if he wants me. I cannot be ungrateful. -Remember all he has done for me. It will not be long to wait, perhaps.” - -Canaris spoke hurriedly, as if regretting his involuntary outburst, and -anxious to atone for it by the submission which always seemed at war -with some stronger, if not nobler, sentiment. Gladys sat silent, lost in -thought; while her husband swept the ill-gotten money into a drawer, and -locked it up, as if relieved to have it out of sight. Soon the cloud -lifted, however; and going to him, as he stood at the window, looking -out with the air of a caged eagle, she said, with her hand upon his -arm,— - -“You are right: we _will_ be grateful and patient; but while we wait we -must work, because in that one always finds strength and comfort. What -can we do to earn the wherewithal to found our own little home upon when -this is gone? I have nothing valuable; have you?” - -“Nothing but this;” and he touched the bright head beside him, recalling -the moment when she said her hair was all the gold she had. - -Gladys remembered it as well, and the promise then made to help him, -both as wife and woman. The time seemed to have come; and, taking -counsel of her own integrity, she had dared to speak in the “sincere -voice that made truth sweeter than falsehood.” Now she tried, in her -simple way, to show how the self-respect he seemed in danger of losing -might be preserved by a task whose purpose would be both salvation and -reward. - -“Then let the wit inside this head of mine show you how to turn an -honest penny,” she began, unfolding her plan with an enthusiasm which -redeemed its most prosaic features. “Mr. Helwyze says that even the best -poetry is not profitable, except in fame. That you already have; and -pride and pleasure in the new book is enough, without spoiling it by -being vexed about the money it may bring. But you can use your pen in -other ways, before it is time to write another poem. One of these ways -is the translation of that curious Spanish book you were speaking of the -other day. That will bring something, as it is rare and old; and you, -that have half a dozen languages at your tongue’s end, can easily find -plenty of such work, now that you do not absolutely need it.” - -“That sounds a little bitter, Gladys. Don’t let my resentful temper -spoil your sweet one.” - -“I am learning fast; among other things, that to him who hath, more -shall be given; so you, being a successful man, may hope for plenty of -help from all _now_, though you were left to starve, when a kind word -would have saved you so much suffering,” Gladys answered, not bitterly, -but with a woman’s pitiful memory of the wrongs done those dearest her. - -“God knows it would!” ejaculated Canaris, with unusual fervor. - -“Mr. Helwyze remembers that, I think; and this is perhaps the reason why -he is so generous now. Too much so for your good, I fear; and so I -speak, because, young as I am, I cannot help trying to watch over you, -as a wife should.” - -“I like it, Gladys. I am old, in many things, for my years, but a boy -still in love, and you must teach me how to be worthy of all you give so -generously and sweetly.” - -“Do I give the most?” - -“All women do, they say. But go on, and tell the rest of this fine plan -of yours. While I use my polyglot accomplishments, what becomes of you?” -he asked, hastily returning to the safer subject; for the wistful look -in her eyes smote him to the heart. - -“I work also. You are still Mr. Helwyze’s _homme d’affaires_, as he -calls you; I am still his reader. But when he does not need me, I shall -take up my old craft again, and embroider, as I used at home. You do not -know how skilful I am with the needle, and never dreamed that the -initials on the handkerchiefs you admired so much were all my work. Oh, -I am a thrifty wife, though such a little one!” and Gladys broke into -her clear child’s laugh, which seemed to cheer them both, as a lark’s -song makes music even in a cloud. - -Canaris laughed with her; for these glimpses of practical gifts and -shrewd common sense in Gladys were very like the discovery of a rock -under its veil of moss, or garland of airy columbines. - -“But what will _he_ say to all this?” asked the young man, with a -downward gesture of the finger, and in his eye a glimmer of malicious -satisfaction at the thought of having at least one secret in which -Helwyze had no part. - -“We need not tell him. It is nothing to him what we do up here. Let him -find out, if he cares to know,” answered Gladys, with a charmingly -mutinous air, as she tripped away to her own little room. - -“He _will_ care, and he _will_ find out. He has no right; but that will -not stop him,” returned Canaris, following to lean in the door-way, and -watch her kneeling before a great basket, from which she pulled reels of -gay silk, unfinished bits of work, and fragments of old lace. - -“See!” she said, holding up one of the latter, “I can both make and -mend; and one who is clever at this sort of thing can earn a pretty -penny in a quiet way. Through my old employer I can get all the work I -want; so please do not forbid it, Felix: I should be so much happier, if -I might?” - -“I will forbid nothing that makes you happy. But Helwyze will be -exceeding wroth when he discovers it, unless the absurdity of beggars -living in a palace strikes him as it does me.” - -“I am not afraid!” - -“You never saw him in a rage: I have. Quite calm and cool, but rather -awful, as he withers you with a look, or drives you half wild with a -word that stings like a whip, and makes you hate him.” - -“Still I would not fear him, unless I _had_ done wrong.” - -“He makes you feel so, whether you have or not; and you ask pardon for -doing what you know is right. It is singular, but he certainly does make -black seem white, sometimes,” mused Canaris, knitting his brows with the -old perplexity. - -“I am afraid so;” and Gladys folded up a sigh in the parcel of rosy -floss she laid away. Then she chased the frown from her husband’s face -by talking blithely of the home they would yet earn and enjoy together. - -Conscious that things were more amiss with him than she suspected, -Canaris was glad to try the new cure, and soon found it so helpful, that -he was anxious to continue it. Very pleasant were the hours they spent -together in their own rooms, when the duties they owed Helwyze were -done; all the pleasanter for them, perhaps, because this domestic league -of theirs shut him out from their real life as inevitably as it drew -them nearer to one another. - -The task now in hand was one that Canaris could do easily and well; and -Gladys’s example kept him at it when the charm of novelty was gone. -While he wrote she sat near, so quietly busy, that he often forgot her -presence; but when he looked up, the glance of approval, the encouraging -word, the tender smile, were always ready, and wonderfully inspiring; -for this sweet comrade grew dearer day by day. While he rested she still -worked; and he loved to watch the flowery wonders grow beneath her -needle, swift as skilful. Now a golden wheat-ear, a scarlet poppy, a -blue violet; or the white embroidery, that made his eyes ache with -following the tiny stitches, which seemed to sow seed-pearls along a -hem, weave graceful ciphers, or make lace-work like a cobweb. - -Something in it pleased his artistic sense of the beautiful, and soothed -him, as did the conversation that naturally went on between them. -Oftenest he talked, telling her more of his varied life than any other -human being knew; and in these confidences she found the clew to many -things which had pained or puzzled her before; because, spite of her -love, Gladys was clear-sighted, even against her will. Then she would -answer with the story of her monotonous days, her lonely labors, dreams, -and hopes; and they would comfort one another by making pictures of a -future too beautiful ever to be true. - -Helwyze was quick to perceive the new change which came over Felix, the -happy peace which had returned to Gladys. He “did care, and he did find -out,” what the young people were about. At first he smiled at the girl’s -delusion in believing that she could fix a nature so mercurial as that -of Canaris, but did not wonder at his yielding, for a time at least, to -such tender persuasion; and, calling them “a pair of innocents,” Helwyze -let them alone, till he discovered that his power was in danger. - -Presently, he began to miss the sense of undivided control which was so -agreeable to him. Canaris was as serviceable as ever, but no longer made -him sole confidant, counsellor, and friend. Gladys was scrupulously -faithful still, but her intense interest in his world of books was much -lessened: for she was reading a more engrossing volume than any of -these,—the heart of the man she loved. Something was gone which he had -bargained for, thought he had secured, and now felt wronged at -losing,—an indescribable charm, especially pervading his intercourse -with Gladys; for this friendship, sweet as honey, pure as dew, had just -begun to blossom, when a chilly breath seemed to check its progress, -leaving only cheerful service, not the spontaneous devotion which had -been so much to him. - -He said nothing; but for all his imperturbability, it annoyed him, as -the gnat annoyed the lion; and, though scarcely acknowledged even to -himself, it lurked under various moods and motives, impelling him to -words and acts which produced dangerous consequences. - -“Pray forgive us, we are very late.” - -“Time goes so fast, we quite forgot!” exclaimed Felix and Gladys both -together, as they hurried into the library, one bright March morning, -looking so blithe and young, that Helwyze suddenly felt old and sad and -bitter-hearted, as if they had stolen something from him. - -“I have learned to wait,” he said, with the cold brevity which was the -only sign of displeasure Gladys ever saw in him. - -In remorseful silence she hastened to find her place in the book they -were reading; but Canaris, who seemed bubbling over with good spirits, -took no notice of the chill, and asked, with unabated cheerfulness,— - -“Any commissions, sir, beside these letters? I feel as if I ‘could put a -girdle round the earth in forty minutes,’ it is such a glorious, -spring-like day.” - -“Nothing but the letters. Stay a moment, while I add another;” and, -taking up the pen he had laid by, Helwyze wrote hastily,— - - “TO OLIVIA AT THE SOUTH:— - - “The swallows will be returning soon; return with them, if you - can. I am deadly dull: come and make a little mischief to amuse - me. I miss you. - - JASPER.” - -Sealing and directing this, he handed it to Canaris, who had been -whispering to Gladys more like a lover than a husband of half a year’s -standing. Something in the elder man’s face made the younger glance -involuntarily at the letter as he took it. - -“Olivia? I promised to write her, but I”— - -“Dared not?” - -“No: I forgot it;” and Canaris went off, laughing at the _grande -passion_, which now seemed very foolish and far away. - -“This time, I think, you _will_ remember, for I mean to fight fire with -fire,” thought Helwyze, with a grim smile, such as Louis XI. might have -worn when sending some gallant young knight to carry his own -death-warrant. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XII. - - -Olivia came before the swallows; for the three words, “I miss you,” -would have brought her from the ends of the earth, had she exiled -herself so far. She had waited for him to want and call her, as he often -did when others wearied or failed him. Seldom had so long a time passed -without some word from him; and endless doubts, fears, conjectures, had -harassed her, as month after month went by, and no summons came. Now she -hastened, ready for any thing he might ask of her, since her reward -would be a glimpse of the only heaven she knew. - -“Amuse Felix: he is falling in love with his wife, and it spoils both of -them for my use. He says he has forgotten you. Come often, and teach him -to remember, as penalty for his bad taste and manners,” was the single -order Helwyze gave; but Olivia needed no other; and, for the sake of -coming often, would have smiled upon a far less agreeable man than -Canaris. - -Gladys tried to welcome the new guest cordially, as an unsuspicious dove -might have welcomed a falcon to its peaceful cote; but her heart sunk -when she found her happy quiet sorely disturbed, her husband’s place -deserted, and the old glamour slowly returning to separate them, in -spite of all her gentle arts. For Canaris, feeling quite safe in the -sincere affection which now bound him to his wife, was foolhardy in his -desire to show Olivia how heart-whole he had become. This piqued her -irresistibly, because Helwyze was looking on, and she would win _his_ -approval at any cost. So these three, from divers motives, joined -together to teach poor Gladys how much a woman can suffer with silent -fortitude and make no sign. - -The weeks that followed seemed unusually gay and sunny ones; for April -came in blandly, and Olivia made a pleasant stir throughout the house by -her frequent visits, and the various excursions she proposed. Many of -these Gladys escaped; for her pain was not the jealousy that would drive -her to out-rival her rival, but the sorrowful shame and pity which made -her long to hide herself, till Felix should come back and be forgiven. -Helwyze naturally declined the long drives, the exhilarating rides in -the bright spring weather, which were so attractive to the younger man, -and sat at home watching Gladys, now more absorbingly interesting than -ever. He could not but admire the patience, strength, and dignity of the -creature; for she made no complaint, showed no suspicion, asked no -advice, but went straight on, like one who followed with faltering feet, -but unwavering eye, the single star in all the sky that would lead her -right. A craving curiosity to know what she felt and thought possessed -him, and he invited confidence by unwonted kindliness, as well as the -unfailing courtesy he showed her. - -But Gladys would not speak either to him or to her husband, who seemed -wilfully blind to the slowly changing face, all the sadder for the smile -it always wore when his eyes were on it. At first, Helwyze tried his -gentlest arts; but, finding her as true as brave, was driven, by the -morbid curiosity which he had indulged till it became a mania, to use -means as subtle as sinful,—like a burglar, who, failing to pick a lock, -grows desperate and breaks it, careless of consequences. - -Taking his daily walk through the house, he once came upon Gladys -watering the _jardinière_, which was her especial care, and always kept -full of her favorite plants. She was not singing as she worked, but -seriously busy as a child, holding in both hands her little watering-pot -to shower the thirsty ferns and flowers, who turned up their faces to be -washed with the silent delight which was their thanks. - -“See how the dear things enjoy it! I feel as if they knew and watched -for me, and I never like to disappoint them of their bath,” she said, -looking over her shoulder, as he paused beside her. She was used to this -now, and was never surprised or startled when below stairs by his -noiseless approach. - -“They are doing finely. Did Moss bring in some cyclamens? They are in -full bloom now, and you are fond of them, I think?” - -“Yes, here they are: both purple and white, so sweet and lovely! See how -many buds this one has. I shall enjoy seeing them come out, they unfurl -so prettily;” and, full of interest, Gladys parted the leaves to show -several baby buds, whose rosy faces were just peeping from their green -hoods. - -Helwyze liked to see her among the flowers; for there was something -peculiarly innocent and fresh about her then, as if the woman forgot her -griefs, and was a girl again. It struck him anew, as she stood there in -the sunshine, leaning down to tend the soft leaves and cherish the -delicate buds with a caressing hand. - -“Like seeks like: you are a sort of cyclamen yourself. I never observed -it before, but the likeness is quite striking,” he said, with the slow -smile which usually prefaced some speech which bore a double meaning. - -“Am I?” and Gladys eyed the flowers, pleased, yet a little shy, of -compliment from him. - -“This is especially like you,” continued Helwyze, touching one of the -freshest. “Out of these strong sombre leaves rises a wraith-like -blossom, with white, softly folded petals, a rosy color on its modest -face, and a most sweet perfume for those whose sense is fine enough to -perceive it. Most of all, perhaps, it resembles you in this,—it hides -its heart, and, if one tries to look too closely, there is danger of -snapping the slender stem.” - -“That is its nature, and it cannot help being shy. I kneel down and look -up without touching it; then one sees that it has nothing to hide,” -protested Gladys, following out the flower fancy, half in earnest, half -in jest, for she felt there was a question and a reproach in his words. - -“Perhaps not; let us see, in my way.” With a light touch Helwyze turned -the reluctant cyclamen upward, and in its purple cup there clung a newly -fallen drop, like a secret tear. - -Mute and stricken, Gladys looked at the little symbol of herself, -owning, with a throb of pain, that if in nothing else, they _were_ alike -in that. - -Helwyze stood silent likewise, inhaling the faint fragrance while he -softly ruffled the curled petals as if searching for another tear. -Suddenly Gladys spoke out with the directness which always gave him a -keen pleasure, asking, as she stretched her hand involuntarily to shield -the more helpless flower,— - -“Sir, why do you wish to read my heart?” - -“To comfort it.” - -“Do I need comfort, then?” - -“Do you not?” - -“If I have a sorrow, God only can console me, and He only need know it. -To you it should be sacred. Forgive me if I seem ungrateful; but you -cannot help me, if you would.” - -“Do you doubt my will?” - -“I try to doubt no one; but I fear—I fear many things;” and, as if -afraid of saying too much, Gladys broke off, to hurry away, wearing so -strange a look that Helwyze was consumed with a desire to know its -meaning. - -He saw no more of her till twilight, for Canaris took her place just -then, reading a foreign book, which she could not manage; but, when -Felix went out, he sought one of his solitary haunts, hoping she would -appear. - -She did; for the day closed early with a gusty rain, and the sunset hour -was gray and cold, leaving no after-glow to tint the western sky and -bathe the great room in ruddy light. Pale and noiseless as a spirit, -Gladys went to and fro, trying to quiet the unrest that made her nights -sleepless, her days one long struggle to be patient, just, and kind. She -tried to sing, but the song died in her throat; she tried to sew, but -her eyes were dim, and the flower under her needle only reminded her -that “pansies were for thoughts,” and hers, alas! were too sad for -thinking; she took up a book, but laid it down again, since Felix was -not there to finish it with her. Her own rooms seemed so empty, she -could not return thither when she had looked for him in vain; and, -longing for some human voice to speak to her, it was a relief to come -upon Helwyze sitting in his lonely corner,—for she never now went to the -library, unless duty called her. - -“A dull evening, and dull company,” he said, as she paused beside him, -glad to have found something to take her out of herself, for a time at -least. - -“Such a long day! and such a dreary night as it will be!” she answered, -leaning her forehead against the window-pane, to watch the drops fall, -and listen to the melancholy wind. - -“Shorten the one and cheer the other, as I do: sleep, dream, and -forget.” - -“I cannot!” and there was a world of suffering in the words that broke -from her against her will. - -“Try my sleep-compeller as freely as I tried yours. See, these will give -you one, if not all the three desired blessings,—quiet slumber, -delicious dreams, or utter oblivion for a time.” - -As he spoke, Helwyze had drawn out a little _bonbonnière_ of -tortoise-shell and silver, which he always carried, and shaken into his -palm half a dozen white comfits, which he offered to Gladys, with a -benign expression born of real sympathy and compassion. She hesitated; -and he added, in a tone of mild reproach, which smote her generous heart -with compunction,— - -“Since I may not even try to minister to your troubled mind, let me, at -least, give a little rest to your weary body. Trust me, child, these -cannot hurt you; and, strong as you are, you will break down if you do -not sleep.” - -Without a word, she took them; and, as they melted on her tongue, first -sweet, then bitter, she stood leaning against the rainy window-pane, -listening to Helwyze, who began to talk as if he too had tasted the -Indian drug, which “made the face of Coleridge shine, as he conversed -like one inspired.” - -It seemed a very simple, friendly act; but this man had learned to know -how subtly the mind works; to see how often an apparently impulsive -action is born of an almost unconscious thought, an unacknowledged -purpose, a deeply hidden motive, which to many seem rather the child -than the father of the deed. Helwyze did not deceive himself, and owned -that baffled desire prompted that unpremeditated offer, and was ready to -avail itself of any self-betrayal which might follow its acceptance, for -he had given Gladys hasheesh. - -It could not harm; it might soothe and comfort her unrest. It surely -would make her forget for a while, and in that temporary oblivion -perhaps he might discover what he burned to know. The very uncertainty -of its effect added to the daring of the deed; and, while he talked, he -waited to see how it would affect her, well knowing that in such a -temperament as hers all processes are rapid. For an hour he conversed so -delightfully of Rome and its wonders, that Gladys was amazed to find -Felix had come in, unheard for once. - -All through dinner she brightened steadily, thinking the happy mood was -brought by her prodigal’s return, quite forgetting Helwyze and his -bitter-sweet bonbons. - -“I shall stay at home, and enjoy the society of my pretty wife. What -have you done to make yourself so beautiful to-night? Is it the new -gown?” asked Canaris, surveying her with laughing but most genuine -surprise and satisfaction as they returned to the drawing-room again. - -“It is not new: I made it long ago, to please you, but you never noticed -it before,” answered Gladys, glancing at the pale-hued dress, all broad, -soft folds from waist to ankle, with its winter trimming of swan’s down -at the neck and wrists; simple, but most becoming to her flower-like -face and girlish figure. - -“What cruel blindness! But I see and admire it now, and honestly declare -that not Olivia in all her splendor is arrayed so much to my taste as -you, my Sancta Simplicitas.” - -“It is pleasant to hear you say so; but that alone does not make me -happy: it must be having you at home all to myself again,” she -whispered, with shining eyes, cheeks that glowed with a deeper rose each -hour, and an indescribably blest expression in a face which now was both -brilliant and dreamy. - -Helwyze heard what she said, and, fearing to lose sight of her, promptly -challenged Canaris to chess, a favorite pastime with them both. For an -hour they played, well matched and keenly interested, while Gladys sat -by, already tasting the restful peace, the delicious dreams, promised -her. - -The clock was on the stroke of eight, the game was nearly over, when a -quick ring arrested Helwyze in the act of making the final move. There -was a stir in the hall, then, bringing with her a waft of fresh, damp -air, Olivia appeared, brave in purple silk and Roman gold. - -“I thought you were all asleep or dead; but now I see the cause of this -awful silence,” she cried. “Don’t speak, don’t stir; let me enjoy the -fine tableau you make. Retsch’s ‘Game of Life,’ quite perfect, and most -effective.” - -It certainly was to an observer; for Canaris, flushed and eager, looked -the young man to the life; Helwyze, calm but intent, with his finger on -his lip, pondering that last fateful move, was an excellent Satan; and -behind them stood Gladys, wonderfully resembling the wistful angel, with -that new brightness on her face. - -“Which wins?” asked Olivia, rustling toward them, conscious of having -made an impressive entrance; for both men looked up to welcome her, -though Gladys never lifted her eyes from the mimic battle Felix seemed -about to lose. - -“I do, as usual,” answered Helwyze, turning to finish the game with the -careless ease of a victor. - -“Not this time;” and Gladys touched a piece which Canaris in the hurry -of the moment was about to overlook. He saw its value at a glance, made -the one move that could save him, and in an instant cried “Checkmate,” -with a laugh of triumph. - -“Not fair, the angel interfered,” said Olivia, shaking a warning finger -at Gladys, who echoed her husband’s laugh with one still more exultant, -as she put her hand upon his shoulder, saying, in a low, intense voice -never heard from her lips before,— - -“I have won him; he is mine, and cannot be taken from me any more.” - -“Dearest child, no one wants him, except to play with and admire,” began -Olivia, rather startled by the look and manner of the lately meek, mute -Gladys. - -Here Helwyze struck in, anxious to avert Olivia’s attention; for her -undesirable presence disconcerted him, since her woman’s wit might -discover what it was easy to conceal from Canaris. - -“You have come to entertain us, like the amiable enchantress that you -are?” he asked, suggestively; for nothing charmed Olivia more than -permission to amuse him, when others failed. - -“I have a thought,—a happy thought,—if Gladys will help me. You have -given me one living picture: I will give you others, and she shall sing -the scenes we illustrate.” - -“Take Felix, and give us ‘The God and the Bayadere,’” said Helwyze, -glancing at the young pair behind them, he intent upon their -conversation, she upon him. “No, I will have only Gladys. You will act -and sing for us, I know?” and Olivia turned to her with a most engaging -smile. - -“I never acted in my life, but I will try. I think I should like it for -I feel as if I could do any thing to-night;” and she came to them with a -swift step, an eager air, as if longing to find some outlet for the -strange energy which seemed to thrill every nerve and set her heart to -beating audibly. - -“You look so. Do you know all these songs?” asked Olivia, taking up the -book which had suggested her happy thought. - -“There are but four: I know them all. I will gladly sing them; for I set -them to music, if they had none of their own already. I often do that to -those Felix writes me.” - -“Come, then. I want the key of the great press, where you keep your -spoils, Jasper.” - -“Mrs. Bland will give it you. Order what you will, if you are going to -treat us to an Arabian Night’s entertainment.” - -“Better than that. We are going to teach a small poet, by illustrating -the work of a great one;” and, with a mischievous laugh, Olivia -vanished, beckoning Gladys to follow. - -The two men beguiled the time as best they might: Canaris playing softly -to himself in the music-room; Helwyze listening intently to the sounds -that came from behind the curtains, now dropped over a double door-way -leading to the lower end of the hall. Olivia’s imperious voice was -heard, directing men and maids. More than once an excited laugh from -Gladys jarred upon his ear; and, as minute after minute passed, his -impatience to see her again increased. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIII. - - -After what would have seemed a wonderfully short time to a more careless -waiter, three blows were struck, in the French fashion, and Canaris had -barely time to reach his place, when the deep blue curtains slid -noiselessly apart, showing the visible portion of the hall, arranged to -suggest a mediæval room. An easy task, when a suit of rusty armor -already stood there; and Helwyze had brought spoils from all quarters of -the globe, in the shape of old furniture, tapestry, weapons, and -trophies of many a wild hunt. - -“What is it?” whispered Canaris eagerly. - -“An Idyl of the King.” - -“I see: the first. How well they look it!” - -They did; Olivia, as - - “An ancient dame in dim brocade; - And near her, like a blossom, vermeil-white, - That lightly breaks a faded flower-sheath, - Stood the fair Enid, all in faded silk.” - -Gladys, clad in a quaint costume of tarnished gray and silver damask, -singing, in “the sweet voice of a bird,”— - - “Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel, and lower the proud; - Turn thy wild wheel through sunshine, storm, and cloud; - Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate. - - “Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel with smile and frown; - With that wild wheel we go not up nor down; - Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great. - - “Smile and we smile, the lords of many lands; - Frown and we smile, the lords of our own hands; - For man is man and master of his fate. - - “Turn, turn thy wheel above the staring crowd; - Thy wheel and thou art shadows in the cloud; - Thy wheel and thee we neither love nor hate.” - -There was something inexpressibly touching in the way Gladys gave the -words, which had such significance addressed to those who listened so -intently, that they nearly forgot to pay the tribute which all actors, -the greatest as the least, desire, when the curtain dropped, and the -song was done. - -“A capital idea of Olivia’s, and beautifully carried out. This promises -to be pleasant;” and Helwyze sat erect upon the divan, where Canaris -came to lounge beside him. - -“Which comes next? I don’t remember. If it is Vivien, they will have to -skip it, unless they call you in for Merlin,” he said, talking gayly, -because a little conscience-stricken by the look Gladys wore, as she -sung, with her eyes upon him,— - - “Our hoard is little, but our hearts are great.” - -“They will not want a Merlin; for Gladys could not act Vivien, if she -would,” answered Helwyze, tapping restlessly as he waited. - -“She said she could do ‘_any thing_’ to-night; and, upon my life, she -looked as if she might even beguile you ‘mighty master,’ of your -strongest spell.” - -“She will never try.” - -But both were mistaken; for, when they looked again, the dim light -showed a dark and hooded shape, with glittering eyes and the semblance -of a flowing, hoary beard, leaning half-hidden in a bower of tall shrubs -from the conservatory. It was Olivia, as Merlin; and, being of noble -proportions, she looked the part excellently. Upon the wizard’s knee sat -Vivien,— - - “A twist of gold was round her hair; - A robe of samite without price, that more exprest - Than hid her, clung about her lissome limbs, - In color like the satin-shining palm - On sallows in the windy gleams of March.” - -In any other mood, Gladys would never have consented to be loosely clad -in a great mantle of some Indian fabric, which shimmered like woven -light, with its alternate stripes of gold-covered silk and softest wool. -Shoulders and arms showed rosy white under the veil of hair which swept -to her knee, as she clung there, singing sweet and low, with eyes on -Merlin’s face, lips near his own, and head upon his breast:— - - “In Love, if Love be Love, if Love be ours, - Faith and unfaith can ne’er be equal powers; - Unfaith in aught is want of faith in all. - - “It is the little rift within the lute - That by and by will make the music mute, - And ever widening, slowly silence all. - - “The little rift within the lover’s lute, - Or little pitted speck in garner’d fruit, - That, rotting inward, slowly moulders all. - - “It is not worth the keeping: let it go: - But shall it? Answer, darling, answer ‘No;’ - And trust me not at all or all in all.” - -There Gladys seemed to forget her part, and, turning, stretched her arms -towards her husband, as if in music she had found a tongue to plead her -cause. The involuntary gesture recalled to her that other verse which -Vivien added to her song; and something impelled her to sing it, -standing erect, with face, figure, voice all trembling with the strong -emotion that suddenly controlled her:— - - “My name, once mine, now thine, is closelier mine, - For fame, could fame be mine, that fame were thine; - And shame, could shame be thine, that shame were mine; - So trust me not at all or all in all.” - -Down fell the curtain there, and the two men looked at one another in -silence for an instant, dazzled, troubled, and surprised; for in this -brilliant, impassioned creature they did not recognize the Gladys they -believed they knew so well. - -“What possessed her to sing that? She is so unlike herself, I do not -know her,” said Canaris, excited by the discoveries he was making. - -“She is inspired to-night; so be prepared for any thing. These women -will work wonders, they are acting to the men they love,” answered -Helwyze, warily, yet excited also; because, for him, a double drama was -passing on that little stage, and he found it marvellously fascinating. - -“I never knew how beautiful she was!” mused Canaris, half aloud, his -eyes upon the blue draperies which hid her from his sight. - -“You never saw her in such gear before. Splendor suits her present mood, -as well as simplicity becomes her usual self-restraint. You have made -her jealous, and your angel will prove herself a woman, after all.” - -“Is that the cause of this sudden change in her? Then I don’t regret -playing truant, for the woman suits me better than the angel,” cried -Canaris, conscious that the pale affection he had borne his wife so long -was already glowing with new warmth and color, in spite of his seeming -neglect. - -“Wait till you see Olivia as Guinevere. I know she cannot resist that -part, and I suspect she is willing to efface herself so far that she may -take us by storm by and by.” - -Helwyze prophesied truly; and, when next the curtains parted, the -stately Queen sat in the nunnery of Almesbury, with the little novice at -her feet. Olivia _was_ right splendid now, for her sumptuous beauty well -became the costly stuffs in which she had draped herself with the -graceful art of a woman whose physical loveliness was her best -possession. A trifle _too_ gorgeous, perhaps, for the repentant -Guinevere; but a most grand and gracious spectacle, nevertheless, as she -leaned in the tall carved chair, with jewelled arms lying languidly -across her lap, and absent eyes still full of love and longing for lost -Launcelot. - -Gladys, in white wimple and close-folded gown of gray, sat on a stool -beside the “one low light,” humming softly, her rosary fallen at her -feet,— - - “the Queen looked up, and said, - ‘O maiden, if indeed you list to sing - Sing, and unbind my heart, that I may weep.’ - Whereat full willingly sang the little maid, - - Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill! - Late, late, so late! but we can enter still. - Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now. - - No light had we: for that we do repent, - And, learning this, the bridegroom will relent. - Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now. - - No light, so late! and dark and chill the night! - O let us in, that we may find the light! - Too late! too late! ye cannot enter now. - - Have we not heard the bridegroom is so sweet? - O let us in, tho’ late, to kiss his feet! - No, no, too late! ye cannot enter now.” - -Slowly the proud head had drooped, the stately figure sunk, till, as the -last lament died away, nothing remained of splendid Guinevere but a -hidden face, a cloud of black hair from which the crown had fallen, a -heap of rich robes quivering with the stormy sobs of a guilty woman’s -smitten heart. The curtains closed on this tableau, which was made the -more effective by the strong contrast between the despairing Queen and -the little novice telling her beads in meek dismay. - -“Good heavens, that sounded like the wail of a lost soul! My blood runs -cold, and I feel as if I ought to say my prayers,” muttered Canaris, -with a shiver; for, with his susceptible temperament, music always -exerted over him an almost painful power. - -“If you knew any,” sneered Helwyze, whose eyes now glittered with -something stronger than excitement. - -“I do: Gladys taught me, and I am not ashamed to own it.” - -“Much good may it do you.” Then, in a quieter tone, he asked, “Is there -any song in ‘Elaine’? I forget; and that is the only one we have not -had.” - -“There is ‘The Song of Love and Death.’ Gladys was learning it lately; -and, if I remember rightly, it was heart-rending. I hope she will not -sing it, for this sort of thing is rather too much for me;” and Canaris -got up to wander aimlessly about, humming the gayest airs he knew, as if -to drown the sorrowful “Too late! too late!” still wailing in his ear. - -By this time Gladys was no longer quite herself: an inward excitement -possessed her, a wild desire to sing her very heart out came over her, -and a strange chill, which she thought a vague presentiment of coming -ill, crept through her blood. Every thing seemed vast and awful; every -sense grew painfully acute; and she walked as in a dream, so vivid, yet -so mysterious, that she did not try to explain it even to herself. Her -identity was doubled: one Gladys moved and spoke as she was told,—a -pale, dim figure, of no interest to any one; the other was alive in -every fibre, thrilled with intense desire for something, and bent on -finding it, though deserts, oceans, and boundless realms of air were -passed to gain it. - -Olivia wondered at her unsuspected power, and felt a little envious of -her enchanting gift. But she was too absorbed in “setting the stage,” -dressing her prima donna, and planning how to end the spectacle with her -favorite character of Cleopatra, to do more than observe that Gladys’s -eyes were luminous and large, her face growing more and more colorless, -her manner less and less excited, yet unnaturally calm. - -“This is the last, and you have the stage alone. Do your best for Felix; -then you shall rest and be thanked,” she whispered, somewhat anxiously, -as she placed Elaine in her tower, leaning against the dark screen, -which was unfolded, to suggest the casement she flung back when -Launcelot passed below,— - - “And glanced not up, nor waved his hand, - Nor bade farewell, but sadly rode away.” - -The “lily maid of Astolat” could not have looked more wan and weird than -Gladys, as she stood in her trailing robes of dead white, with loosely -gathered locks, hands clasped over the gay bit of tapestry which -simulated the cover of the shield, eyes that seemed to see something -invisible to those about her, and began her song, in a veiled voice, at -once so sad and solemn, that Helwyze held his breath, and Canaris felt -as if she called him from beyond the grave:— - - “Sweet is true love, tho’ given in vain, in vain; - And sweet is death, who puts an end to pain; - I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. - - Love, art thou sweet? then bitter death must be; - Love, thou art bitter; sweet is death to me. - O Love, if death be sweeter, let me die. - - Sweet love, that seems not made to fade away, - Sweet death, that seems to make us loveless clay, - I know not which is sweeter, no, not I. - - I fain would follow love, if that could be; - I needs must follow death, who calls for me: - Call and I follow, I follow! let me die!” - -Carried beyond self-control by the unsuspected presence of the drug, -which was doing its work with perilous rapidity, Gladys, remembering -only that the last line should be sung with force, and that she sung for -Felix, obeyed the wild impulse to let her voice rise and ring out with a -shrill, despairing power and passion, which startled every listener, and -echoed through the room, like Elaine’s unearthly cry of hapless love and -death. - -Olivia dropped her asp, terrified; the maids stared, uncertain whether -it was acting or insanity; and Helwyze sprung up aghast, fearing that he -had dared too much. But Canaris, seeing only the wild, woful eyes fixed -on his, the hands wrung as if in pain, forgot every thing but Gladys, -and rushed between the curtains, exclaiming in real terror,— - -“Don’t look so! don’t sing so! my God, she is dying!” - -Not dying, only slipping fast into the unconscious stage of the hasheesh -dream, whose coming none can foretell but those accustomed to its use. -Pale and quiet she lay in her husband’s arms, with half-open eyes and -fluttering breath, smiling up at him so strangely that he was bewildered -as well as panic-stricken. Olivia forgot her Cleopatra to order air and -water; the maids flew for salts and wine; Helwyze with difficulty hid -his momentary dismay; while Canaris, almost beside himself, could only -hang over the couch where lay “the lily-maid,” looking as if already -dead, and drifting down to Camelot. - -“Gladys, do you know me?” he cried, as a little color came to her lips -after the fiery draught Olivia energetically administered. - -The eyes opened wider, the smile grew brighter, and she lifted her hand -to bring him nearer, for he seemed immeasurably distant. - -“Felix! Let me be still, quite still; I want to sleep. Good-night, -good-night.” - -She thought she kissed him; then his face receded, vanished, and, as she -floated buoyantly away upon the first of the many oceans to be crossed -in her mysterious quest, a far-off voice seemed to say, solemnly, as if -in a last farewell,— - -“Hush! let her sleep in peace.” - -It was Helwyze; and, having felt her pulse, he assured them all that she -was only over-excited, must rest an hour or two, and would soon be quite -herself again. So the brief panic ended quietly; and, having lowered the -lights, spread Guinevere’s velvet mantle over her, and re-assured -themselves that she was sleeping calmly, the women went to restore order -to ante-room and hall, Canaris sat down to watch beside Gladys, and -Helwyze betook himself to the library. - -“Is she still sleeping?” he asked, with unconcealable anxiety, when -Olivia joined him there. - -“Like a baby. What a high-strung little thing it is. If she had strength -to bear the training, she would make a cantatrice to be proud of, -Jasper.” - -“Ah, but she never would! Fancy that modest creature on a stage for all -the world to gape at. She was happiest in the nun’s gown to-night, -though simply ravishing as Vivien. The pretty, bare feet were most -effective; but how did you persuade her to it?” - -“I had no sandals as a compromise: I therefore insisted that the part -_must_ be so dressed or undressed, and she submitted. People usually do, -when I command.” - -“She was on her mettle: I could see that; and well she might be, with -you for a rival. I give you my word, Olivia, if I did not know you were -nearly forty, I should swear it was a lie; for ‘age cannot wither nor -custom stale’ my handsome Cleopatra. We ought to have had that, by the -by: it used to be your best bit. I could not be your Antony, but Felix -might: he adores costuming, and would do it capitally.” - -“Not old enough. Ah! what happy times those were;” and Olivia sighed -sincerely, yet dramatically, for she knew she was looking wonderfully -well, thrown down upon a couch, with her purple skirts sweeping about -her, and two fine arms banded with gold clasped over her dark head. - -Helwyze had flattered with a purpose. Canaris was in the way, Gladys -might betray herself, and all was not safe yet; though in one respect -the experiment had succeeded admirably, for he still tingled with the -excitement of the evening. Now he wanted help, not sentiment, and, -ignoring the sigh, said, carelessly,— - -“If all obey when you insist, just make Felix go home with you. The -drive will do him good, for he is as nervous as a woman, and I shall -have him fidgeting about all night, unless he forgets his fright.” - -“But Gladys?” - -“She will be the better for a quiet nap, and ready, by the time he -returns, to laugh at her heroics. He will only disturb her if he sits -there, like a mourner at a death-bed.” - -“That sounds sensible and friendly, and you do it very well, Jasper; but -I am impressed that something is amiss. What is it? Better tell me; I -shall surely find it out, and will not work in the dark. I see mischief -in your eyes, and you cannot deceive me.” - -Olivia spoke half in jest; but she had so often seen his face without a -mask, that it was difficult to wear one in her presence. He frowned, -hesitated, then fearing she would refuse the favor if he withheld the -secret, he leaned towards her and answered in a whisper,— - -“I gave Gladys hasheesh, and do not care to have Felix know it.” - -“Jasper, how dared you?” - -“She was restless, suffering for sleep. I know what that is, and out of -pity gave her the merest taste. Upon my honor, no more than a child -might safely take. She did not know what it was, and I thought she would -only feel its soothing charm. She would, if it had not been for this -masquerading. I did not count on that, and it was too much for her.” - -“Will she not suffer from the after-effects?” - -“Not a whit, if she is let alone. An hour hence she will be deliciously -drowsy, and to-morrow none the worse. I had no idea it would affect her -so powerfully; but I do not regret it, for it showed what the woman is -capable of.” - -“At your old tricks. You will never learn to let your fellow-creatures -alone, till something terrible stops you. You were always prying into -things, even as a boy, when I caught butterflies for you to look at.” - -“I never killed them: only brushed off a trifle of the gloss by my -touch, and let them go again, none the worse, except for the loss of a -few invisible feathers.” - -“Ah! but that delicate plumage is the glory of the insect; robbed of -that, its beauty is marred. No one but their Maker can search hearts -without harming them. I wonder how it will fare with yours when He looks -for its perfection?” - -Olivia spoke with a sudden seriousness, a yearning look, which jarred on -nerves already somewhat unstrung, and Helwyze answered, in a mocking -tone that silenced her effectually,— - -“I am desperately curious to know. If I can come and tell you, I will: -such pious interest deserves that attention.” - -“Heaven forbid!” ejaculated Olivia, with a shiver. - -“Then I will _not_. I have been such a poor ghost here, I suspect I -shall be glad to rest eternally when I once fall asleep, if I can.” - -Weary was his voice, weary his attitude, as, leaning an elbow on either -knee, he propped his chin upon his hands, and sat brooding for a moment -with his eyes upon the ground, asking himself for the thousandth time -the great question which only hope and faith can answer truly. - -Olivia rose. “You are tired; so am I. Good-night, Jasper, and pleasant -dreams. But remember, no more tampering with Gladys, or I must tell her -husband.” - -“I have had my lesson. Take Felix with you, and I will send Mrs. Bland -to sit with her till he comes back. Good-night, my cousin; thanks for a -glimpse of the old times.” Such words, uttered with a pressure of the -hand, conquered Olivia’s last scruple, and she went away to prefer her -request in a form which made it impossible for Canaris to refuse. Gladys -still slept quietly. The distance was not long, the fresh air grateful, -Olivia her kindest self, and he obeyed, believing that the motherly old -woman would take his place as soon as certain housewifely duties -permitted. - -Then Helwyze did an evil thing,—a thing few men could or would have -done. He deliberately violated the sanctity of a human soul, robbing it -alike of its most secret and most precious thoughts. Hasheesh had lulled -the senses which guarded the treasure; now the magnetism of a potent -will forced the reluctant lips to give up the key. - -Like a thief he stole to Gladys’ side, took in his the dimpled hands -whose very childishness should have pleaded for her, and fixed his eyes -upon the face before him, untouched by its helpless innocence, its -unnatural expression. The half-open eyes were heavy as dew-drunken -violets, the sweet red mouth was set, the agitated bosom still rose and -fell, like a troubled sea subsiding after storm. - -So sitting, stern and silent as the fate he believed in, Helwyze -concentrated every power upon the accomplishment of the purpose to which -he bent his will. He called it psychological curiosity; for not even to -himself did he dare confess the true meaning of the impulse which drove -him to this act, and dearly did he pay for it. - -Soon the passive palms thrilled in his own, the breath came faint and -slow, color died, and life seemed to recede from the countenance, -leaving a pale effigy of the woman; lately so full of vitality. “It -works! it works!” muttered Helwyze, lifting his head at length to wipe -the dampness from his brow, and send a piercing glance about the shadowy -room. Then, kneeling down beside the couch, he put his lips to her ear, -whispering in a tone of still command,— - -“Gladys, do you hear me?” - -Like the echo of a voice, so low, expressionless, and distant was it, -the answer came,— - -“I hear.” - -“Will you answer me?” - -“I must.” - -“You have a sorrow,—tell it.” - -“All is so false. I am unhappy without confidence,” sighed the voice. - -“Can you trust no one?” - -“No one here, but Felix.” - -“Yet he deceives, he does not love you.” - -“He will.” - -“Is this the hope which sustains you?” - -“Yes.” - -“And you forgive, you love him still?” - -“Always.” - -“If the hope fails?” - -“It will not: I shall have help.” - -“What help?” - -No answer now, but the shadow of a smile seemed to float across the -silent lips as if reflected from a joy too deep and tender for speech to -tell. - -“Speak! what is this happiness? The hope of freedom?” - -“It will come.” - -“How?” - -“When you die.” - -He caught his breath, and for an instant seemed daunted by the truth he -had evoked; for it was terrible, so told, so heard. - -“You hate me, then?” he whispered, almost fiercely, in the ear that -never shrank from his hot lips. - -“I doubt and dread you.” - -“Why, Gladys, why? To you I am not cruel.” - -“Too kind, alas, too kind!” - -“And yet you fear me?” - -“God help us. Yes.” - -“What is your fear?” - -“No, no, I will _not_ tell it!” - -Some inward throe of shame or anguish turned the pale face paler, -knotted the brow, and locked the lips, as if both soul and body revolted -from the thought thus ruthlessly dragged to light. Instinct, the first, -last, strongest impulse of human nature, struggled blindly to save the -woman from betraying the dread which haunted her heart like a spectre, -and burned her lips in the utterance of its name. But Helwyze was -pitiless, his will indomitable; his eye held, his hand controlled, his -voice commanded; and the answer came, so reluctantly, so inaudibly, that -he seemed to divine, not hear it. - -“What fear?” - -“Your love.” - -“You see, you know it, then?” - -“I do not see, I vaguely feel; I pray God I may never know.” - -With the involuntary recoil of a guilty joy, a shame as great, Helwyze -dropped the nerveless hands, turned from the mutely accusing face, let -the troubled spirit rest, and asked no more. But his punishment began as -he stood there, finding the stolen truth a heavier burden than baffled -doubt or desire had been; since forbidden knowledge was bitter to the -taste, forbidden love possessed no sweetness, and the hidden hope, -putting off its well-worn disguise, confronted him in all its ugliness. - -An awesome silence filled the room, until he lifted up his eyes, and -looked at Gladys with a look which would have wrung her heart could she -have seen it. She did not see; for she lay there so still, so white, so -dead, he seemed to have scared away the soul he had vexed with his -impious questioning. - -In remorseful haste, Helwyze busied himself about her, till she woke -from that sleep within a sleep, moaned wearily, closed the unseeing -eyes, and drifted away into more natural slumber, dream-haunted, but -deep and quiet. - -Then he stole away as he had come, and, sending the old woman to watch -Gladys, shut himself into his own room, to keep a vigil which lasted -until dawn; for all the poppies of the East could not have brought -oblivion that night. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XIV. - - -It seemed as if some angel had Gladys in especial charge, bringing light -out of darkness, joy out of sorrow, good out of evil; for no harm came -to her,—only a great peace, which transfigured her face till it was as -spiritually beautiful, as that of some young Madonna. - -Waking late the next day she remembered little of the past night’s -events, and cared to remember little, having clearer and calmer thoughts -to dwell upon, happier dreams to enjoy. - -She suspected Helwyze of imprudent kindness, but uttered no reproach, -quite unconscious of how much she had to forgive; thereby innocently -adding to both the relief and the remorse he felt. The doubt and dread -which had risen to the surface at his command, seemed to sink again into -the depths; and hope and love, to still the troubled waters where her -life-boat rode at anchor for a time. - -Canaris, as if tired of playing truant, was ready now to be forgiven; -more conscious than ever before that this young wife was a possession to -be proud of, since, when she chose, she could eclipse even Olivia. The -jealousy which could so inspire her flattered his man’s vanity, and made -her love more precious; for not yet had he learned all its depth, nor -how to be worthy of it. The reverence he had always felt increased -fourfold, but the affection began to burn with a stronger flame; and -Canaris, for the first time, tasted the pure happiness of loving another -better than himself. Glad to feel, yet ashamed to own, a sentiment whose -sincerity made it very sweet, he kept it to himself, and showed no sign, -except a new and most becoming humility of manner when with Gladys, as -if silently asking pardon for many shortcomings. With Helwyze he was -cold and distant, evidently dreading to have him discover the change he -had foretold, and feeling as if his knowledge of it would profane the -first really sacred emotion the young man had known since his mother -died. - -Anxious for some screen behind which to hide the novel, yet most -pleasurable, sensations which beset him, he found Olivia a useful -friend, and still kept up some semblance of the admiration, out of which -all dangerous ardor was fast fading. She saw this at once, and did not -regret it: for she had a generous nature, which an all-absorbing and -unhappy passion had not entirely spoiled. - -Obedience to Helwyze was her delight; but, knowing him better than any -other human being could, she was troubled by his increasing interest in -Gladys, more especially since discovering that the girl possessed the -originality, fire, and energy which were more attractive to him than her -youth, gentleness, or grace. Jealousy was stronger than the desire to -obey; and, calling it compassion, Olivia resolved to be magnanimous, and -spare Gladys further pain, letting Canaris return to his allegiance, as -he seemed inclined to do, unhindered by any act of hers. - -“The poor child is so young, so utterly unable to cope with me, it is -doubly cruel to torment her, just to gratify a whim of Jasper’s. Better -make my peace handsomely, and be her friend, than rob her of the only -treasure she possesses, since I do not covet it,” she thought, driving -through the May-day sunshine, to carry Jasper the earliest sprays of -white and rosy hawthorn from the villa garden, whither she had been to -set all in order for the summer. - -Helwyze was not yet visible; and, full of her new design, Olivia -hastened up to find Gladys, meaning by some friendly word, some -unmistakable but most delicate hint, to reassure her regarding the -errant young husband, whom she had not yet learned to hold. - -There was no answer to her hasty tap, and Olivia went in to seek yet -further. Half-way across the larger apartment she paused abruptly, and -stood looking straight before her, with a face which passed rapidly from -its first expression of good-will to one of surprise, then softened, -till tears stood in the brilliant eyes, and some sudden memory or -thought made that usually proud countenance both sad and tender. - -Gladys sat alone in her little room, her work lying on her knee, her -arms folded, her head bent, singing to herself as she rocked to and fro, -lost in some reverie that made her lips smile faintly, and her voice -very low. She often sat so now, but Olivia had never seen her thus; and, -seeing, divined at once the hope which lifted her above all sorrow, the -help sent by Heaven, when most she needed it. For the song Gladys sang -was a lullaby, the look she wore was that which comes to a woman’s face -when she rocks her first-born on her knee, and above her head was a new -picture, an angel, with the Lily of Annunciation in its hand. - -The one precious memory of Olivia’s stormy life was the little daughter, -who for a sweet, short year was all in all to her, and whose small grave -was yearly covered with the first spring flowers. Fresh from this secret -pilgrimage, the woman’s nature was at its noblest now; and seeing that -other woman, so young, so lonely, yet so blest, her heart yearned over -her,— - - “All her worser self slipped from her - Like a robe,”— - -and, hurrying in, she said, impulsively,— - -“O child, I wish you had a mother!” - -Gladys looked up, unstartled from the calm in which she dwelt. Olivia’s -face explained her words, and she answered them with the only reproach -much pain had wrung from her,— - -“_You_ might have been one to me.” - -“It is not too late! What shall I do to prove my sincerity?” cried -Olivia, stricken with remorse. - -“Help me to give my little child an honest father.” - -“I will! show me how.” - -Then these two women spent a memorable hour together; for the new tie of -motherhood bridged across all differences of age and character, made -confession easy, confidence sweet, friendship possible. Yet, after all, -Gladys was the comforter, Olivia the one who poured out her heart, and -found relief in telling the sorrows that had been, the temptations that -still beset her, the good that yet remained to answer, when the right -chord was touched. She longed to give as much as she received; but when -she had owned, with a new sense of shame, that she was merely playing -with Canaris for her own amusement (being true to Helwyze even in her -falsehood), there seemed no more for her to do, since Gladys asked but -one other question, and that she could not answer. - -“If he does not love you, and, perhaps, it is as you say,—only a poet’s -admiration for beauty,—what _is_ the trouble that keeps us apart? At -first I was too blindly happy to perceive it; now tears have cleared my -eyes, and I see that he hides something from me,—something which he -longs, yet dares not tell.” - -“I know: I saw it long ago; but Jasper alone can tell that secret. He -holds Felix by it, and I fear the knowledge would be worse than the -suspicion. Let it be: time sets all things right, and it is ill -thwarting my poor cousin. I have a charming plan for you and Felix; and, -when you have him to yourself, you may be able to win his confidence, -as, I am sure, you have already won his heart.” - -Then Olivia told her plan, which was both generous and politic; since it -made Gladys truly happy, proved her own sincerity, secured her own peace -and that of the men whose lives seemed to become more and more -inextricably tangled together. - -“Now I shall go to Jasper, and conquer all his opposition; for I know I -am right. Dear little creature, what is it about you that makes one feel -both humble and strong when one is near you?” asked Olivia, looking down -at Gladys with a hand on either shoulder, and genuine wonder in the eyes -still soft with unwonted tears. - -“God made me truthful, and I try to keep so; that is all,” she answered, -simply. - -“That is enough. Kiss me, Gladys, and make me better. I am not good -enough to be the mother that I might have been to you; but I _am_ a -friend; believe that, and trust me, if you can?” - -“I do;” and Gladys sealed her confidence with both lips and hand. - -“Jasper, I have invited those children to spend the summer at the villa, -since you have decided for the sea. Gladys is mortally tired of this -hot-house life, so is Felix: give them a long holiday, or they will run -away together. Mrs. Bland and I will take care of you till they come -back.” - -Olivia walked in upon Helwyze with this abrupt announcement, well -knowing that persuasion would be useless, and vigorous measures surest -to win the day. Artful as well as courageous in her assault, she -answered in that one speech several objections against her plan, and -suggested several strong reasons for it, sure that he would yield the -first, and own the latter. - -He did, with unexpected readiness; for a motive which she could not -fathom prompted his seemingly careless acquiescence. He had no thought -of relinquishing his hold on Canaris, since through him alone he held -Gladys; but he often longed to escape from both for a time, that he -might study and adjust the new power which had come into his life, -unbidden, undesired. Surprise and disappointment were almost -instantaneously followed by a sense of relief when Olivia spoke; for he -saw at once that this project was a wiser one than she knew. - -Before her rapid sentences were ended, the thought had come and gone, -the decision was made, and he could answer, in a tone of indifference -which both pleased and perplexed her,— - -“Amiable woman, with what helpful aspirations are you blest. Seeing your -failure with Felix, I have been wondering how I should get rid of him -till he recovers from this comically tardy passion for his wife. They -can have another and a longer honeymoon up at the villa, if they like: -the other was far from romantic, I suspect. Well, why that sphinx-like -expression, if you please?” he added, as Olivia stood regarding him from -behind the fading hawthorn which she forgot to offer. - -“I was wondering if I should ever understand you, Jasper.” - -“Doubtful, since I shall never understand myself.” - -“You ought, if any man; for you spend your life in studying yourself.” - -“And the more I study, the less I know. It is very like a child with a -toy ark: I never know what animal may appear first. I put in my hand for -a dove, and I get a serpent; I open the door for the sagacious elephant, -and out rushes a tiger; I think I have found a favorite dog, and it is a -wolf, looking ready to devour me. An unsatisfactory toy, better put it -away and choose another.” - -Helwyze spoke in the half-jesting, half-serious way habitual to him; but -though his mouth smiled, his eyes were gloomy, and Olivia hastened to -turn his thoughts from a subject in which he took a morbid interest. - -“Fanciful, but true. Now, follow your own excellent advice, and find -wholesome amusement in helping me pack off the young people, and then -ourselves. It is not too early for them to go at once. Canaris can come -in and out as you want him for a month longer, then I will have all -things ready for you in the old cottage by the sea. You used to be happy -there: can you not be so again?” - -“If you can give me back my twenty years. May-day is over for both of -us; why try to make the dead hawthorn bloom again? Carry out your plan, -and let the children be happy.” - -They _were_ very happy; for the prospect of entire freedom was so -delicious, that Gladys had some difficulty in concealing her delight, -while Canaris openly rejoiced when told of Olivia’s offer. All -dinner-time he was talking of it; and afterward, under pretence of -showing her a new plant, he took his wife into the conservatory, that he -might continue planning how they should spend this unexpected holiday. - -Helwyze saw them wandering arm in arm; Canaris talking rapidly, and -Gladys listening, with happy laughter, to his whimsical suggestions and -projects. Their content displeased the looker-on; but there was -something so attractive in the flower-framed picture of beauty, youth, -and joy, that he could not turn his eyes away, although the sight -aroused strangely conflicting thoughts within him. - -He wished them gone, yet dreaded to lose the charm of his confined life, -feeling that absence would inevitably become estrangement. Canaris never -would be entirely his again; for he was slowly climbing upward into a -region where false ambition could not blind, mere pleasure satisfy, nor -license take the place of liberty. He had not planned to ruin the youth, -but simply to let “the world, the flesh, and the devil” contend against -such virtues as they found, while he sat by and watched the struggle. - -As Olivia predicted, however, power was a dangerous gift to such a man; -and, having come to feel that Canaris belonged to him, body and soul, he -was ill-pleased at losing him just when a new interest was added to -their lives. - -Yet losing him he assuredly was; and something like wonder mingled with -his chagrin, for this girl, whom he had expected to mould to his will, -exerted over him, as well as Canaris, a soft control which he could -neither comprehend nor conquer. Its charm was its unconsciousness, its -power was its truth; for it won gently and held firmly the regard it -sought. She certainly did possess the gift of surprises; for, although -brought there as a plaything, “little Gladys,” without apparent effort, -had subjugated haughty Olivia, wayward Felix, ruthless Helwyze; and none -rebelled against her. She ruled them by the irresistible influence of a -lovely womanhood, which made her daily life a sweeter poem than any they -could write. - -“Why did I not keep her for myself? If she can do so much for him, what -might she not have done for me, had I been wise enough to wait,” thought -Helwyze, watching the bright-haired figure that stood looking up to the -green roof whence Canaris was gathering passion-flowers. - -As if some consciousness of his longing reached her, Gladys turned to -look into the softly lighted room beyond, and, seeing its master sit -there solitary in the midst of its splendor, she obeyed the -compassionate impulse which was continually struggling against doubt and -dislike. - -“It must seem very selfish and ungrateful in us to be so glad. Come, -Felix, and amuse him as well as me,” she said, in a tone meant for his -ear alone. But Helwyze heard both question and answer. - -“I have been court-fool long enough. ’Tis a thankless office, and I am -tired of it,” replied Canaris, in the tone of a prisoner asked to go -back when the door of his cell stands open. - -“_I_ must go, for there is Jean with coffee. Follow, like a good boy, -when you have put your posy into a song, which I will set to music by -and by, as your reward,” said Gladys, turning reluctantly away. - -“You make goodness so beautiful, that it is easy to obey. There is my -posy set to music at once, for you are a song without words, _cariña_;” -and Canaris threw the vine about her neck, with a look and a laugh which -made it hard for her to go. - -Jean not only brought coffee, but the card of a friend for Felix, who -went away, promising to return. Gladys carefully prepared the black and -fragrant draught which Helwyze loved, and presented it, with a sweet -friendliness of mien which would have made hemlock palatable, he -thought. - -“Shall I sing to you till Felix comes to give you something better?” she -asked, offering her best, as if anxious to atone for the sin of being -happy at the cost of pain to another. - -“Talk a little first. There will be time for both before he remembers us -again,” answered Helwyze, motioning her to a seat beside him, with the -half-imperative, half-courteous, look and gesture habitual to him. - -“He will not forget: Felix always keeps his promises to me,” said -Gladys, with an air of gentle pride, taking her place, not beside, but -opposite, Helwyze, on the couch where Elaine had laid not long ago. - -This involuntary act of hers gave a tone to the conversation which -followed; for Helwyze, being inwardly perturbed, was seized with a -desire to hover about dangerous topics: and, seeing her sit there, so -near and yet so far, so willing to serve, yet so completely mistress of -herself, longed to ruffle that composure, if only to make her share the -disquiet of which she was the cause. - -“Always?” he said, lifting his brows with an incredulous expression, as -he replied to her assertion. - -“I seldom ask any promise of him, but when I do, he always keeps it. You -doubt that?” - -“I do.” - -“When you know him as well as I, you will believe it.” - -“I flatter myself that I know him better; and, judging from the past, -should call him both fickle and, in some things, false, even to you.” - -Up sprung the color to Gladys’s cheek, and her eyes shone with sudden -fire, but her voice was low and quiet, as she answered quickly,— - -“One is apt to look for what one wishes to find: _I_ seek fidelity and -truth, and I shall not be disappointed. Felix may wander, but he will -come back to me: I have learned how to hold him _now_.” - -“Then you are wiser than I. Pray impart the secret;” and, putting down -his cup, Helwyze regarded her intently, for he saw that the spirit of -the woman was roused to defend her wifely rights. - -“Nay, I owe it to you; and, since it has prevailed against your -enchantress, I should thank you for it.” - -The delicate emphasis on the words, “your enchantress,” enlightened him -to the fact that Gladys divined, in part at least, the cause of Olivia’s -return. He did not deny, but simply answered, with a curious contrast -between the carelessness of the first half of his reply, with the vivid -interest of the latter,— - -“Olivia has atoned for her sins handsomely. But what do you owe _me_? I -have taught you nothing. I dare not try.” - -“I did not know my own power till you showed it to me; unintentionally, -I believe, and unconsciously, I used it to such purpose that Felix felt -pride in the wife whom he had thought a child before. I mean the night I -sang and acted yonder, and did both well, thanks to you.” - -“I comprehend, and hope to be forgiven, since I gave you help or -pleasure,” he answered, with no sign of either confusion or regret, -though the thought shot through his mind, “Can she remember what came -after?” - -“Questionable help, and painful pleasure, yet it was a memorable hour -and a useful one; so I pardon you, since after the troubled delusion -comes a happy reality.” - -There was a double meaning in her words, and a double reproach in the -glance which went from the spot where she had played her part, to the -garland still about her neck. - -“Your yoke is a light one, and you wear it gracefully. Long may it be -so.” - -Helwyze thought to slip away thus from the subject; for those accusing -eyes were hard to meet. But Gladys seemed moved to speak with more than -her usual candor, as if anxious to leave no doubts behind her; and, -sitting in the self-same place, uttered words which moved him even more -than those which she had whispered in her tormented sleep. - -“No, my yoke is not light;” she said, in that grave, sweet voice of -hers, looking down at the mystic purple blossom on her breast, with the -symbols of a divine passion at its heart. “I put it on too ignorantly, -too confidingly, and at times the duties, the responsibilities, which I -assumed with it weigh heavily. I am just learning how beautiful they -are, how sacred they should be, and trying to prove worthy of them. I -know that Felix did not love as I loved, when he married me,—from pity, -I believe. No one told me this: I felt, I guessed it, and would have -given him back his liberty, if, after patient trial, I had found that I -could not make him happy.” - -“Can you?” - -“Yes, thank God! not only happy, but good; and henceforth duty is -delight, for I can teach him to love as I love, and he is glad to learn -of me.” - -Months before, when the girl Gladys had betrayed her maiden tenderness, -she had glowed like the dawn, and found no language but her blushes; now -the woman sat there steadfast and passion-pale, owning her love with the -eloquence of fervent speech; both pleading and commanding, in the name -of wifehood and motherhood, for the right to claim the man she had won -at such cost. - -“And if you fail?” - -“I shall not fail, unless you come between us. I have won Olivia’s -promise not to tempt Felix’s errant fancy with her beauty. Can I not win -yours to abstain from troubling his soul with still more harmful trials? -It is to ask this that I speak now, and I believe I shall not speak in -vain.” - -“Why?” - -Helwyze bent and looked into her face as he uttered that one word below -his breath. He dared do no more; for there was that about her, -perilously frank and lovely though she was, which held in check his -lawless spirit, and made it reverence, even while it rebelled against -her power over him. - -She neither shrank nor turned aside, but studied earnestly that unmoved -countenance which hid a world of wild emotion so successfully, that even -her eyes saw no token of it, except the deepening line between the -brows. - -“Because I am bold enough to think I know you better even than Olivia -does; that you are not cold and cruel, and, having given me the right to -live for Felix, you will not disturb our peace; that, if I look into -your soul, as I looked into my husband’s, I shall find there what I -seek,—justice as well as generosity.” - -“You shall!” - -“I knew you would not disappoint me. For this promise I am more grateful -than words can express, since it takes away all fear for Felix, and -shows me that I was right in appealing to the heart which you try to -kill. Ah! be your best self always, and so make life a blessing, not the -curse you often call it,” she added, giving him a smile like sunshine, a -cordial glance which was more than he could bear. - -“With you I am. Stay, and show me how to do it,” he began, stretching -both hands towards her with an almost desperate urgency in voice and -gesture. - -But Gladys neither saw nor heard; for at that moment Felix came through -the hall singing one of the few perfect love songs in the world,— - - “Che farò senza Eurydice.” - -“See, he does keep his promise to me: I knew he would come back!” she -cried delightedly, and hurried to meet him, leaving Helwyze nothing but -the passion-flowers to fill his empty hands. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XV. - - -“Back again, earlier than before. But not to stay long, thank Heaven! By -another month we will be truly at home, my Gladys,” whispered Canaris, -as they went up the steps, in the mellow September sunshine. - -“I hope so!” she answered, fervently, and paused an instant before -entering the door; for, coming from the light and warmth without, it -seemed as dark and chilly as the entrance to a tomb. - -“You are tired, love? Come and rest before you see a soul.” - -With a new sort of tenderness, Canaris led her up to her own little -bower, and lingered there to arrange the basket of fresh recruits she -had brought for her winter garden: while Gladys lay contentedly on the -couch where he placed her, looking about the room as if greeting old -friends; but her eyes always came back to him, full of a reposeful -happiness which proved that all was well with her. - -“There! now the little fellows sit right comfortably in the moss, and -will soon feel at home. I’ll go find Mother Bland, and see what his -Serene Highness is about,” said the young man, rising from his work, -warm and gay, but in no haste to go, as he had been before. - -Gladys remembered that; and when, at last, he left her, she shut her -eyes to re-live, in thought, the three blissful months she had spent in -teaching him to love her with the love in which self bears no part. -Before the happy reverie was half over, the old lady arrived; and, by -the time the young one was ready, Canaris came to fetch her. - -“My dearest, I am afraid we must give up our plan,” he said, softly, as -he led her away: “Helwyze is so changed, I come to tell you, lest it -should shock you when you see him. I think it would be cruel to go at -once. Can you wait a little longer?” - -“If we ought. How is he changed?” - -“Just worn away, as a rock is by the beating of the sea, till there -seems little left of him except the big eyes and greater sharpness of -both tongue and temper. Say nothing about it, and seem not to notice it; -else he will freeze you with a look, as he did me when I exclaimed.” - -“Poor man! we will be very patient, very kind; for it must be awful to -think of dying with no light beyond,” sighed Gladys, touching the cross -at her white throat. - -“A Dante without a Beatrice: I am happier than he;” and Canaris laid his -cheek against hers with the gesture of a boy, the look of a man who has -found the solace which is also his salvation. - -Helwyze received them quietly, a little coldly, even; and Gladys -reproached herself with too long neglect of what she had assumed as a -duty, when she saw how ill he looked, for _his_ summer had not been a -blissful one. He had spent it in wishing for her, and in persuading -himself that the desire was permissible, since he asked nothing but what -she had already given him,—her presence and her friendship. It was her -intellect he loved and wanted, not her heart; that she might give her -husband wholly, since he understood and cared for affection only: her -mind, with all its lovely possibilities, Helwyze coveted, and reasoned -himself into the belief that he had a right to enjoy it, conscious all -the while that his purpose was a delusion and a snare. Olivia had -mourned over the moody taciturnity which made a lonely cranny of the -cliffs his favorite resort, where he sat, day after day, watching, with -an irresistible fascination, the ever-changing sea,—beautiful and bitter -as the hidden tide of thought and feeling in his own breast, where lay -the image of Gladys, as placid, yet as powerful, as the moon which ruled -the ebb and flow of that vaster ocean. Being a fatalist for want of a -higher faith, he left all to chance, and came home simply resolved to -enjoy what was left him as long and as unobtrusively as possible; since -Felix owed him much, and Gladys need never know what she had prayed -_not_ to know. - -Sitting at the table, as they sat almost a year ago, he watched the two -young faces as he had done then, finding each, unlike his own, changed -for the better. Gladys was a girl no longer; and the new womanliness -which had come to her was of the highest type, for inward beauty lent -its imperishable loveliness to features faulty in themselves, and -character gave its indescribable charm to the simplest manners. Helwyze -saw all this; and perceiving also how much heart had already quickened -intellect, began to long for both, and to grudge his pupil to her new -master. - -Canaris seemed to have lost something of his boyish comeliness, and had -taken on a manlier air of strength and stability, most becoming, and -evidently a source of pardonable pride to him. At his age even three -months could work a serious alteration in one so easily affected by all -influences; and Helwyze felt a pang of envy as he saw the broad -shoulders and vigorous limbs, the wholesome color in the cheeks, and -best of all, the serene content of a happy heart. - -“What have you been doing to yourself, Felix? Have you discovered the -Elixir of Life up there? If so, impart the secret, and let me have a -sip,” he said, as Canaris pushed away his plate after satisfying a -hearty appetite with the relish of a rustic. - -“Gladys did,” he answered, with a nod across the table, which said much. -“She would not let me idle about while waiting for ideas: she just set -me to work. I dug acres, it seemed to me, and amazed the gardener with -my exploits. Liked it, too; for she was overseer, and would not let me -off till I had done my task and earned my wages. A wonderfully pleasant -life, and I am the better for it, in spite of my sunburn and blisters;” -and Canaris stretched out a pair of sinewy brown hands with an air of -satisfaction which made Gladys laugh so blithely it was evident that -their summer had been full of the innocent jollity of youth, fine -weather, and congenial pastime. - -“Adam and Eve in Eden, with all the modern improvements. Not even a tree -of knowledge or a serpent to disturb you!” - -“Oh, yes, we had them both; but we only ate the good fruit, and the -snake did not tempt me!” cried Gladys, anxious to defend her Paradise -even from playful mockery. - -“He did me. I longed to kill him, but my Eve owed him no grudge, and -would not permit me to do it; so the old enemy sunned himself in peace, -and went into winter quarters a reformed reptile, I am sure.” - -Canaris did not look up as he spoke, but Helwyze asked hastily,— - -“I hope you harvested a few fresh ideas for winter work? We ought to -have something to show after so laborious a summer.” - -“I have: I am going to write a novel or a play. I cannot decide which; -but rather lean toward the latter, and, being particularly happy, feel -inclined to write a tragedy;” and something beside the daring of an -ambitious author sparkled in the eyes Canaris fixed upon his patron. It -looked too much like the expression of a bondman about to become a -freeman to suit Helwyze; but he replied, as imperturbably as ever,— - -“Try the tragedy, by all means: the novel would be beyond you.” - -“Why, if you please?” demanded Canaris, loftily. - -“Because you have neither patience nor experience enough to do it well. -Goethe says: ‘In the novel it is _sentiments_ and _events_ that are -exhibited; in the drama it is _characters_ and _deeds_. The novel goes -slowly forward, the drama must hasten. In the novel, some degree of -scope may be allowed to chance; but it must be led and guided by the -sentiments of the personages. Fate, on the other hand, which, by means -of outward, unconnected circumstances, carries forward men, without -their own concurrence, to an unforeseen catastrophe, can only have place -in the drama. Chance may produce pathetic situations, but not tragic -ones.’” - -Helwyze paused there abruptly; for the memory which served him so well -outran his tongue, and recalled the closing sentence of the -quotation,—words which he had no mind to utter then and there,—“Fate -ought always to be terrible; and it is in the highest sense tragic, when -it brings into a ruinous concatenation the guilty man and the guiltless -with him.” - -“Then you think I _could_ write a play?” asked Canaris, with affected -carelessness. - -“I think you could act one, better than imagine or write it.” - -“What, I?” - -“Yes, you; because you are dramatic by nature, and it is easier for you -to express yourself in gesture and tone, than by written or spoken -language. You were born for an actor, are fitted for it in every way, -and I advise you to try it. It would pay better than poetry; and that -stream _may_ run dry.” - -Gladys looked indignant at what she thought bad advice and distasteful -pleasantry; but Canaris seemed struck and charmed with the new idea, -protesting that he would first write, then act, his play, and prove -himself a universal genius. - -No more was said just then; but long afterward the conversation came -back to him like an inspiration, and was the seed of a purpose which, -through patient effort, bore fruit in a brilliant and successful career: -for Canaris, like many another man, did not know his own strength or -weakness yet, neither the true gift nor the power of evil which lay -unsuspected within him. - -So the old life began again, at least in outward seeming; but it was -impossible for it to last long. The air was too full of the electricity -of suppressed and conflicting emotions to be wholesome; former relations -could not be resumed, because sincerity had gone out of them; and the -quiet, which reigned for a time, was only the lull before the storm. - -Gladys soon felt this, but tried to think it was owing to the contrast -between the free, happy days she had enjoyed so much, and uttered no -complaint; for Felix was busy with his play, sanguine as ever, inspired -now by a nobler ambition than before, and happy in his work. - -Helwyze had flattered himself that he could be content with the harmless -shadow, since he could not possess the sweet substance of a love whose -seeming purity was its most delusive danger. But he soon discovered “how -bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man’s eyes;” -and, even while he made no effort to rob Canaris of his treasure, he -hated him for possessing it, finding the hatred all the more poignant, -because it was his own hand which had forced Felix to seize and secure -it. He had thought to hold and hide this new secret; but it held him, -and would not be hidden, for it was stronger than even his strong will, -and ruled him with a power which at times filled him with a sort of -terror. Having allowed it to grow, and taken it to his bosom, he could -not cast it out again, and it became a torment, not the comfort he had -hoped to find it. His daily affliction was to see how much the young -pair were to each other, to read in their faces a hundred happy hopes -and confidences in which he had no part, and to remember the confession -wrung from the lips dearest to him, that his death would bring to them -their much-desired freedom. - -At times he was minded to say “Go,” but the thought of the utter blank -her absence would leave behind daunted him. Often an almost -uncontrollable desire to tell her that which would mar her trust in her -husband tempted him; for, having yielded to a greater temptation, all -lesser ones seemed innocent beside it; and, worse than all, the old -morbid longing for some excitement, painful even, if it could not be -pleasurable, goaded him to the utterance of half truths, which irritated -Canaris and perplexed Gladys, till she could no longer doubt the cause -of this strange mood. It seemed as if her innocent hand gave the touch -which set the avalanche slipping swiftly but silently to its destructive -fall. - -One day when Helwyze was pacing to and fro in the library, driven by the -inward storm which no outward sign betrayed, except his excessive pallor -and unusual restlessness, she looked up from her book, asking -compassionately,— - -“Are you suffering, sir?” - -“Torment.” - -“Can I do nothing?” - -“Nothing!” - -She went on reading, as if glad to be left in peace; for distrust, as -well as pity, looked out from her frank eyes, and there was no longer -any pleasure in the duties she performed for Canaris’s sake. - -But Helwyze, jealous even of the book which seemed to absorb her, soon -paused again, to ask, in a calmer tone,— - -“What interests you?” - -“‘The Scarlet Letter.’” - -The hands loosely clasped behind him were locked more closely by an -involuntary gesture, as if the words made him wince; otherwise unmoved, -he asked again, with the curiosity he often showed about her opinions of -all she read,— - -“What do you think of Hester?” - -“I admire her courage; for she repented, and did not hide her sin with a -lie.” - -“Then you must despise Dimmesdale?” - -“I ought, perhaps; but I cannot help pitying his weakness, while I -detest his deceit: he loved so much.” - -“So did Roger;” and Helwyze drew nearer, with the peculiar flicker in -his eyes, as of a light kindled suddenly behind a carefully drawn -curtain. - -“At first; then his love turned to hate, and he committed the -unpardonable sin,” answered Gladys, much moved by that weird and -wonderful picture of guilt and its atonement. - -“The unpardonable sin!” echoed Helwyze, struck by her words and manner. - -“Hawthorne somewhere describes it as ‘the want of love and reverence for -the human soul, which makes a man pry into its mysterious depths, not -with a hope or purpose of making it better, but from a cold, -philosophical curiosity. This would be the separation of the intellect -from the heart: and this, perhaps, would be as unpardonable a sin as to -doubt God, whom we cannot harm; for in doing this we must inevitably do -great wrong both to ourselves and others.’” - -As she spoke, fast and earnestly, Gladys felt herself upon the brink of -a much-desired, but much-dreaded, explanation; for Canaris, while owning -to her that there _was_ a secret, would not tell it till Helwyze freed -him from his promise. She thought that he delayed to ask this absolution -till she was fitter to bear the truth, whatever it might be; and she had -resolved to spare her husband the pain of an avowal, by demanding it -herself of Helwyze. The moment seemed to have come, and both knew it; -for he regarded her with the quick, piercing look which read her purpose -before she could put it into words. - -“You are right; yet Roger was the wronged one, and the others deserved -to suffer.” - -“They did; but Hester’s suffering ennobled her, because nobly borne; -Dimmesdale’s destroyed him, because he paltered weakly with his -conscience. Roger let his wrong turn him from a man into a devil, and -deserves the contempt and horror he rouses in us. The keeping of the -secret makes the romance; the confession of it is the moral, showing how -falsehood can ruin a life, and truth only save it at the last.” - -“Never have a secret, Gladys: they are hard masters, whom we hate, yet -dare not rebel against.” - -His accent of sad sincerity seemed to clear the way for her, and she -spoke out, briefly and bravely,— - -“Sir, _you_ dare any thing! Tell me what it is which makes Felix obey -you against his will. He owns it, but will not speak till you consent. -Tell me, I beseech you!” - -“Could you bear it?” he asked, admiring her courage, yet doubtful of the -wisdom of purchasing a moment’s satisfaction at such a cost; for, though -he could cast down her idol, he dared not set up another in its place. - -“Try me!” she cried: “nothing can lessen my love, and doubt afflicts me -more than the hardest truth.” - -“I fear not: with you love and respect go hand in hand, and some sins -you would find very hard to pardon.” - -Involuntarily Gladys shrunk a little, and her eye questioned his -inscrutable face, as she answered slowly, thinking only of her husband,— - -“Something very mean and false _would_ be hard to forgive; but not some -youthful fault, some shame borne for others, or even a crime, if a very -human emotion, a generous but mistaken motive, led to it.” - -“Then this secret is better left untold; for it would try you sorely to -know that Felix _had_ been guilty of the fault you find harder to -forgive than a crime,—deceit. Wait a little, till you are accustomed to -the thought, then you shall have the facts; and pity, even while you -must despise, him.” - -While he spoke, Gladys sat like one nerving herself to receive a blow; -but at the last words she suddenly put up her hand as if to arrest it, -saying, hurriedly,— - -“No! do not tell me; I cannot bear it yet, nor from you. He shall tell -me; it will be easier so, and less like treachery. O sir,” she added, in -a passionately pleading tone, “use mercifully whatever bitter knowledge -you possess! Remember how young he is, how neglected as a boy, how -tempted he may have been; and deal generously, honorably with him,—and -with me.” - -Her voice broke there. She spread her hands before her eyes, and fled -out of the room, as if in his face she read a more disastrous confession -than any Felix could ever make. Helwyze stood motionless, looking as he -looked the night she spoke more frankly but less forcibly: and when she -vanished, he stole away to his own room, as he stole then; only now his -usually colorless cheek burned with a fiery flush, and his hand went -involuntarily to his breast, as if, like Dimmesdale, he carried an -invisible scarlet letter branded there. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVI. - - -Neither had heard the door of that inner room open quietly; neither had -seen Canaris stand upon the threshold for an instant, then draw back, -looking as if he had found another skeleton to hide in the cell where he -was laboring at the third act of the tragedy which he was to live, not -write. - -He had heard the last words Gladys said, he had seen the last look -Helwyze wore, and, like a flash of lightning, the truth struck and -stunned him. At first he sat staring aghast at the thing he plainly saw, -yet hardly comprehended. Then a sort of fury seized and shook him, as he -sprang up with hands clenched, eyes ablaze, looking as if about to -instantly avenge the deadliest injury one man could do another. But the -half savage self-control adversity had taught stood him in good stead -now, curbing the first natural but reckless wrath which nerved every -fibre of his strong young body with an almost irresistible impulse to -kill Helwyze without a word. - -The gust of blind passion subsided quickly into a calmer, but not less -dangerous, mood; and, fearing to trust himself so near his enemy, -Canaris rushed away, to walk fast and far, unconscious where he went, -till the autumnal gloaming brought him back, master of himself, he -thought. - -While he wandered aimlessly about the city, he had been recalling the -past with the vivid skill which at such intense moments seems to bring -back half-forgotten words, apparently unnoticed actions, and unconscious -impressions; as fire causes invisible letters to stand out upon a page -where they are traced in sympathetic ink. - -Not a doubt of Gladys disturbed the ever-deepening current of a love the -more precious for its newness, the more powerful for its ennobling -influence. But every instinct of his nature rose in revolt against -Helwyze, all the more rebellious and resentful for the long subjection -in which he had been held. - -A master stronger than the ambition which had been the ruling passion of -his life so far asserted its supremacy now, and made it possible for him -to pay the price of liberty without further weak delay or unmanly -regret. - -This he resolved upon, and this he believed he could accomplish safely -and soon. But if Helwyze, with far greater skill and self-control, had -failed to guide or subdue the conflicting passions let loose among them, -how could Canaris hope to do it, or retard by so much as one minute the -irresistible consequences of their acts? “The providence of God cannot -be hurried,” and His retribution falls at the appointed time, saving, -even when it seems to destroy. - -Returning resolute but weary, Canaris was relieved to find that a still -longer reprieve was granted him; for Olivia was there, and Gladys -apparently absorbed in the tender toil women love, making ready for the -Christmas gift she hoped to give him. Helwyze sent word that he was -suffering one of his bad attacks, and bade them all good-night; so there -was nothing to mar the last quiet evening these three were ever to pass -together. - -When Canaris had seen Olivia to the winter quarters she inhabited near -by, he went up to his own room, where Gladys lay, looking like a child -who had cried itself to sleep. The sight of the pathetic patience -touched with slumber’s peace, in the tear-stained face upon the pillow, -wrung his heart, and, stooping, he softly kissed the hand upon the -coverlet,—the small hand that wore a wedding-ring, now grown too large -for it. - -“God bless my dearest!” he whispered, with a sob in his throat. “Out of -this accursed house she shall go to-morrow, though I leave all but love -and liberty behind me.” - -Sleepless, impatient, and harassed by thoughts that would not let him -rest, he yielded to the uncanny attraction which the library now had for -him, and went down again, deluding himself with the idea that he could -utilize emotion and work for an hour or two. - -The familiar room looked strange to him; and when the door of Helwyze’s -apartment opened quietly, he started, although it was only Stern, coming -to nap before the comfortable fire. Something in Canaris’s expectant air -and attitude made the man answer the question his face seemed to ask. - -“Quiet at last, sir. He has had no sleep for many nights, and is fairly -worn out.” - -“You look so, too. Go and rest a little. I shall be here writing for -several hours, and can see to him,” said Canaris, kindly, as the poor -old fellow respectfully tried to swallow a portentous gape behind his -hand. - -“Thank you, Mr. Felix: it would be a comfort just to lose myself. Master -is not likely to want any thing; but, if he should call, just step and -give him his drops, please. They are all ready. I fixed them myself: he -is so careless when he is half-asleep, and, not being used to this new -stuff, an overdose might kill him.” - -Giving these directions, Stern departed with alacrity, and left Canaris -to his watch. He had often done as much before, but never with such a -sense of satisfaction as now; and though he carefully abstained from -giving himself a reason for the act, no sooner had the valet gone than -he went to look in upon Helwyze, longing to call out commandingly, -“Wake, and hear me!” - -But the helplessness of the man disarmed him, the peaceful expression of -the sharp, white features mutely reproached him, the recollection of -what he would awaken to made Canaris ashamed to exult over a defeated -enemy; and he turned away, with an almost compassionate glance at the -straight, still figure, clearly defined against the dusky background of -the darkened room. - -“He looks as if he were dead.” - -Canaris did not speak aloud, but it seemed as if a voice echoed the -words with a suggestive emphasis, that made him pause as he approached -the study-table, conscious of a quick thrill of comprehension tingling -through him like an answer. Why he covered both ears with a sudden -gesture, he could not tell, nor why he hastily seated himself, caught up -the first book at hand and began to read without knowing what he read. -Only for an instant, however, then the words grew clear before him, and -his eyes rested on this line,— - - “σύ θην ἃ χρῄζεις, ταῦτ’ ἐπιγλωσσᾷ Διός.”[1] - -Footnote 1: - - “Thy ominous tongue gives utterance to thy wish.” - - ÆSCHYLUS. - -He dropped the book, as if it had burnt him, and looked over his -shoulder, almost expecting to see the dark thought lurking in his mind -take shape before him. Empty, dim, and quiet was the lofty room; but a -troubled spirit and distempered imagination peopled it with such vivid -and tormenting phantoms of the past, the present and the future, that he -scarcely knew whether he was awake or dreaming, as he sat there alone, -waiting for midnight, and the spectre of an uncommitted deed. - -His wandering eye fell on a leaf of paper, lying half-shrivelled by the -heat of the red fire. This recalled the hour when, in the act of burning -that first manuscript, Helwyze had saved him, and all that followed -shortly after. - -Not a pleasant memory, it seemed; for his face darkened, and his glance -turned to a purple-covered volume, left on the low chair where Gladys -usually sat, and often read in that beloved book. A still more bitter -recollection bowed his head at sight of it, till some newer, sharper -thought seemed to pierce him with a sudden stab, and he laid his -clenched hand on the pile of papers before him, as if taking an oath -more binding than the one made there nearly three years ago. - -He had been reading Shakespeare lately, for one may copy the great -masters; and now, as he tried with feverish energy to work upon his -play, the grim or gracious models he had been studying seemed to rise -and live before him. But one and all were made subject to the strong -passions which ruled him; jealousy, ambition, revenge, and love wore -their appropriate guise, acted their appropriate parts, and made him one -with them. Othello would only show himself as stabbing the perfidious -Iago; Macbeth always grasped at the air-drawn dagger; Hamlet was -continually completing his fateful task; and Romeo whispered, with the -little vial at his lips,— - - “Oh, true apothecary! - Thy drugs are quick.” - -Canaris tried to chase away these troubled spirits; but they would not -down, and, yielding to them, he let his mind wander as it would, till he -had “supped full of horrors,” feeling as if in the grasp of a nightmare -which led him, conscious, but powerless, toward some catastrophe -forefelt, rather than foreseen. How long this lasted he never knew; for -nothing broke the silence growing momently more terrible as he listened -to the stealthy tread of the temptation coming nearer and nearer, till -it appeared in the likeness of himself, while a voice said, in the -ordinary tone which so often makes dreams grotesque at their most -painful climax,— - -“Master is so careless when half-asleep; and, not being used to this new -stuff, an overdose might kill him.” - -As if these words were the summons for which he had been waiting, -Canaris rose up suddenly and went into that other room, too entirely -absorbed by the hurrying emotions which swept him away to see what -looked like a new phantom coming in. It might have been the shade of -young Juliet, gentle Desdemona, poor Ophelia, or, better still the -_eidolen_ of Margaret wandering, pale and pensive, through the baleful -darkness of this _Walpurgis Nacht_. - -He did not see it; he saw nothing but the glass upon the table where the -dim light burned, the little vial with its colorless contents, and -Helwyze stirring in his bed, as if about to wake and speak. Conscious -only of the purpose which now wholly dominated him, Canaris, without -either haste or hesitation, took the bottle, uncorked, and held it over -the glass half-filled with water. But before a single drop could fall a -cold hand touched his own, and, with a start that crushed the vial in -his grasp, he found himself eye to eye with Gladys. - -Guilt was frozen upon his face, terror upon hers; but neither spoke, for -a third voice muttered drowsily, “Stern, give me more; don’t rouse me.” - -Canaris could not stir; Gladys whispered, with white lips, and her hand -upon the cup,—“Dare I give it?” - -He could only answer by a sign, and cowered into the shadow, while she -put the draught to Helwyze’s lips, fearing to let him waken now. He -drank drowsily, yet seemed half-conscious of her presence; for he looked -up with sleep-drunken eyes, and murmured, as if to the familiar figure -of a dream,— - -“Mine asleep, his awake,” then whispering brokenly about “Felix, Vivien, -and daring any thing,” he was gone again into the lethargy which alone -could bring forgetfulness. - -Gladys feared her husband would hear the almost inaudible words; but he -had vanished, and when she glided out to join him, carefully closing the -door behind her, a glance showed that her fear was true. - -Relieved, yet not repentant, he stood there looking at a red stain on -his hand with such a desperate expression that Gladys could only cling -to him, saying, in a terror-stricken whisper,— - -“Felix, for God’s sake, come away! What are you doing here?” - -“Going mad, I think,” he answered, under his breath; but added, lifting -up his hand with an ominous gesture, “I would have done it if you had -not stopped me. It would be better for us all if he were dead.” - -“Not so; thank Heaven I came in time to save you from the sin of -murder!” she said, holding fast the hand as yet unstained by any blood -but its own. - -“I _have_ committed murder in my heart. Why not profit by the sin, since -it is there? I hate that man! I have cause, and you know it.” - -“No, no, not all! You shall tell me every thing; but not now, not here.” - -“The time has come, and this is the place to tell it. Sit there and -listen. I must untie or cut the snarl to-night.” - -He pointed to the great chair; and, grateful for any thing that could -change or stem the dangerous current of his thoughts, Gladys sank down, -feeling as if, after this shock, she was prepared for any discovery or -disaster. Canaris stood before her, white and stern, as if he were both -judge and culprit; for a sombre wrath still burned in his eye, and his -face worked with the mingled shame and contempt warring within him. - -“I heard and saw this afternoon, when you two talked together yonder, -and I knew then what made you so glad to go away, so loath to come back. -_You_ have had a secret as well as I.” - -“I was never sure until to-day. Do not speak of that: it is enough to -know it, and forget it if we can. Tell your secret: it has burdened you -so long, you will be glad to end it. _He_ would have done so, but I -would not let him.” - -“I thought it would be hard to tell you, yet now my fault looks so small -and innocent beside his, I can confess without much shame or fear.” - -But it was not easy; for he had gone so far into a deeper, darker world -that night, it was difficult to come to lesser sins and lighter -thoughts. As he hesitated for a word, his eye fell upon the -purple-covered book, and he saw a way to shorten his confession. -Catching up a pen, he bent over the volume an instant, then handed it to -Gladys, open at the title-page. She knew it,—the dear romance, worn with -much reading,—and looked wonderingly at the black mark drawn through the -name, “Felix Canaris,” and the words, “Jasper Helwyze,” written boldly -below. - -“What does it mean?” she asked, refusing to believe the discovery which -the expression of his averted face confirmed. - -“That I am a living lie. He wrote that book.” - -“He?” - -“Every line.” - -“But not the other?” she said; clinging to a last hope, as every thing -seemed falling about her. - -“All, except half a dozen of the songs.” - -Down dropped the book between them,—now a thing of little worth,—and, -trying to conceal from him the contempt which even love could not -repress, Gladys hid her face, with one reproach, the bitterest she could -have uttered,— - -“O my husband! did you give up honor, liberty, and peace for so poor a -thing as that?” - -It cut him to the soul: for now he saw how high a price he had paid for -an empty name; how mean and poor his ambition looked; how truly he -deserved to be despised for that of which he had striven to be proud. -Gladys had so rejoiced over him as a poet, that it was the hardest task -of all to put off his borrowed singing-robes, and show himself an -ordinary man. He forgot that there was any other tribunal than this, as -he stood waiting for his sentence, oppressed with the fear that out of -her almost stern sense of honor she might condemn him to the loss of the -respect and confidence which he had lately learned to value as much as -happiness and love. - -“You must despise me; but if you knew”—he humbly began, unable to bear -the silence longer. - -“Tell me, then. I will not judge until I know;” and Gladys, just, even -in her sorrow, looked up with an expression which said plainer than -words, “For better, for worse; this is the worse, but I love you still.” - -That made it possible for him to go on, fast and low, not stopping to -choose phrases, but pouring out the little story of his temptation and -fall, with a sense of intense relief that he was done with slavery for -ever. - -“Neither of us coolly planned this thing; it came about so simply and -naturally, it seemed a mere accident.—And yet, who can tell what _he_ -might have planned, seeing how weak I was, how ready to be tempted.—It -happened in that second month, when I promised to stay; he to help me -with my book. It was _all_ mine then; but when we came to look at it, -there was not enough to fill even the most modest volume; for I had -burnt many, and must recall them, or write more. I tried honestly, but -the power was not in me, and I fell into despair again; for the desire -to be known was the breath of my life.” - -“You will be, if not in this way, in some other; for power of some sort -_is_ in you. Believe it, and wait for it to show itself,” said Gladys, -anxious to add patience and courage to the new humility and sincerity, -which could not fail to ennoble and strengthen him in time. - -“Bless you for that!” he answered, gratefully, and hurried on. “It came -about in this wise: one day my master—he was then, but is no longer, -thank God!—sat reading over a mass of old papers, before destroying -them. Here he came upon verses written in the diaries kept years ago, -and threw them to me, ‘to laugh over,’ as he said. I did not laugh: I -was filled with envy and admiration, and begged him to publish them. He -scorned the idea, and bade me put them in the fire. I begged to keep -them, and then,—Gladys, I swear to you I cannot tell whether I read the -project in his face, or whether my own evil genius put it into my -head,—then I said, audaciously, though hardly dreaming he would consent, -‘You do not care for fame, and throw these away as worthless: I long for -it, and see more power in these than in any I can hope to write for -years, perhaps; let me add them to mine, and see what will come of it.’ -‘Put your own name to them, if you do, and take the consequences,’ he -answered, in that brusque way of his, which seems so careless, yet is so -often premeditated. I assented, as I would have done to any thing that -promised a quick trial of my talent; for in my secret soul I thought -some of my songs better than his metaphysical verses, which impressed, -rather than charmed me. The small imposture seemed to amuse him; I had -few scruples then, and we did it, with much private jesting about -Beaumont and Fletcher, literary frauds, and borrowed plumage. You know -the rest. The book succeeded, but he saved it; and the critics left me -small consolation, for my songs were ignored as youthful ditties, his -poems won all the praise, and _I_ was pronounced a second Shelley.” - -“But he? Did he claim no share of the glory? Was he content to let you -have it all?” questioned Gladys, trying to understand a thing so foreign -to her nature that it seemed incredible. - -“Yes; I offered to come down from my high place, as soon as I realized -how little right I had to it. But he forbade me, saying, what I was fool -enough to believe, that my talent only needed time and culture, and the -sunshine of success to ripen it; that notoriety would be a burden to -him, since he had neither health to sustain nor spirits to enjoy it; -that in me he would live his youth over again, and, in return for such -help as he could give, I should be a son to him. That touched and won -me; now I can see in it a trap to catch and hold me, that he might amuse -himself with my folly, play the generous patron, and twist my life to -suit his ends. He likes curious and costly toys; he had one then, and -has not paid for it yet.” - -“This other book? Tell me of that, and speak low, or he may hear us,” -whispered Gladys, trembling lest fire and powder should meet. - -With a motion of his foot Canaris sent the book that lay between them -spinning across the hearth-rug out of sight, and answered, with a short, -exultant laugh,— - -“Ah! there the fowler was taken in his own snare. I did not see it then, -and found it hard to understand why he should exert himself to please -you by helping me. I thought it was a mere freak of literary rivalry; -and, when I taxed him with it, he owned that, though he cared nothing -for the world’s praise, it _was_ pleasant to know that his powers were -still unimpaired, and be able to laugh in his sleeve at the deluded -critics. That was like him, and it deceived me till to-day. Now I know -that he begrudged me your admiration, wanted your tears and smiles for -himself, and did not hesitate to steal them. The night he so adroitly -read _his_ work for mine, he tempted me through you. I had resolved to -deserve the love and honor you gave me; and again I tried, and again I -failed, for my romance was a poor, pale thing to his. He had read it; -and, taking the same plot, made it what you know, writing as only such a -man could write, when a strong motive stimulated him to do his best.” - -“But why did you submit? Why stand silent and let him do so false a -thing?” cried poor Gladys, wondering when the end of the tangle would -come. - -“At first his coolness staggered me; then I was curious to hear, then -held even, against my will, by admiration of the thing—and you. I meant -to speak out, I longed to do it; but it was very hard, while you were -praising me so eloquently. The words were on my lips, when in his face I -saw a look that sealed them. He meant that I should utter the -self-accusation which would lower me for ever and raise him in your -regard. I could not bear it. There was no time to think, only to feel, -and I vowed to make you happy, at all costs. I hardly thought he would -submit; but he did, and I believed that it was through surprise at being -outwitted for the moment, or pity towards you. It was neither: he -fancied I had discovered his secret, and he _dared_ not defy me then.” - -“But when I was gone? You were so late that night: I heard your voices, -sharp and angry, as I went away.” - -“Yes; that was _my_ hour, and I enjoyed it. He had often twitted me with -the hold he had on my name and fame, and I bore it; for, till I loved -you, they were the dearest things I owned. That night I told him he -_should not_ speak; that you should enjoy your pride in me, even at his -expense, and I refused to release him from his bond, as he had, more -than once, refused to release me: for we had sworn never to confess till -both agreed to it. Good heavens! how low he must have thought I had -fallen, if I could consent to buy your happiness at the cost of my -honor! He did think it: that made him yield; that is the cause of the -contempt he has not cared to hide from me since then; and that adds a -double edge to my hatred now. I was to be knave as well as fool; and -while I blinded myself with his reflected light, he would have filched -my one jewel from me. Gladys, save me, keep me, or I shall do something -desperate yet!” - -Beside himself with humiliation, remorse, and wrath, Canaris flung -himself down before her, as if only by clinging to that frail spar could -he ride out the storm in which he was lost without compass or rudder. - -Then Gladys showed him that such love as hers could not fail, but, like -an altar-fire, glowed the stronger for every costly sacrifice thrown -therein. Lifting up the discrowned head, she laid it on her bosom with a -sweet motherliness which comforted more than her tender words. - -“My poor Felix! you have suffered enough for this deceit; I forgive it, -and keep my reproaches for the false friend who led you astray.” - -“It was so paltry, weak, and selfish. You _must_ despise me,” he said, -wistfully, still thinking more of his own pain than hers. - -“I do despise the sin, not the dear sinner who repents and is an honest -man again.” - -“But a beggar.” - -“We have each other. Hush! stand up; some one is coming.” - -Canaris had barely time to spring to his feet, when Stern came in, and -was about to pass on in silence, though much amazed to see Gladys there -at that hour, when the expression of the young man’s face made him -forget decorum and stop short, exclaiming, anxiously,— - -“Mr. Felix, what’s the matter? Is master worse?” - -“Safe and asleep. Mrs. Canaris came to see what I was about.” - -“Then, sir, if I may make so bold, the sooner she gets to bed again the -better. It is far too late for her to be down here; the poor young lady -looks half-dead,” Stern whispered, with the freedom of an old servant. - -“You are right. Come, love;” and without another word Canaris led her -away, leaving Stern to shake his gray head as he looked after them. - -Gladys _was_ utterly exhausted; and in the hall she faltered, saying, -with a patient sigh, as she looked up the long stairway, “Dear, wait a -little; it is so far,—my strength is all gone.” - -Canaris caught her in his arms and carried her away, asking himself, -with a remorseful pang that rent his heart,— - -“Is this the murder I have committed?” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVII. - - -“Stern!” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“What time is it?” - -“Past two, sir.” - -“What news? I see bad tidings of some sort in that lugubrious face of -yours; out with it!” - -“The little boy arrived at dawn, sir,” answered old Stern, with a -paternal air. - -“What little boy?” - -“Canaris, Jr., sir,” simpered the valet, venturing to be jocose. - -“The deuce he did! Precipitate, like his father. Where is Felix?” - -“With her, sir. In a state of mind, as well he may be, letting that -delicate young thing sit up to keep him company over his poetry stuff,” -muttered Stern, busying himself with the shutters. - -“Sit up! when? where? what are you maundering about, man?” and Helwyze -himself sat up among the pillows, looking unusually wide-awake. - -“Last night, sir, in the study. Mr. Felix made me go for a wink of -sleep, and when I came back, about one, there sat Mrs. Canaris as white -as her gown, and him looking as wild as a hawk. Something was amiss, I -could see plain enough, but it wasn’t my place to ask questions; so I -just made bold to suggest that it was late for her to be up, and he took -her away, looking dazed-like. That’s all I know, sir, till I found the -women in a great flustration this morning.” - -“And I slept through it all?” - -“Yes, sir; so soundly, I was a bit anxious till you waked. I found the -glass empty and the bottle smashed, and I was afraid you might have -taken too much of that _choral_ while half-asleep.” - -“No fear; nothing kills me. Now get me up;” and Helwyze made his toilet -with a speed and energy which caused Stern to consider “_choral_” a -wonderful discovery. - -A pretence of breakfast; then Helwyze sat down to wait for further -tidings,—externally quite calm, internally tormented by a great anxiety, -till Olivia came in, full of cheering news and sanguine expectations. - -“Gladys is asleep, with baby on her arm, and Felix adoring in the -background. Poor boy! he cannot bear much, and is quite bowed down with -remorse for something he has done. Do you know what?” - -As she spoke, Olivia stooped to pick up a book half-hidden by the fringe -of a low chair. It lay face downward, and, in smoothing the crumpled -leaves before closing it, she caught sight of a black and blotted name. -So did Helwyze; a look of intelligence flashed over his face, and, -taking the volume quickly, he answered, with his finger on the -title-page,— - -“Yes, now I know, and so may you; for if one woman is in the secret, it -will soon be out. Felix wrote that, and it is true.” - -“I thought so! One woman _has_ known it for a long time; nevertheless, -the secret was kept for your sake;” and Olivia’s dark face sparkled with -malicious merriment, as she saw the expression of mingled annoyance, -pride, and pleasure in his. - -“My compliments and thanks: you are the eighth wonder of the world. But -what led you to suspect this little fraud of ours?” - -“I did not, till the last book came; then I was struck here and there by -certain peculiar phrases, certain tender epithets, which I think no one -ever heard from your lips but me. These, in the hero’s mouth, made me -sure that you had helped Canaris, if not done the whole yourself, and -his odd manner at times confirmed my suspicion.” - -“You have a good memory: I forgot that.” - -“I have had so few such words from you that it is easy to remember -them,” murmured Olivia, reproachfully. - -It seemed to touch him; for just then he felt deserted, well knowing -that he had lost both Felix and Gladys; but Olivia never would desert -him, no matter what discovery was made, or who might fall away. He -thanked her for her devotion, with the first ray of hope given for -years, as he said, in the tone so seldom heard,— - -“You shall have more henceforth; for you are a staunch friend, and now I -have no other.” - -“Dear Jasper, you shall never find me wanting. _I_ will be true to the -death!” she cried, blooming suddenly into her best and brightest beauty, -with the delight of this rare moment. Then, fearing to express too much, -she wisely turned again to Felix, asking curiously, “But why did you let -this young daw deck himself out in your plumes? It enrages me, to think -of his receiving the praise and honor due to you.” - -He told her briefly, adding, with more than his accustomed bitterness,— - -“What did _I_ want with praise and honor? To be gaped and gossiped about -would have driven me mad. It pleased that vain boy as much as fooling -the public amused me. A whim, and, being a dishonest one, we shall both -have to pay for it, I suppose.” - -“What will he do?” - -“He has told Gladys, to begin with; and, if it had been possible, would -have taken some decisive step to-day. He can do nothing sagely and -quietly: there must be a dramatic _dénouement_ to every chapter of his -life. I think he has one now.” Helwyze laughed, as he struck back the -leaves of the book he still held, and looked at the dashing signature of -his own name. - -“_He_ wrote that, then?” asked Olivia. - -“Yes, here, at midnight, while I lay asleep and let him tell the tale as -he liked to Gladys. No wonder it startled her, so tragically given. The -sequel may be more tragic yet: I seem to feel it in the air.” - -“What shall _you_ do?” asked Olivia, more anxiously than before; for -Helwyze looked up with as sinister an expression as if he knew how -desperate an enemy had stood over him last night, and when his own turn -came, would be less merciful. - -“Do? Nothing. They will go; I shall stay; tongues will wag, and I shall -be tormented. I shall seem the gainer, he the loser; but it will not be -so.” - -Involuntarily his eye went to the little chair where Gladys would sit no -longer, and darkened as if some light had gone out which used to cheer -and comfort him. Olivia saw it, and could not restrain the question that -broke from her lips,— - -“You do love her, Jasper?” - -“I shall miss her; but you shall take her place.” - -Calm and a little scornful was his face, his voice quite steady, and a -smile was shed upon her with the last welcome words. But Olivia was not -deceived: the calmness was unnatural, the voice _too_ steady, the smile -too sudden; and her heart sank as she thanked him, without another -question. For a while they sat together playing well their parts, then -she went away to Gladys, and he was left to several hours of solitary -musing. - -Had he been a better man, he would not have sinned; had he been a worse -one, he could not have suffered; being what he was, he did both, and, -having no one else to study now, looked deeply into himself, and was -dismayed at what he saw. For the new love, purer, yet more hopeless than -the old, shone like a star above an abyss, showing him whither he had -wandered in the dark. - -Sunset came, filling the room with its soft splendor; and he watched the -red rays linger longest in Gladys’s corner. Her little basket stood as -she left it, her books lay orderly, her desk was shut, a dead flower -drooped from the slender vase, and across the couch trailed a soft white -shawl she had been wont to wear. Helwyze did not approach the spot, but -stood afar off looking at these small familiar things with the -melancholy fortitude of one inured to loss and pain. Regret rather than -remorse possessed him as he thought, drearily,— - -“A year to-morrow since she came. How shall I exist without her? Where -will her new home be?” - -An answer was soon given to the last question; for, while his fancy -still hovered about that nook, and the gentle presence which had -vanished as the sunshine was fast vanishing, Canaris came in wearing -such an expression of despair, that Helwyze recoiled, leaving -half-uttered a playful inquiry about “the little son.” - -“I have no son.” - -“Dead?” - -“Dead. I have murdered both.” - -“But Gladys?” - -“Dying; she asks for you,—come!” No need of that hoarse command; Helwyze -was gone at the first word, swiftly through room and hall, up the stairs -he had not mounted for months, straight to that chamber-door. There a -hand clutched his shoulder, a breathless voice said, “Here _I_ am -first;” and Canaris passed in before him, motioning away a group of -tearful women as he went. - -Helwyze lingered, pale and panting, till they were gone; then he looked -and listened, as if turned to stone, for in the heart of the hush lay -Gladys, talking softly to the dead baby on her arm. Not mourning over -it, but yearning with maternal haste to follow and cherish the creature -of her love. - -“Only a day old; so young to go away alone. Even in heaven you will want -your mother, darling, and she will come. Sleep, my baby, I will be with -you when you wake.” - -A stifled sound of anguish recalled the happy soul, already half-way -home, and Gladys turned her quiet eyes to her husband bending over her. - -“Dear, will he come?” she whispered. - -“He is here.” - -He was; and, standing on either side the bed, the two men seemed -unconscious of each other, intent only upon her. Feebly she drew the -white cover over the little cold thing in her bosom, as if too sacred -for any eyes but hers to see, then lifted up her hand with a beseeching -glance from one haggard face to the other. They understood; each gave -the hand she asked, and, holding them together with the last effort of -failing strength, she said, clear and low,— - -“Forgive each other for my sake.” - -Neither spoke, having no words, but by a mute gesture answered as she -wished. Something brighter than a smile rested on her face, and, as if -satisfied, she turned again to Canaris, seeming to forget all else in -the tender farewell she gave him. - -“Remember, love, remember we shall be waiting for you. The new home will -not be home to us until you come.” - -As her detaining touch was lifted, the two hands fell apart, never to -meet again. Canaris knelt down to lay his head beside hers on the -pillow, to catch the last accents of the beloved voice, sweet even now. -Helwyze, forgotten by them both, drew back into the shadow of the deep -red curtains, still studying with an awful curiosity the great mystery -of death, asking, even while his heart grew cold within him,— - -“Will the faith she trusted sustain her now?” - -It did; for, leaning on the bosom of Infinite Love, like a confiding -child in its father’s arms, without a doubt or fear to mar her peace, a -murmur or lament to make the parting harder, Gladys went to her own -place. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - XVIII. - - -“For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come. Is this one?” was the -vague feeling, rather than thought, of which Helwyze was dimly -conscious, as he lay in what seemed a grave, so cold, so dead he felt; -so powerless and pent, in what he fancied was his coffin. He remembered -the slow rising of a tide of helplessness which chilled his blood and -benumbed his brain, till the last idea to be distinguished was, “I am -dying: shall I meet Gladys?” then came oblivion, and now, what was this? - -Something was alive still—something which strove to see, move, speak, -yet could not, till the mist, which obscured every sense, should clear -away. A murmur was in the air, growing clearer every instant, as it rose -and fell, like the muffled sound of waves upon a distant shore. -Presently he recognized human voices, and the words they uttered,—words -which had no meaning, till, like an electric shock, intelligence -returned, bringing with it a great fear. - -Olivia was mourning over him, and he felt her tears upon his face; but -it was not this which stung him to sudden life,—it was another voice, -saying, low, but with a terrible distinctness,— - -“There is no hope. He may remain so for some years; but sooner or later -the brain will share the paralysis of the body, and leave our poor -friend in a state I grieve to think of.” - -“No!” burst from Helwyze, with an effort which seemed to dispel the -trance which held his faculties. Stir he could not, but speak he did, -and opened wide the eyes which had been closed for hours. With the -unutterable relief of one roused from a nightmare he recognized his own -room, Olivia’s tender face bent over him, and his physician holding a -hand that had no feeling in it. - -“Not dead yet;” he muttered, with a feeble sort of exultation, adding, -with as feeble a despair and doubt, “but _she_ is. Did I dream that?” - -“Alas, no!” and Olivia wiped away her own tears from the forehead which -began to work with the rush of returning memory and thought. - -“What does this numbness mean? Why are you here?” he asked, as his eye -went from one face to the other. - -“Dear Jasper, it means that you are ill. Stern found you unconscious in -your chair last night. You are much better now, but it alarmed us, for -we thought you dead,” replied Olivia, knowing that he would have the -truth at any cost. - -“I remember thinking it was death, and being glad of it. Why did you -bring me back? I had no wish to come.” - -She forgave the ingratitude, and went on chafing the cold hand so -tenderly, that Helwyze reproached no more, but, turning to the -physician, demanded, with a trace of the old imperiousness coming back -into his feeble voice,— - -“Is this to be the end of it?” - -“I fear so, Mr. Helwyze. You will not suffer any more, let that comfort -you.” - -“My body may not, but my mind will suffer horribly. Good heavens, man, -do you call this death in life a comfortable end? How long have I got to -lie here watching my wits go?” - -“It is impossible to say.” - -“But certain, sooner or later?” - -“There is a chance,—your brain has been overworked: it must have rest,” -began the doctor, trying to soften the hard facts, since his patient -would have them. - -“Rest! kill me at once, then; annihilation would be far better than such -rest as that. I will not lie here waiting for imbecility,—put an end to -this, or let me!” cried Helwyze, struggling to lift his powerless right -hand; and, finding it impossible, he looked about him with an impotent -desperation which wrung Olivia’s heart, and alarmed the physician, -although he had long foreseen this climax. - -Both vainly tried to soothe and console; but after that one despairing -appeal Helwyze turned his face to the wall, and lay so for hours. -Asleep, they hoped, but in reality tasting the first bitterness of the -punishment sent upon him as an expiation for the sin of misusing one of -Heaven’s best gifts. No words could describe the terror such a fate had -for him, since intellect had been his god, and he already felt it -tottering to its fall. On what should he lean, if that were taken? where -see any ray of hope to make the present endurable? where find any -resignation to lighten the gloom of such a future? - -Restless mind and lawless will, now imprisoned in a helpless body, -preyed on each other like wild creatures caged, finding it impossible to -escape, and as impossible to submit. Death would not have daunted him, -pain he had learned to endure; but this slow decay of his most precious -possession he could not bear, and suffered a new martyrdom infinitely -sharper than the old. - -How time went he never knew; for, although merciful unconsciousness was -denied him, his thoughts, like avenging Furies, drove him from one -bitter memory to another, probing his soul as he had probed others, and -tormenting him with an almost supernatural activity of brain before its -long rest began. Ages seemed to pass, while he took no heed of what went -on about him. People came and went, faces bent over him, hands -ministered to him, and voices whispered in the room. He knew all this, -without the desire to do so, longing only to forget and be forgotten, -with an increasing irritation, which slowly brought him back from that -inner world of wordless pain to the outer one, which must be faced, and -in some fashion endured. - -Olivia still sat near him, as if she had not stirred, though it was -morning when last he spoke, and now night had come. The familiar room -was dim and still, every thing already ordered for his comfort, and the -brilliant cousin had transformed herself into a quiet nurse. The -rustling silks were replaced by a soft, gray gown; the ornaments all -gone; even the fine hair was half-hidden by the little kerchief of lace -tied over it. Yet never had Olivia been more beautiful; for now the -haughty queen had changed to a sad woman, wearing for her sole ornaments -constancy and love. Worn and weary she looked, but a sort of sorrowful -content was visible, a jealous tenderness, which plainly told that for -her, at least, there was a drop of honey even in the new affliction, -since it made him more her own than ever. - -“Poor soul! she promised to be faithful to the death; and she will -be,—even such a death as this.” - -A sigh, that was almost a groan, broke from Helwyze as the thought came, -and Olivia was instantly at his side. - -“Are you suffering, Jasper? What can I do for you?” she said, with such -a passionate desire to serve or cheer, that he could not but answer, -gently,— - -“I am done with pain: teach me to be patient.” - -“Oh, if I could! we must learn that together,” she said, feeling with -him how sorely both would need the meek virtue to sustain the life -before them. - -“Where is Felix?” asked Helwyze, after lying for a while, with his eyes -upon the fire, as if they would absorb its light and warmth into their -melancholy depths. - -“Mourning for Gladys,” replied Olivia, fearing to touch the dangerous -topic, yet anxious to know how the two men stood toward one another; for -something in the manner of the younger, when the elder was mentioned, -made her suspect some stronger, sadder tie between them than the one she -had already guessed. - -“Does he know of this?” and Helwyze struck himself a feeble blow with -the one hand which he could use, now lying on his breast. - -“Yes.” - -“What does he say of me?” - -“Nothing.” - -“I must see him.” - -“You shall. I asked him if he had no word for you, and he answered, with -a strange expression, ‘When I have buried my dead I will come, for the -last time.’” - -“How does he look?” questioned Helwyze, curious to see, even through -another’s eyes, the effect of sorrow upon the man whom he had watched so -long and closely. - -“Sadly broken; but he is young and sanguine: he will soon forget, and be -happy again; so do not let a thought of him disturb you, Jasper.” - -“It does not: we made our bargain, and held each other to it, till he -chose to break it. Let him bear the consequences, as I do.” - -“Alas, they fall on him far less heavily than on you! He has all the -world before him where to choose, while you have nothing left—but me.” - -He did not seem to hear her, and fell into a gloomy reverie, which she -dared not break, but sat, patiently beguiling her lonely watch with sad -thoughts of the twilight future they were to share together,—a future -which might have been so beautiful and happy, had true love earlier made -them one. - -Another day, another night, then there were sounds about the house which -told Helwyze what was passing, without the need of any question. He -asked none; but lay silent for the most part, as if careless or -unconscious of what went on around him. He missed Olivia for an hour, -and when she returned, traces of tears upon her cheeks told him that she -had been to say farewell to Gladys. He had not spoken that name even to -himself; for now an immeasurable space seemed to lie between him and its -gentle owner. She had gone into a world whither he could not follow her. -A veil, invisible, yet impenetrable, separated them for ever, he -believed, and nothing remained to him but a memory that would not die,—a -memory so bitter-sweet, so made up of remorse and reverence, love and -longing, that it seemed to waken his heart from its long sleep, and -kindle in it a spark of the divine fire, whose flame purified while it -consumed; for even in his darkness and desolation he was not forgotten. - -Late that day Canaris came, looking like a man escaped from a great -shipwreck, with nothing left him but his life. Unannounced he entered, -and, with the brevity which in moments of strong feeling is more -expressive than eloquence, he said,— - -“I am going.” - -“Where?” asked Helwyze, conscious that any semblance of friendship, any -word of sympathy, was impossible between them. - -“Out into the world again.” - -“What will you do?” - -“Any _honest_ work I can find.” - -“Let me”— - -“No! I will take nothing from you. Poor as I came, I will go,—except the -few relics I possess of her.” - -A traitorous tremor in the voice which was stern with repressed emotion -warned Canaris to pause there, while his eye turned to Olivia, as if -reminded of some last debt to her. From his breast he drew a little -paper, unfolded it, and took out what looked like a massive ring of -gold; this he laid before her, saying, with a softened mien and accent,— - -“You were very kind,—I have nothing else to offer,—let me give you this, -in memory of Gladys.” - -Only a tress of sunny hair; but Olivia received the gift as if it were a -very precious one, thanking him, not only with wet eyes, but friendly -words. - -“Dear Felix, for her sake let _me_ help you, if I can. Do not go away so -lonely, purposeless, and poor. The world is hard; you will be -disheartened, and turn desperate, with no one to love and hope and work -for.” - -“I must help myself. I am poor; but not purposeless, nor alone. -Disheartened I may be: never desperate again; for I _have_ some one to -love and hope and work for. She is waiting for me somewhere: I must make -myself worthy to follow and find her. I have promised; and, God helping -me, I will keep that promise.” - -Very humble, yet hopeful, was the voice; and full of a sad courage was -the young man’s altered face,—for out of it the gladness and the bloom -of youth had gone for ever, leaving the strength of a noble purpose to -confront a life which hereafter should be honest, if not happy. - -Helwyze had not the infinite patience to work in marble; the power to -chisel even his own divided nature into harmony, like the sculptor, who, -in the likeness of a suffering saint, hewed his own features out of -granite. He could only work in clay, as caprice inspired or circumstance -suggested; forgetting that life’s stream of mixed and molten metals -would flow over his faulty models, fixing unalterably both beauty and -blemish. He had found the youth plastic as clay, had shaped him as he -would; till, tiring of the task, he had been ready to destroy his work. -But the hand of a greater Master had dropped into the furnace the gold -of an enduring love, to brighten the bronze in which suffering and time -were to cast the statue of the _man_. Helwyze saw this now, and a pang -of something sharper than remorse wrung from him the reluctant words,— - -“Take, as my last gift, the fame which has cost you so much. I will -never claim it: to me it is an added affliction, to you it may be a -help. Keep it, I implore you, and give me the pardon _she_ asked of -you.” - -But Canaris turned on him with the air of one who cries, “Get thee -behind me!” and answered with enough of the old vehemence to prove that -grief had not yet subdued the passionate spirit which had been his -undoing,— - -“It is no longer in your power to tempt me, or in mine to be tempted, by -my bosom sin. Forsythe knows the truth, and the world already wonders. I -will earn a better fame for myself: keep this, and enjoy it, if you can. -Pardon I cannot promise yet; but I give you my pity, ‘for her sake.’” - -With that—the bitterest word he could have uttered—Canaris was gone, -leaving Helwyze to writhe under the double burden imposed by one more -just than generous. Olivia durst not speak; and, in the silence, both -listened to the hasty footsteps that passed from room to room, till a -door closed loudly, and they knew that Canaris had set forth upon that -long pilgrimage which was in time to lead him up to Gladys. - -Helwyze spoke first, exclaiming, with a dreary laugh,— - -“So much for playing Providence! You were right, and I _was_ rash to try -it. Goethe could make his Satan as he liked; but Fate was stronger than -I, and so comes ignominious failure. Margaret dies, and Faust suffers, -but Mephistopheles cannot go with him on his new wanderings. Still, it -holds—it holds even to the last! My end comes too soon; yet it is true. -In loving the angel I lose the soul I had nearly won; the roses turn to -flakes of fire, and the poor devil is left lamenting.” - -Olivia thought him wandering, and listened in alarm; for his thoughts -seemed blown to and fro, like leaves in a fitful gust, and she had no -clew to them. Presently, he broke out again, still haunted by the real -tragedy in which he had borne a part; still following Canaris, whose -freedom was like the thought of water to parched Tantalus. - -“He will do it! he will do it! When or how, who shall say? but, soon or -late, she will save him, since he believes in such salvation. Would that -I did!” - -Perhaps the despairing wish was the seed of a future hope, which might -blossom into belief. Olivia trusted so, and tried to murmur some -comfortable, though vague, assurance of a love and pity greater even -than hers. He did not hear her; for his eyes were fixed, with an -expression of agonized yearning, upon the sky, serene and beautiful, but -infinitely distant, inexorably dumb; and, when he spoke, his words had -in them both his punishment and her own,— - -“Life before was Purgatory, now it is Hell; because I loved her, and _I_ -have no hope to follow and find her again.” - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A WHISPER IN THE DARK. - ------------------------------------------------------------------------- - - - - - A WHISPER IN THE DARK. - - -As we rolled along, I scanned my companion covertly, and saw much to -interest a girl of seventeen. My uncle was a handsome man, with all the -polish of foreign life fresh upon him; yet it was neither comeliness nor -graceful ease which most attracted me; for even my inexperienced eye -caught glimpses of something stern and sombre below these external -charms, and my long scrutiny showed me the keenest eye, the hardest -mouth, the subtlest smile I ever saw,—a face which in repose wore the -look which comes to those who have led lives of pleasure and learned -their emptiness. He seemed intent on some thought that absorbed him, and -for a time rendered him forgetful of my presence, as he sat with folded -arms, fixed eyes, and restless lips. While I looked, my own mind was -full of deeper thought than it had ever been before; for I was -recalling, word for word, a paragraph in that half-read letter:— - - “At eighteen Sybil is to marry her cousin, the compact having - been made between my brother and myself in their childhood. My - son is with me now, and I wish them to be together during the - next few months, therefore my niece must leave you sooner than I - at first intended. Oblige me by preparing her for an immediate - and final separation, but leave all disclosures to me, as I - prefer the girl to remain ignorant of the matter for the - present.” - -That displeased me. Why was I to remain ignorant of so important an -affair? Then I smiled to myself, remembering that I did know, thanks to -the wilful curiosity that prompted me to steal a peep into the letter -that Madame Bernard had pored over with such an anxious face. I saw only -a single paragraph, for my own name arrested my eye; and, though wild to -read all, I had scarcely time to whisk the paper back into the reticule -the forgetful old soul had left hanging on the arm of her chair. It was -enough, however, to set my girlish brain in a ferment, and keep me -gazing wistfully at my uncle, conscious that my future now lay in his -hands; for I was an orphan and he my guardian, though I had seen him but -seldom since I was confided to madame a six years’ child. Presently my -uncle became cognizant of my steady stare, and returned it with one as -steady for a moment, then said, in a low, smooth tone, that ill accorded -with the satirical smile that touched his lips,— - -“I am a dull companion for my little niece. How shall I provide her with -pleasanter amusement than counting my wrinkles or guessing my thoughts?” - -I was a frank, fearless creature, quick to feel, speak, and act, so I -answered readily,— - -“Tell me about my cousin Guy. Is he as handsome, brave, and clever as -madame says his father was when a boy?” - -My uncle laughed a short laugh, touched with scorn, whether for madame, -himself, or me I could not tell, for his countenance was hard to read. - -“A girl’s question and artfully put; nevertheless I shall not answer it, -but let you judge for yourself.” - -“But, sir, it will amuse me and beguile the way. I feel a little strange -and forlorn at leaving madame, and talking of my new home and friends -will help me to know and love them sooner. Please tell me, for I’ve had -my own way all my life, and can’t bear to be crossed.” - -My petulance seemed to amuse him, and I became aware that he was -observing me with a scrutiny as keen as my own had been; but I smilingly -sustained it, for my vanity was pleased by the approbation his eye -betrayed. The evident interest he now took in all I said and did was -sufficient flattery for a young thing, who felt her charms and longed to -try their power. - -“I, too, have had my own way all my life; and as the life is double the -length, the will is double the strength of yours, and again I say no. -What next, mademoiselle?” - -He was blander than ever as he spoke, but I was piqued, and resolved to -try coaxing, eager to gain my point, lest a too early submission now -should mar my freedom in the future. - -“But that is ungallant, uncle, and I still have hopes of a kinder -answer, both because you are too generous to refuse so small a favor to -your ‘little niece,’ and because she can be charmingly wheedlesome when -she likes. Won’t you say yes now, uncle?” and, pleased with the daring -of the thing, I put my arm about his neck, kissed him daintily, and -perched myself upon his knee with most audacious ease. - -He regarded me mutely for an instant, then holding me fast deliberately -returned my salute on lips, cheeks, and forehead, with such warmth that -I turned scarlet and struggled to free myself, while he laughed that -mirthless laugh of his till my shame turned to anger, and I imperiously -commanded him to let me go. - -“Not yet, young lady. You came here for your own pleasure, but shall -stay for mine, till I tame you as I see you must be tamed. It is a short -process with me, and I possess experience in the work; for Guy, though -by nature as wild as a hawk, has learned to come at my call as meekly as -a dove. Chut! what a little fury it is!” - -I was just then; for exasperated at his coolness, and quite beside -myself, I had suddenly stooped and bitten the shapely white hand that -held both my own. I had better have submitted; for slight as the foolish -action was, it had an influence on my after life as many another such -has had. My uncle stopped laughing, his hand tightened its grasp, for a -moment his cold eye glittered and a grim look settled round the mouth, -giving to his whole face a ruthless expression that entirely altered it. -I felt perfectly powerless. All my little arts had failed, and for the -first time I was mastered. Yet only physically; my spirit was rebellious -still. He saw it in the glance that met his own, as I sat erect and -pale, with something more than childish anger. I think it pleased him, -for swiftly as it had come the dark look passed, and quietly, as if we -were the best of friends, he began to relate certain exciting adventures -he had known abroad, lending to the picturesque narration the charm of -that peculiarly melodious voice, which soothed and won me in spite of -myself, holding me intent till I forgot the past; and when he paused I -found that I was leaning confidentially on his shoulder, asking for -more, yet conscious of an instinctive distrust of this man whom I had so -soon learned to fear yet fancy. - -As I was recalled to myself, I endeavored to leave him; but he still -detained me, and, with a curious expression, produced a case so quaintly -fashioned that I cried out in admiration, while he selected two -cigarettes, mildly aromatic with the herbs they were composed of, lit -them, offered me one, dropped the window, and leaning back surveyed me -with an air of extreme enjoyment, as I sat meekly puffing and wondering -what prank I should play a part in next. Slowly the narcotic influence -of the herbs diffused itself like a pleasant haze over all my senses; -sleep, the most grateful, fell upon my eyelids, and the last thing I -remember was my uncle’s face dreamily regarding me through a cloud of -fragrant smoke. Twilight wrapped us in its shadows when I woke, with the -night wind blowing on my forehead, the muffled roll of wheels sounding -in my ear, and my cheek pillowed upon my uncle’s arm. He was humming a -French _chanson_ about “Love and Wine, and the Seine to-morrow!” I -listened till I caught the air, and presently joined him, mingling my -girlish treble with his flute-like tenor. He stopped at once, and, in -the coolly courteous tone I had always heard in our few interviews, -asked if I was ready for lights and home. - -“Are we there?” I cried; and looking out saw that we were ascending an -avenue which swept up to a pile of buildings that rose tall and dark -against the sky, with here and there a gleam along its gray front. - -“Home at last, thank Heaven!” And springing out with the agility of a -young man, my uncle led me over a terrace into a long hall, light and -warm, and odorous with the breath of flowers blossoming here and there -in graceful groups. A civil, middle-aged maid received and took me to my -room, a bijou of a place, which increased my wonder when told that my -uncle had chosen all its decorations and superintended their -arrangement. “He understands women,” I thought, handling the toilet -ornaments, trying luxurious chair and lounge, and ending by slipping my -feet into the scarlet and white Turkish slippers, coquettishly turning -up their toes before the fire. A few moments I gave to examination, and, -having expressed my satisfaction, was asked by my maid if I would be -pleased to dress, as “the master” never allowed dinner to wait for any -one. This recalled to me the fact that I was doubtless to meet my future -husband at that meal, and in a moment every faculty was intent upon -achieving a grand toilette for this first interview. The maid possessed -skill and taste, and I a wardrobe lately embellished with Parisian gifts -from my uncle which I was eager to display in his honor. - -When ready, I surveyed myself in the long mirror as I had never done -before, and saw there a little figure, slender, yet stately, in a dress -of foreign fashion, ornamented with lace and carnation ribbons which -enhanced the fairness of neck and arms, while blonde hair, wavy and -golden, was gathered into an antique knot of curls behind, with a -carnation fillet, and below a blooming dark-eyed face, just then radiant -with girlish vanity and eagerness and hope. - -“I’m glad I’m pretty!” - -“So am I, Sybil.” - -I had unconsciously spoken aloud, and the echo came from the doorway -where stood my uncle, carefully dressed, looking comelier and cooler -than ever. The disagreeable smile flitted over his lips as he spoke, and -I started, then stood abashed, till beckoning, he added in his most -courtly manner,— - -“You were so absorbed in the contemplation of your charming self, that -Janet answered my tap and took herself away unheard. You are mistress of -my table now: it waits; will you come down?” - -With a last touch to that unruly hair of mine, a last, comprehensive -glance and shake, I took the offered arm and rustled down the wide -staircase, feeling that the romance of my life was about to begin. Three -covers were laid, three chairs set, but only two were occupied, for no -Guy appeared. I asked no questions, showed no surprise, but tried to -devour my chagrin with my dinner, and exerted myself to charm my uncle -into the belief that I had forgotten my cousin. It was a failure, -however, for that empty seat had an irresistible fascination for me, and -more than once, as my eye returned from its furtive scrutiny of napkin, -plate, and trio of colored glasses, it met my uncle’s and fell before -his penetrative glance. When I gladly rose to leave him to his wine,—for -he did not ask me to remain,—he also rose, and, as he held the door for -me, he said,— - -“You asked me to describe your cousin: you have seen one trait of his -character to-night; does it please you?” - -I knew he was as much vexed as I at Guy’s absence, so quoting his own -words I answered saucily,— - -“Yes; for I’d rather see the hawk free than coming tamely at your call, -uncle.” - -He frowned slightly, as if unused to such liberty of speech, yet bowed -when I swept him a stately little curtsey and sailed away to the -drawing-room, wondering if my uncle was as angry with me as I was with -my cousin. In solitary grandeur I amused myself by strolling through the -suite of handsome rooms henceforth to be my realm, looked at myself in -the long mirrors, as every woman is apt to do when alone and in costume, -danced over the mossy carpets, touched the grand piano, smelt the -flowers, fingered the ornaments on _étagère_ and table, and was just -giving my handkerchief a second drench of some refreshing perfume from a -filigree flask that had captivated me, when the hall door was flung -wide, a quick step went running upstairs, boots tramped overhead, -drawers seemed hastily opened and shut, and a bold, blithe voice broke -out into a hunting song in a tone so like my uncle’s that I -involuntarily flew to the door, crying,— - -“Guy is come!” - -Fortunately for my dignity, no one heard me, and hurrying back I stood -ready to skim into a chair and assume propriety at a minute’s notice, -conscious, meanwhile, of the new influence which seemed suddenly to gift -the silent house with vitality, and add the one charm it needed,—that of -cheerful companionship. “How will he meet me? and how shall I meet him?” -I thought, looking up at the bright-faced boy, whose portrait looked -back at me with a mirthful light in the painted eyes and a trace of his -father’s disdainful smile in the curves of the firm-set lips. Presently -the quick steps came flying down again, past the door, straight to the -dining-room opposite, and, as I stood listening with a strange flutter -at my heart, I heard an imperious young voice say rapidly,— - -“Beg pardon, sir, unavoidably detained. Has she come? Is she bearable?” - -“I find her so. Dinner is over, and I can offer you nothing but a glass -of wine.” - -My uncle’s voice was frostily polite, making a curious contrast to the -other, so impetuous and frank, as if used to command or win all but one. - -“Never mind the dinner! I’m glad to be rid of it; so I’ll drink your -health, father, and then inspect our new ornament.” - -“Impertinent boy!” I muttered, yet at the same moment resolved to -deserve his appellation, and immediately grouped myself as effectively -as possible, laughing at my folly as I did so. I possessed a pretty -foot, therefore one little slipper appeared quite naturally below the -last flounce of my dress; a bracelet glittered on my arm as it emerged -from among the lace and carnation knots; that arm supported my head. My -profile was well cut, my eyelashes long, therefore I read with face half -averted from the door. The light showered down, turning my hair to gold; -so I smoothed my curls, retied my snood, and, after a satisfied survey, -composed myself with an absorbed aspect and a quickened pulse to await -the arrival of the gentlemen. - -Soon they came. I knew they paused on the threshold, but never stirred -till an irrepressible, “You are right, sir!” escaped the younger. Then I -rose prepared to give him the coldest greeting, yet I did not. I had -almost expected to meet the boyish face and figure of the picture; I -saw, instead, a man comely and tall. A dark moustache half hid the proud -mouth; the vivacious eyes were far kinder, though quite as keen as his -father’s, and the freshness of unspoiled youth lent a charm which the -older man had lost for ever. Guy’s glance of pleased surprise was -flatteringly frank, his smile so cordial, his “Welcome, cousin!” such a -hearty sound, that my coldness melted in a breath, my dignity was all -forgotten, and before I could restrain myself I had offered both hands -with the impulsive exclamation,— - -“Cousin Guy, I know I shall be very happy here! Are you glad I have -come?” - -“Glad as I am to see the sun after a November fog.” - -And, bending his tall head, he kissed my hand in the graceful foreign -fashion he had learned abroad. It pleased me mightily, for it was both -affectionate and respectful. Involuntarily I contrasted it with my -uncle’s manner, and flashed a significant glance at him as I did so. He -understood it, but only nodded with the satirical look I hated, shook -out his paper and began to read. I sat down again, careless of myself -now; and Guy stood on the rug, surveying me with an expression of -surprise that rather nettled my pride. - -“He is only a boy, after all; so I need not be daunted by his inches or -his airs. I wonder if he knows I am to be his wife, and likes it.” - -The thought sent the color to my forehead, my eyes fell, and despite my -valiant resolution, I sat like any bashful child before my handsome -cousin. Guy laughed a boyish laugh as he sat down on his father’s -footstool, saying, while he warmed his slender brown hands,— - -“I beg your pardon, Sybil. (We won’t be formal, will we?) But I haven’t -seen a lady for a month, so I stare like a boor at sight of a silk gown -and high-bred face. Are those people coming, sir?” - -“If Sybil likes, ask her.” - -“Shall we have a flock of people here to make it gay for you, cousin, or -do you prefer our quiet style better; just riding, driving, lounging, -and enjoying life, each in his own way? Henceforth it is to be as you -command in such matters.” - -“Let things go on as they have done, then. I don’t care for society, and -strangers wouldn’t make it gay to me, for I like freedom; so do you, I -think.” - -“Ah, don’t I!” - -A cloud flitted over his smiling face, and he punched the fire, as if -some vent were necessary for the sudden gust of petulance that knit his -black brows into a frown, and caused his father to tap him on the -shoulder with the bland request, as he rose to leave the room,— - -“Bring the portfolios and entertain your cousin; I have letters to -write, and Sybil is too tired to care for music to-night.” - -Guy obeyed with a shrug of the shoulder his father touched, but lingered -in the recess till my uncle, having made his apologies to me, had left -the room; then my cousin rejoined me, wearing the same cordial aspect I -first beheld. Some restraint was evidently removed, and his natural self -appeared. A very winsome self it was, courteous, gay, and frank, with an -undertone of deeper feeling than I thought to find. I watched him -covertly, and soon owned to myself that he was all I most admired in the -ideal hero every girl creates in her romantic fancy; for I no longer -looked upon this young man as my cousin, but my lover, and through all -our future intercourse this thought was always uppermost, full of a -charm that never lost its power. - -Before the evening ended Guy was kneeling on the rug beside me, our two -heads close together, while he turned the contents of the great -portfolio spread before us, looking each other freely in the face, as I -listened and he described, both breaking into frequent peals of laughter -at some odd adventure or comical mishap in his own travels, suggested by -the pictured scenes before us. Guy was very charming, I my blithest, -sweetest self, and when we parted late, my cousin watched me up the -stairs with still another, “Good-night, Sybil,” as if both sight and -sound were pleasant to him. - -“Is that your horse Sultan?” I called from my window next morning, as I -looked down upon my cousin, who was coming up the drive from an early -gallop on the moors. - -“Yes, bonny Sybil; come and admire him,” he called back, hat in hand, -and a quick smile rippling over his face. - -I went, and, standing on the terrace, caressed the handsome creature, -while Guy said, glancing up at his father’s undrawn curtains,— - -“If your saddle had come, we would take a turn before ‘my lord’ is ready -for breakfast. This autumn air is the wine you women need.” - -I yearned to go, and when I willed the way soon appeared; so careless of -bonnetless head and cambric gown, I stretched my hands to him, saying -boldly,— - -“Play young Lochinvar, Guy; I am little and light; take me up before you -and show me the sea.” - -He liked the daring feat, held out his hand, I stepped on his boot toe, -sprang up, and away we went over the wide moor, where the sun shone in a -cloudless heaven, the lark soared singing from the green grass at our -feet, and the September wind blew freshly from the sea. As we paused on -the upland slope, that gave us a free view of the country for miles, Guy -dismounted, and, standing with his arm about the saddle to steady me in -my precarious seat, began to talk. - -“Do you like your new home, cousin?” - -“More than I can tell you!” - -“And my father, Sybil?” - -“Both yes and no to that question, Guy; I hardly know him yet.” - -“True, but you must not expect to find him as indulgent and fond as many -guardians would be to such as you. It’s not his nature. Yet you can win -his heart by obedience, and soon grow quite at ease with him.” - -“Bless you! I’m that already, for I fear no one. Why, I sat on his knee -yesterday and smoked a cigarette of his own offering, though madame -would have fainted if she had seen me; then I slept on his arm an hour, -and he was fatherly kind, though I teased him like a gnat.” - -“The deuce he was!” with which energetic expression Guy frowned at the -landscape and harshly checked Sultan’s attempt to browse, while I -wondered what was amiss between father and son, and resolved to -discover; but, finding the conversation at an end, started it afresh, by -asking,— - -“Is any of my property in this part of the country, Guy? Do you know I -am as ignorant as a baby about my own affairs; for, as long as every -whim was gratified and my purse full, I left the rest to madame and -uncle, though the first hadn’t a bit of judgment, and the last I -scarcely knew. I never cared to ask questions before, but now I am -intensely curious to know how matters stand.” - -“All you see is yours, Sybil,” was the brief answer. - -“What, that great house, the lovely gardens, these moors, and the forest -stretching to the sea? I’m glad! I’m glad! But where, then, is your -home, Guy?” - -“Nowhere.” - -At this I looked so amazed, that his gloom vanished in a laugh, as he -explained, but briefly, as if this subject were no pleasanter than the -first,— - -“By your father’s will you were desired to take possession of the old -place at eighteen. You will be that soon; therefore, as your guardian, -my father has prepared things for you, and is to share your home until -you marry.” - -“When will that be, I wonder?” and I stole a glance from under my -lashes, wild to discover if Guy knew of the compact and was a willing -party to it. His face was half averted, but over his dark cheek I saw a -deep flush rise, as he answered, stooping to pull a bit of heather,— - -“Soon, I hope, or the gentleman sleeping there below will be tempted to -remain a fixture with you on his knee as ‘madame my wife.’ He is not -your own uncle, you know.” - -I smiled at the idea, but Guy did not see it; and seized with a whim to -try my skill with the hawk that seemed inclined to peck at its master, I -said demurely,— - -“Well, why not? I might be very happy if I learned to love him, as I -should, if he were always in that kindest mood of his. Would you like me -for a little mamma, Guy?” - -“No!” short and sharp as a pistol shot. - -“Then you must marry and have a home of your own, my son.” - -“Don’t, Sybil! I’d rather you didn’t see me in a rage, for I’m not a -pleasant sight, I assure you; and I’m afraid I shall be in one if you go -on. I early lost my mother, but I love her tenderly, because my father -is not much to me, and I know if she had lived I should not be what I -am.” - -Bitter was his voice, moody his mien, and all the sunshine gone at once. -I looked down and touched his black hair with a shy caress, feeling both -penitent and pitiful. - -“Dear Guy, forgive me if I pained you. I’m a thoughtless creature, but -I’m not malicious, and a word will restrain me if kindly spoken. My home -is always yours, and when my fortune is mine you shall never want, if -you are not too proud to accept help from your own kin. You are a little -proud, aren’t you?” - -“As Lucifer, to most people. I think I should not be to you, for you -understand me, Sybil, and with you I hope to grow a better man.” - -He turned then, and through the lineaments his father had bequeathed him -I saw a look that must have been his mother’s, for it was womanly, -sweet, and soft, and lent new beauty to the dark eyes, always kind, and -just then very tender. He had checked his words suddenly, like one who -has gone too far, and with that hasty look into my face had bent his own -upon the ground, as if to hide the unwonted feeling that had mastered -him. It lasted but a moment, then his old manner returned, as he said -gayly,— - -“There drops your slipper. I’ve been wondering what kept it on. Pretty -thing! They say it is a foot like this that oftenest tramples on men’s -hearts. Are you cruel to your lovers, Sybil?” - -“I never had one, for madame guarded me like a dragon, and I led the -life of a nun; but when I do find one I shall try his mettle well before -I give up my liberty.” - -“Poets say it is sweet to give up liberty for love, and they ought to -know,” answered Guy, with a sidelong glance. - -I liked that little speech, and recollecting the wistful look he had -given me, the significant words that had escaped him, and the variations -of tone and manner constantly succeeding one another, I felt assured -that my cousin was cognizant of the family league, and accepted it, yet, -with the shyness of a young lover, knew not how to woo. This pleased me, -and, quite satisfied with my morning’s work, I mentally resolved to -charm my cousin slowly, and enjoy the romance of a genuine wooing, -without which no woman’s life seems complete,—in her own eyes, at least. -He had gathered me a knot of purple heather, and as he gave it I smiled -my sweetest on him, saying,— - -“I commission you to supply me with nosegays, for you have taste, and I -love wild-flowers. I shall wear this at dinner in honor of its giver. -Now take me home; for my moors, though beautiful, are chilly, and I have -no wrapper but this microscopic handkerchief.” - -Off went his riding-jacket, and I was half smothered in it. The hat -followed next, and as he sprung up behind I took the reins, and felt a -thrill of delight in sweeping down the slope with that mettlesome -creature tugging at the bit, that strong arm round me, and the happy -hope that the heart I leaned on might yet learn to love me. - -The day so began passed pleasantly, spent in roving over house and -grounds with my cousin, setting my possessions in order, and writing to -dear old madame. Twilight found me in my bravest attire, with Guy’s -heather in my hair, listening for his step, and longing to run and meet -him when he came. Punctual to the instant he appeared, and this dinner -was a far different one from that of yesterday, for both father and son -seemed in their gayest and most gallant mood, and I enjoyed the hour -heartily. The world seemed all in tune now, and when I went to the -drawing-room I was moved to play my most stirring marches, sing my -blithest songs, hoping to bring one at least of the gentlemen to join -me. It brought both, and my first glance showed me a curious change in -each. My uncle looked harassed and yet amused, Guy looked sullen and -eyed his father with covert glances. - -The morning’s chat flashed into my mind, and I asked myself, “Is Guy -jealous so soon?” It looked a little like it, for he threw himself upon -a couch and lay there silent and morose; while my uncle paced to and -fro, thinking deeply, while apparently listening to the song he bade me -finish. I did so, then followed the whim that now possessed me, for I -wanted to try my power over them both, to see if I could restore that -gentler mood of my uncle’s, and assure myself that Guy cared whether I -was friendliest with him or not. - -“Uncle, come and sing with me; I like that voice of yours.” - -“Tut, I am too old for that; take this indolent lad instead, his voice -is fresh and young, and will chord well with yours.” - -“Do you know that pretty _chanson_ about ‘Love and Wine, and the Seine -to-morrow,’ cousin Guy?” I asked, stealing a sly glance at my uncle. - -“Who taught you that?” and Guy eyed me over the top of the couch with an -astonished expression which greatly amused me. - -“No one; uncle sang a bit of it in the carriage yesterday. I like the -air, so come and teach me the rest.” - -“It is no song for you, Sybil. You choose strange entertainment for a -lady, sir.” - -A look of unmistakable contempt was in the son’s eye, of momentary -annoyance in the father’s, yet his voice betrayed none as he answered, -still pacing placidly along the room,— - -“I thought she was asleep, and unconsciously began it to beguile a -silent drive. Sing on, Sybil; that Bacchanalian snatch will do you no -harm.” - -But I was tired of music now they had come, so I went to him, and, -passing my arm through his, walked beside him, saying with my most -persuasive aspect,— - -“Tell me about Paris, uncle; I intend to go there as soon as I’m of age, -if you will let me. Does your guardianship extend beyond that time?” - -“Only till you marry.” - -“I shall be in no haste, then, for I begin to feel quite homelike and -happy here with you, and shall be content without other society; only -you’ll soon tire of me, and leave me to some dismal governess, while you -and Guy go pleasuring.” - -“No fear of that, Sybil; I shall hold you fast till some younger -guardian comes to rob me of my merry ward.” - -As he spoke, he took the hand that lay upon his arm into a grasp so -firm, and turned on me a look so keen, that I involuntarily dropped my -eyes lest he should read my secret there. Eager to turn the -conversation, I asked, pointing to a little miniature hanging underneath -the portrait of his son, before which he had paused,— - -“Was that Guy’s mother, sir?” - -“No, your own.” - -I looked again, and saw a face delicate yet spirited, with dark eyes, a -passionate mouth, and a head crowned with hair as plenteous and golden -as my own; but the whole seemed dimmed by age, the ivory was stained, -the glass cracked, and a faded ribbon fastened it. My eyes filled as I -looked, and a strong desire seized me to know what had defaced this -little picture of the mother whom I never knew. - -“Tell me about her, uncle; I know so little, and often long for her so -much. Am I like her, sir?” - -Why did my uncle avert his eyes as he answered,— - -“You are a youthful image of her, Sybil.” - -“Go on please, tell me more; tell me why this is so stained and worn; -you know all, and surely I am old enough now to hear any history of pain -and loss.” - -Something caused my uncle to knit his brows, but his bland voice never -varied a tone as he placed the picture in my hand and gave me this brief -explanation:— - -“Just before your birth your father was obliged to cross the Channel, to -receive the last wishes of a dying friend; there was an accident; the -vessel foundered, and many lives were lost. He escaped, but by some -mistake his name appeared in the list of missing passengers; your mother -saw it, the shock destroyed her, and when your father returned he found -only a motherless little daughter to welcome him. This miniature, which -he always carried with him, was saved with his papers at the last -moment; but though the sea-water ruined it he would never have it copied -or retouched, and gave it to me when he died in memory of the woman I -had loved for his sake. It is yours now, my child; keep it, and never -feel that you are fatherless or motherless while I remain.” - -Kind as was both act and speech, neither touched me, for something -seemed wanting. I felt, yet could not define it, for then I believed in -the sincerity of all I met. - -“Where was she buried, uncle? It may be foolish, but I should like to -see my mother’s grave.” - -“You shall some day, Sybil,” and a curious change came over my uncle’s -face as he averted it. - -“I have made him melancholy, talking of Guy’s mother and my own; now -I’ll make him gay again if possible, and pique that negligent boy,” I -thought, and drew my uncle to a lounging-chair, established myself on -the arm thereof, and kept him laughing with my merriest gossip, both of -us apparently unconscious of the long dark figure stretched just -opposite, feigning sleep, but watching us through half-closed lids, and -never stirring except to bow silently to my careless “Good-night.” - -As I reached the stairhead, I remembered that my letter to madame, full -of the frankest criticisms upon people and things, was lying unsealed on -the table in the little room my uncle had set apart for my boudoir; -fearing servants’ eyes and tongues, I slipped down again to get it. The -room adjoined the parlors, and just then was lit only by a ray from the -hall lamp. I had secured the letter, and was turning to retreat, when I -heard Guy say petulantly, as if thwarted yet submissive,— - -“I _am_ civil when you leave me alone; I _do_ agree to marry her, but I -won’t be hurried or go a-wooing except in my own way. You know I never -liked the bargain, for it’s nothing else; yet I can reconcile myself to -being sold, if it relieves you and gives us both a home. But, father, -mind this, if you tie me to that girl’s sash too tightly I shall break -away entirely, and then where are we?” - -“I should be in prison and you a houseless vagabond. Trust me, my boy, -and take the good fortune which I secured for you in your cradle. Look -in pretty Sybil’s face, and resignation will grow easy; but remember -time presses, that this is our forlorn hope, and for God’s sake be -cautious, for she is a headstrong creature, and may refuse to fulfil her -part if she learns that the contract is not binding against her will.” - -“I think she’ll not refuse, sir; she likes me already. I see it in her -eyes; she has never had a lover, she says, and according to your account -a girl’s first sweetheart is apt to fare the best. Besides, she likes -the place, for I told her it was hers, as you bade me, and she said she -could be very happy here, if my father was always kind.” - -“She said that, did she? little hypocrite! For your father, read -yourself, and tell me what else she babbled about in that early -_tête-à-tête_ of yours.” - -“You are as curious as a woman, sir, and always make me tell you all I -do and say, yet never tell me any thing in return, except this business, -which I hate, because my liberty is the price, and my poor little cousin -is kept in the dark. I’ll tell her all, before I marry her, father.” - -“As you please, hot-head. I am waiting for an account of the first love -passage, so leave blushing to Sybil and begin.” - -I knew what was coming and stayed no longer, but caught one glimpse of -the pair, Guy in his favorite place, erect upon the rug, half-laughing, -half-frowning as he delayed to speak, my uncle serenely smoking on the -couch; then I sped away to my own room, thinking, as I sat down in a -towering passion,— - -“So he does know of the baby betrothal and hates it, yet submits to -please his father, who covets my fortune,—mercenary creatures! I can -annul the contract, can I? I’m glad to know that, for it makes me -mistress of them both. I like you already, do I? and you see it in my -eyes. Coxcomb! I’ll be the thornier for that. Yet I do like him; I do -wish he cared for me, I’m so lonely in the world, and he can be so -kind.” - -So I cried a little, brushed my hair a good deal, and went to bed, -resolving to learn all I could when, where, and how I pleased, to render -myself as charming and valuable as possible, to make Guy love me in -spite of himself, and then say yes or no, as my heart prompted me. - -That day was a sample of those that followed, for my cousin was by turns -attracted or repelled by the capricious moods that ruled me. Though -conscious of a secret distrust of my uncle, I could not resist the -fascination of his manner when he chose to exert its influence over me; -this made my little plot easier of execution, for jealousy seemed the -most effectual means to bring my wayward cousin to subjection. Full of -this fancy, I seemed to tire of his society, grew thorny as a briar rose -to him, affectionate as a daughter to my uncle, who surveyed us both -with that inscrutable glance of his, and slowly yielded to my dominion -as if he had divined my purpose and desired to aid it. Guy turned cold -and gloomy, yet still lingered near me as if ready for a relenting look -or word. I liked that, and took a wanton pleasure in prolonging the -humiliation of the warm heart I had learned to love, yet not to value as -I ought, until it was too late. - -One dull November evening as I went wandering up and down the hall, -pretending to enjoy the flowers, yet in reality waiting for Guy, who had -left me alone all day, my uncle came from his room, where he had sat for -many hours with the harassed and anxious look he always wore when -certain foreign letters came. - -“Sybil, I have something to show and tell you,” he said, as I garnished -his button-hole with a spray of heliotrope, meant for the laggard, who -would understand its significance, I hoped. Leading me to the -drawing-room, my uncle put a paper into my hands, with the request,— - -“This is a copy of your father’s will; oblige me by reading it.” - -He stood watching my face as I read, no doubt wondering at my composure -while I waded through the dry details of the will, curbing my impatience -to reach the one important passage. There it was, but no word concerning -my power to dissolve the engagement if I pleased; and, as I realized the -fact, a sudden bewilderment and sense of helplessness came over me, for -the strange law terms seemed to make inexorable the paternal decree -which I had not seen before. I forgot my studied calmness, and asked -several questions eagerly. - -“Uncle, did my father really command that I should marry Guy, whether we -loved each other or not?” - -“You see what he there set down as his desire; and I have taken measures -that you _should_ love one another, knowing that few cousins, young, -comely, and congenial, could live three months together without finding -themselves ready to mate for their own sakes, if not for the sake of the -dead and living fathers to whom they owe obedience.” - -“You said I need not, if I didn’t choose; why is it not here?” - -“I said that? Never, Sybil!” and I met a look of such entire surprise -and incredulity it staggered my belief in my own senses, yet also roused -my spirit, and, careless of consequences, I spoke out at once,— - -“I heard you say it myself the night after I came, when you told Guy to -be cautious, because I could refuse to fulfil the engagement, if I knew -that it was not binding against my will.” - -This discovery evidently destroyed some plan, and for a moment threw him -off his guard; for, crumpling the paper in his hand, he sternly -demanded,— - -“You turned eavesdropper early; how often since?” - -“Never, uncle; I did not mean it then, but, going for a letter in the -dark, I heard your voices, and listened for an instant. It was -dishonorable, but irresistible; and, if you force Guy’s confidence, why -should not I steal yours? All is fair in war, sir, and I forgive as I -hope to be forgiven.” - -“You have a quick wit and a reticence I did not expect to find under -that frank manner. So you have known your future destiny all these -months, then, and have a purpose in your treatment of your cousin and -myself?” - -“Yes, uncle.” - -“May I ask what?” - -I was ashamed to tell; and, in the little pause before my answer came, -my pique at Guy’s desertion was augmented by anger at my uncle’s denial -of his own words the ungenerous hopes he cherished, and a strong desire -to perplex and thwart him took possession of me, for I saw his anxiety -concerning the success of this interview, though he endeavored to -repress and conceal it. Assuming my coldest mien, I said,— - -“No, sir, I think not; only I can assure you that my little plot has -succeeded better than your own.” - -“But you intend to obey your father’s wish, I hope, and fulfil your part -of the compact, Sybil?” - -“Why should I? It is not binding, you know, and I’m too young to lose my -liberty just yet; besides, such compacts are unjust, unwise. What right -had my father to mate me in my cradle? how did he know what I should -become, or Guy? how could he tell that I should not love some one else -better? No! I’ll not be bargained away like a piece of merchandise, but -love and marry when I please!” - -At this declaration of independence my uncle’s face darkened ominously, -some new suspicion lurked in his eye, some new anxiety beset him; but -his manner was calm, his voice blander than ever as he asked,— - -“Is there then, some one whom you love? Confide in me, my girl.” - -“And if there were, what then?” - -“All would be changed at once, Sybil. But who is it? Some young lover -left behind at madame’s?” - -“No, sir.” - -“Who, then? You have led a recluse life here. Guy has no friends who -visit him, and mine are all old, yet you say you love.” - -“With all my heart, uncle.” - -“Is this affection returned, Sybil?” - -“I think so.” - -“And it is not Guy?” - -I was wicked enough to enjoy the bitter disappointment he could not -conceal at my decided words, for I thought he deserved that momentary -pang; but I could not as decidedly answer that last question, for I -would not lie, neither would I confess just yet; so, with a little -gesture of impatience, I silently turned away, lest he should see the -tell-tale color in my cheeks. My uncle stood an instant in deep thought, -a slow smile crept to his lips, content returned to his mien, and -something like a flash of triumph glittered for a moment in his eye, -then vanished, leaving his countenance earnestly expectant. Much as this -change surprised me, his words did more, for, taking both my hands in -his, he gravely said,— - -“Do you know that I am your uncle by adoption and not blood, Sybil?” - -“Yes, sir; I heard so, but forgot about it,” and I looked up at him, my -anger quite lost in astonishment. - -“Let me tell you, then. Your grandfather was childless for many years, -my mother was an early friend, and when her death left me an orphan, he -took me for his son and heir. But two years from that time your father -was born. I was too young to realize the entire change this might make -in my life. The old man was too just and generous to let me feel it, and -the two lads grew up together like brothers. Both married young, and -when you were born a few years later than my son, your father said to -me, ‘Your boy shall have my girl, and the fortune I have innocently -robbed you of shall make us happy in our children.’ Then the family -league was made, renewed at his death, and now destroyed by his -daughter, unless—Sybil, I am forty-five, you not eighteen, yet you once -said you could be very happy with me, if I were always kind to you. I -can promise that I will be, for I love you. My darling, you reject the -son, will you accept the father?” - -If he had struck me, it would scarcely have dismayed me more. I started -up, and snatching away my hands hid my face in them, for after the first -tingle of surprise an almost irresistible desire to laugh came over me, -but I dared not, and gravely, gently he went on,— - -“I am a bold man to say this, yet I mean it most sincerely. I never -meant to betray the affection I believed you never could return, and -would only laugh at as a weakness; but your past acts, your present -words, give me courage to confess that I desire to keep my ward mine for -ever. Shall it be so?” - -He evidently mistook my surprise for maidenly emotion, and the -suddenness of this unforeseen catastrophe seemed to deprive me of words. -All thought of merriment or ridicule was forgotten in a sense of guilt, -for if he feigned the love he offered it was well done, and I believed -it then. I saw at once the natural impression conveyed by my conduct; my -half confession and the folly of it all oppressed me with a regret and -shame I could not master. My mind was in dire confusion, yet a decided -“No” was rapidly emerging from the chaos, but was not uttered; for just -at this crisis, as I stood with my uncle’s arm about me, my hand again -in his, and his head bent down to catch my answer, Guy swung himself -gayly into the room. A glance seemed to explain all, and in an instant -his face assumed that expression of pale wrath so much more terrible to -witness than the fiercest outbreak; his eye grew fiery, his voice -bitterly sarcastic, as he said,— - -“Ah, I see; the play goes on, but the actors change parts. I -congratulate you, sir, on your success, and Sybil on her choice. -Henceforth I am _de trop_, but before I go allow me to offer my wedding -gift. You have taken the bride, let me supply the ring.” - -He threw a jewel-box upon the table, adding, in that unnaturally calm -tone that made my heart stand still: - -“A little candor would have spared me much pain, Sybil; yet I hope you -will enjoy your bonds as heartily as I shall my escape from them. A -little confidence would have made me your ally, not your rival, father. -I have not your address; therefore I lose, you win. Let it be so. I had -rather be the vagabond this makes me than sell myself, that you may -gamble away that girl’s fortune as you have your own and mine. You need -not ask me to the wedding, I will not come. Oh, Sybil, I so loved, so -trusted you!” - -And with that broken exclamation he was gone. - -The stormy scene had passed so rapidly, been so strange and sudden, -Guy’s anger so scornful and abrupt, I could not understand it, and felt -like a puppet in the grasp of some power I could not resist; but as my -lover left the room I broke out of the bewilderment that held me, -imploring him to stay and hear me. - -It was too late, he was gone, and Sultan’s tramp was already tearing -down the avenue. I listened till the sound died, then my hot temper rose -past control, and womanlike asserted itself in vehement and voluble -speech: I was angry with my uncle, my cousin, and myself, and for -several minutes poured forth a torrent of explanations, reproaches, and -regrets, such as only a passionate girl could utter. - -My uncle stood where I had left him when I flew to the door with my vain -cry; he now looked baffled, yet sternly resolved, and as I paused for -breath his only answer was,— - -“Sybil, you ask me to bring back that headstrong boy; I cannot; he will -never come. This marriage was distasteful to him, yet he submitted for -my sake, because I have been unfortunate, and we are poor. Let him go, -forget the past, and be to me what I desire, for I loved your father and -will be a faithful guardian to his daughter all my life. Child, it must -be,—come, I implore, I command you.” - -He beckoned imperiously as if to awe me, and held up the glittering -betrothal ring as if to tempt me. The tone, the act, the look put me -quite beside myself. I did go to him, did take the ring, but said as -resolutely as himself,— - -“Guy rejects me, and I have done with love. Uncle, you would have -deceived me, used me as a means to your own selfish ends. I will accept -neither yourself nor your gifts, for now I despise both you and your -commands;” and, as the most energetic emphasis I could give to my -defiance, I flung the ring, case and all, across the room; it struck the -great mirror, shivered it just in the middle, and sent several loosened -fragments crashing to the floor. - -“Great heavens! is the young lady mad?” exclaimed a voice behind us. -Both turned and saw Dr. Karnac, a stealthy, sallow-faced Spaniard, for -whom I had an invincible aversion. He was my uncle’s physician, had been -visiting a sick servant in the upper regions, and my adverse fate sent -him to the door just at that moment with that unfortunate exclamation on -his lips. - -“What do you say?” - -My uncle wheeled about and eyed the new-comer intently as he repeated -his words. I have no doubt I looked like one demented, for I was -desperately angry, pale and trembling with excitement, and as they -fronted me with a curious expression of alarm on their faces, a sudden -sense of the absurdity of the spectacle came over me; I laughed -hysterically a moment, then broke into a passion of regretful tears, -remembering that Guy was gone. As I sobbed behind my hands, I knew the -gentlemen were whispering together and of me, but I never heeded them, -for as I wept myself calmer a comforting thought occurred to me; Guy -could not have gone far, for Sultan had been out all day, and though -reckless of himself he was not of his horse, which he loved like a human -being; therefore he was doubtless at the house of an humble friend near -by. If I could slip away unseen, I might undo my miserable work, or at -least see him again before he went away into the world, perhaps never to -return. This hope gave me courage for any thing, and dashing away my -tears I took a covert survey. Dr. Karnac and my uncle still stood before -the fire, deep in their low-toned conversation; their backs were toward -me, and, hushing the rustle of my dress, I stole away with noiseless -steps into the hall, seized Guy’s plaid, and, opening the great door -unseen, darted down the avenue. - -Not far, however; the wind buffeted me to and fro, the rain blinded me, -the mud clogged my feet and soon robbed me of a slipper; groping for it -in despair, I saw a light flash into the outer darkness; heard voices -calling, and soon the swift tramp of steps behind me. Feeling like a -hunted doe, I ran on, but before I had gained a dozen yards my shoeless -foot struck a sharp stone, and I fell half-stunned upon the wet grass of -the wayside bank. Dr. Karnac reached me first, took me up as if I were a -naughty child, and carried me back through a group of staring servants -to the drawing-room, my uncle following with breathless entreaties that -I would be calm, and a most uncharacteristic display of bustle. - -I was horribly ashamed; my head ached with the shock of the fall, my -foot bled, my heart fluttered, and when the doctor put me down the -crisis came, for as my uncle bent over me with the strange question, “My -poor girl, do you know me?” an irresistible impulse impelled me to push -him from me, crying passionately,— - -“Yes, I know and hate you; let me go! let me go, or it will be too -late!” then, quite spent with the varying emotions of the last hour, for -the first time in my life I swooned away. - -Coming to myself, I found I was in my own room, with my uncle, the -doctor, Janet, and Mrs. Best, the housekeeper, gathered about me, the -latter saying, as she bathed my temples,— - -“She’s a sad sight, poor thing, so young, so bonny, and so unfortunate. -Did you ever see her so before, Janet?” - -“Bless you, no, ma’am; there was no signs of such a tantrum when I -dressed her for dinner.” - -“What do they mean? did they never see any one angry before?” I dimly -wondered, and presently, through the fast disappearing stupor that had -held me, Dr. Karnac’s deep voice came distinctly, saying,— - -“If it continues, you are perfectly justified in doing so.” - -“Doing what?” I demanded sharply, for the sound both roused and -irritated me, I disliked the man so intensely. - -“Nothing, my dear, nothing,” purred Mrs. Best, supporting me as I sat -up, feeling weak and dazed, yet resolved to know what was going on. I -was “a sad sight” indeed; my drenched hair hung about my shoulders, my -dress was streaked with mud, one shoeless foot was red with blood, the -other splashed and stained, and a white, wild-eyed face completed the -ruinous image the opposite mirror showed me. Every thing looked blurred -and strange, and a feverish unrest possessed me, for I was not one to -subside easily after such a mental storm. Leaning on my arm, I scanned -the room and its occupants with all the composure I could collect. The -two women eyed me curiously yet pitifully; Dr. Karnac stood glancing at -me furtively as he listened to my uncle, who spoke rapidly in Spanish as -he showed the little scar upon his hand. That sight did more to restore -me than the cordial just administered, and I rose erect, saying -abruptly,— - -“Please, everybody, go away; my head aches, and I want to be alone.” - -“Let Janet stay and help you, dear; you are not fit,” began Mrs. Best; -but I peremptorily stopped her. - -“No, go yourself, and take her with you; I’m tired of so much stir about -such foolish things as a broken glass and a girl in a pet.” - -“You will be good enough to take this quieting draught before I go, Miss -Sybil.” - -“I shall do nothing of the sort, for I need only solitude and sleep to -be perfectly well,” and I emptied the glass the doctor offered into the -fire. He shrugged his shoulders with a disagreeable smile, and quietly -began to prepare another draught, saying,— - -“You are mistaken, my dear young lady; you need much care, and should -obey, that your uncle may be spared further apprehension and anxiety.” - -My patience gave out at this assumption of authority; and I determined -to carry matters with a high hand, for they all stood watching me in a -way which seemed the height of impertinent curiosity. - -“He is not my uncle! never has been, and deserves neither respect nor -obedience from me! I am the best judge of my own health, and you are not -bettering it by contradiction and unnecessary fuss. This is my house, -and you will oblige me by leaving it, Dr. Karnac; this is my room, and I -insist on being left in peace immediately.” - -I pointed to the door as I spoke; the women hurried out with scared -faces; the doctor bowed and followed, but paused on the threshold, while -my uncle approached me, asking in a tone inaudible to those still -hovering round the door,— - -“Do you still persist in your refusal, Sybil?” - -“How dare you ask me that again? I tell you I had rather die than marry -you!” - -“The Lord be merciful to us! just hear how she’s going on now about -marrying master. Ain’t it awful, Jane?” ejaculated Mrs. Best, bobbing -her head in for a last look. - -“Hold your tongue, you impertinent creature!” I called out; and the fat -old soul bundled away in such comical haste I laughed, in spite of -languor and vexation. - -My uncle left, me, and I heard him say as he passed the doctor,— - -“You see how it is.” - -“Nothing uncommon; but that virulence is a bad symptom,” answered the -Spaniard, and closing the door locked it, having dexterously removed the -key from within. - -I had never been subjected to restraint of any kind; it made me reckless -at once, for this last indignity was not to be endured. - -“Open this instantly!” I commanded, shaking the door. No one answered, -and after a few ineffectual attempts to break the lock I left it, threw -up the window and looked out; the ground was too far off for a leap, but -the trellis where summer-vines had clung was strong and high, a step -would place me on it, a moment’s agility bring me to the terrace below. -I was now in just the state to attempt any rash exploit, for the cordial -had both strengthened and excited me; my foot was bandaged, my clothes -still wet; I could suffer no new damage, and have my own way at small -cost. Out I crept, climbed safely down, and made my way to the lodge as -I had at first intended. But Guy was not there; and, returning, I boldly -went in at the great door, straight to the room where my uncle and the -doctor were still talking. - -“I wish the key of my room,” was my brief command. Both started as if I -had been a ghost, and my uncle exclaimed,— - -“You here! how in Heaven’s name came you out?” - -“By the window. I am no child to be confined for a fit of anger. I will -not submit to it; to-morrow I shall go to madame; till then I will be -mistress in my own house. Give me the key, sir.” - -“Shall I?” asked the doctor of my uncle, who nodded with a whispered,— - -“Yes, yes; don’t excite her again.” - -It was restored, and without another word I went loftily up to my room, -locked myself in, and spent a restless, miserable night. When morning -came, I breakfasted above stairs, and then busied myself packing trunks, -burning papers, and collecting every trifle Guy had ever given me. No -one annoyed me, and I saw only Janet, who had evidently received some -order that kept her silent and respectful, though her face still -betrayed the same curiosity and pitiful interest as the night before. -Lunch was brought up, but I could not eat, and began to feel that the -exposure, the fall, and excitement of the evening had left me weak and -nervous, so I gave up the idea of going to madame till the morrow; and, -as the afternoon waned, tried to sleep, yet could not, for I had sent a -note to several of Guy’s haunts, imploring him to see me; but my -messenger brought word that he was not to be found, and my heart was too -heavy to rest. - -When summoned to dinner, I still refused to go down; for I heard Dr. -Karnac’s voice, and would not meet him, so I sent word that I wished the -carriage early the following morning, and to be left alone till then. In -a few minutes, back came Janet, with a glass of wine set forth on a -silver salver, and a card with these words,— - -“Forgive, forget, for your father’s sake, and drink with me, ‘Oblivion -to the past.’” - -It touched and softened me. I knew my uncle’s pride, and saw in this an -entire relinquishment of the hopes I had so thoughtlessly fostered in -his mind. I was passionate, but not vindictive. He had been kind, I very -wilful. His mistake was natural, my resentment ungenerous. Though my -resolution to go remained unchanged, I was sorry for my part in the -affair; and remembering that through me his son was lost to him, I -accepted his apology, drank his toast, and sent him back a dutiful -“Good-night.” - -I was unused to wine. The draught I had taken was powerful with age, -and, though warm and racy to the palate, proved too potent for me. Still -sitting before my fire, I slowly fell into a restless drowse, haunted by -a dim dream that I was seeking Guy in a ship, whose motion gradually -lulled me into perfect unconsciousness. - -Waking at length, I was surprised to find myself in bed, with the -shimmer of daylight peeping through the curtains. Recollecting that I -was to leave early, I sprang up, took one step and remained transfixed -with dismay, for the room was not my own! Utterly unfamiliar was every -object on which my eyes fell. The place was small, plainly furnished, -and close, as if long unused. My trunks stood against the wall, my -clothes lay on a chair, and on the bed I had left trailed a fur-lined -cloak I had often seen on my uncle’s shoulders. A moment I stared about -me bewildered, then hurried to the window,—it was grated! - -A lawn, sere and sodden, lay without, and a line of sombre firs hid the -landscape beyond the high wall which encompassed the dreary plot. More -and more alarmed, I flew to the door and found it locked. No bell was -visible, no sound audible, no human presence near me, and an ominous -foreboding thrilled cold through nerves and blood, as, for the first -time, I felt the paralyzing touch of fear. Not long, however. My native -courage soon returned, indignation took the place of terror, and -excitement gave me strength. My temples throbbed with a dull pain, my -eyes were heavy, my limbs weighed down by an unwonted lassitude, and my -memory seemed strangely confused; but one thing was clear to me, I must -see somebody, ask questions, demand explanations, and get away to madame -without delay. - -With trembling hands I dressed, stopping suddenly, with a cry; for, -lifting my hands to my head, I discovered that my hair, my beautiful, -abundant hair, was gone! There was no mirror in the room, but I could -feel that it had been shorn away close about face and neck. This outrage -was more than I could bear, and the first tears I shed fell for my lost -charm. It was weak, perhaps, but I felt better for it, clearer in mind -and readier to confront whatever lay before me. I knocked and called. -Then, losing patience, shook and screamed; but no one came or answered -me, and, wearied out at last, I sat down and cried again in impotent -despair. - -An hour passed, then a step approached, the key turned, and a hard-faced -woman entered with a tray in her hand. I had resolved to be patient, if -possible, and controlled myself to ask quietly, though my eyes kindled, -and my voice trembled with resentment,— - -“Where am I, and why am I here against my will?” - -“This is your breakfast, miss; you must be sadly hungry,” was the only -reply I got. - -“I will never eat till you tell me what I ask.” - -“Will you be quiet, and mind me if I do, miss?” - -“You have no right to exact obedience from me, but I’ll try.” - -“That’s right. Now all I know is that you are twenty miles from the -Moors, and came because you are ill. Do you like sugar in your coffee?” - -“When did I come? I don’t remember it.” - -“Early this morning; you don’t remember because you were put to sleep -before being fetched, to save trouble.” - -“Ah, that wine! Who brought me here?” - -“Dr. Karnac, miss.” - -“Alone?” - -“Yes, miss; you were easier to manage asleep than awake, he said.” - -I shook with anger, yet still restrained myself hoping to fathom the -mystery of this nocturnal journey. - -“What is your name, please?” I meekly asked. - -“You can call me Hannah.” - -“Well, Hannah, there is a strange mistake somewhere. I am not ill—you -see I am not—and I wish to go away at once to the friend I was to meet -to-day. Get me a carriage and have my baggage taken out.” - -“It can’t be done, miss. We are a mile from town, and have no carriages -here; besides, you couldn’t go if I had a dozen. I have my orders, and -shall obey ’em.” - -“But Dr. Karnac has no right to bring or keep me here.” - -“Your uncle sent you. The doctor has the care of you, and that is all I -know about it. Now I have kept my promise, do you keep yours, miss, and -eat your breakfast, else I can’t trust you again.” - -“But what is the matter with me? How can I be ill and not know or feel -it?” I demanded, more and more bewildered. - -“You look it, and that’s enough for them as is wise in such matters. -You’d have had a fever, if it hadn’t been seen to in time.” - -“Who cut my hair off?” - -“I did; the doctor ordered it.” - -“How dared he? I hate that man, and never will obey him.” - -“Hush, miss, don’t clench your hands and look in that way, for I shall -have to report every thing you say and do to him, and it won’t be -pleasant to tell that sort of thing.” - -The woman was civil, but grim and cool. Her eye was unsympathetic, her -manner business-like, her tone such as one uses to a refractory child, -half-soothing, half-commanding. I conceived a dislike to her at once, -and resolved to escape at all hazards, for my uncle’s inexplicable -movements filled me with alarm. Hannah had left my door open, a quick -glance showed me another door also ajar at the end of a wide hall, a -glimpse of green, and a gate. My plan was desperately simple, and I -executed it without delay. Affecting to eat, I presently asked the woman -for my handkerchief from the bed. She crossed the room to get it. I -darted out, down the passage, along the walk, and tugged vigorously at -the great bolt of the gate, but it was also locked. In despair I flew -into the garden, but a high wall enclosed it on every side; and as I ran -round and round, vainly looking for some outlet, I saw Hannah, -accompanied by a man as gray and grim as herself, coming leisurely -toward me, with no appearance of excitement or displeasure. Back I would -not go; and, inspired with a sudden hope, swung myself into one of the -firs that grew close against the wall. The branches snapped under me, -the slender tree swayed perilously, but up I struggled, till the wide -coping of the wall was gained. There I paused and looked back. The woman -was hurrying through the gate to intercept my descent on the other side, -and close behind me the man, sternly calling me to stop. I looked down; -a stony ditch was below, but I would rather risk my life than tamely -lose my liberty, and with a flying leap tried to reach the bank; failed, -fell heavily among the stones, felt an awful crash, and then came an -utter blank. - -For many weeks I lay burning in a fever, fitfully conscious of Dr. -Karnac and the woman’s presence; once I fancied I saw my uncle, but was -never sure, and rose at last a shadow of my former self, feeling -pitifully broken, both mentally and physically. I was in a better room -now, wintry winds howled without, but a generous fire glowed behind the -high closed fender, and books lay on my table. - -I saw no one but Hannah, yet could wring no intelligence from her beyond -what she had already told, and no sign of interest reached me from the -outer world. I seemed utterly deserted and forlorn, my spirit was -crushed, my strength gone, my freedom lost, and for a time I succumbed -to despair, letting one day follow another without energy or hope. It is -hard to live with no object to give zest to life, especially for those -still blest with youth, and even in my prison-house I soon found one -quite in keeping with the mystery that surrounded me. - -As I sat reading by day or lay awake at night, I became aware that the -room above my own was occupied by some inmate whom I never saw. A -peculiar person it seemed to be; for I heard steps going to and fro, -hour after hour, in a tireless march, that wore upon my nerves, as many -a harsher sound would not have done. I could neither tease nor surprise -Hannah into any explanation of the thing, and day after day I listened -to it, till I longed to cover up my ears and implore the unknown walker -to stop, for Heaven’s sake. Other sounds I heard and fretted over: a low -monotonous murmur, as of some one singing a lullaby; a fitful tapping, -like a cradle rocked on a carpetless floor; and at rare intervals cries -of suffering, sharp but brief, as if forcibly suppressed. These sounds, -combined with the solitude, the confinement, and the books I read, a -collection of ghostly tales and weird fancies, soon wrought my nerves to -a state of terrible irritability, and wore upon my health so visibly -that I was allowed at last to leave my room. - -The house was so well guarded that I soon relinquished all hope of -escape, and listlessly amused myself by roaming through the unfurnished -rooms and echoing halls, seldom venturing into Hannah’s domain; for -there her husband sat, surrounded by chemical apparatus, poring over -crucibles and retorts. He never spoke to me, and I dreaded the glance of -his cold eye, for it looked unsoftened by a ray of pity at the little -figure that sometimes paused a moment on his threshold, wan and wasted -as the ghost of departed hope. - -The chief interest of these dreary walks centred in the door of the room -above my own, for a great hound lay before it, eying me savagely as he -rejected all advances, and uttering his deep bay if I approached too -near. To me this room possessed an irresistible fascination. I could not -keep away from it by day, I dreamed of it by night, it haunted me -continually, and soon became a sort of monomania, which I condemned, yet -could not control, till at length I found myself pacing to and fro as -those invisible feet paced over head. Hannah came and stopped me, and a -few hours later Dr. Karnac appeared. I was so changed that I feared him -with a deadly fear. He seemed to enjoy it; for in the pride of youth and -beauty I had shown him contempt and defiance at my uncle’s, and he took -an ungenerous satisfaction in annoying me by a display of power. He -never answered my questions or entreaties, regarded me as being without -sense or will, insisted on my trying various mixtures and experiments in -diet, gave me strange books to read, and weekly received Hannah’s report -of all that passed. That day he came, looked at me, said, “Let her -walk,” and went away, smiling that hateful smile of his. - -Soon after this I took to walking in my sleep, and more than once woke -to find myself roving lampless through that haunted house in the dead of -night. I concealed these unconscious wanderings for a time, but an -ominous event broke them up at last, and betrayed them to Hannah. - -I had followed the steps one day for several hours, walking below as -they walked above; had peopled that mysterious room with every mournful -shape my disordered fancy could conjure up; had woven tragical romances -about it, and brooded over the one subject of interest my unnatural life -possessed with the intensity of a mind upon which its uncanny influence -was telling with perilous rapidity. At midnight I woke to find myself -standing in a streak of moonlight, opposite the door whose threshold I -had never crossed. The April night was warm, a single pane of glass high -up in that closed door was drawn aside, as if for air; and, as I stood -dreamily collecting my sleep-drunken senses, I saw a ghostly hand emerge -and beckon, as if to me. It startled me broad awake, with a faint -exclamation and a shudder from head to foot. A cloud swept over the -moon, and when it passed the hand was gone, but shrill through the -keyhole came a whisper that chilled me to the marrow of my bones, so -terribly distinct and imploring was it. - -“Find it! for God’s sake find it before it is too late!” - -The hound sprang up with an angry growl; I heard Hannah leave her bed -near by, and, with an inspiration strange as the moment, I paced slowly -on with open eyes and lips apart, as I had seen “Amina” in the happy -days when kind old madame took me to the theatre, whose mimic horrors I -had never thought to equal with such veritable ones. Hannah appeared at -her door with a light, but on I went in a trance of fear; for I was only -kept from dropping in a swoon by the blind longing to fly from that -spectral voice and hand. Past Hannah I went, she following; and, as I -slowly laid myself in bed, I heard her say to her husband, who just then -came up,— - -“Sleep-walking, John; it’s getting worse and worse, as the doctor -foretold; she’ll settle down like the other presently, but she must be -locked up at night, else the dog will do her a mischief.” - -The man yawned and grumbled; then they went, leaving me to spend hours -of unspeakable suffering, which aged me more than years. What was I to -find? where was I to look? and when would it be too late? These -questions tormented me; for I could find no answers to them, divine no -meaning, see no course to pursue. Why was I here? what motive induced my -uncle to commit such an act? and when should I be liberated? were -equally unanswerable, equally tormenting, and they haunted me like -ghosts. I had no power to exorcise or forget. After that I walked no -more, because I slept no more; sleep seemed scared away, and waking -dreams harassed me with their terrors. Night after night I paced my room -in utter darkness,—for I was allowed no lamp,—night after night I wept -bitter tears wrung from me by anguish, for which I had no name; and -night after night the steps kept time to mine, and the faint lullaby -came down to me as if to soothe and comfort my distress. I felt that my -health was going, my mind growing confused and weak, my thoughts -wandered vaguely, memory began to fail, and idiocy or madness seemed my -inevitable fate; but through it all my heart clung to Guy, yearning for -him with a hunger that would not be appeased. - -At rare intervals I was allowed to walk in the neglected garden, where -no flowers bloomed, no birds sang, no companion came to me but surly -John, who followed with his book or pipe, stopping when I stopped, -walking when I walked, keeping a vigilant eye upon me, yet seldom -speaking except to decline answering my questions. These walks did me no -good, for the air was damp and heavy with vapors from the marsh; for the -house stood near a half-dried lake, and hills shut it in on every side. -No fresh winds from upland moor or distant ocean ever blew across the -narrow valley; no human creature visited the place, and nothing but a -vague hope that my birthday might bring some change, some help, -sustained me. It did bring help, but of such an unexpected sort that its -effects remained through all my after-life. My birthday came, and with -it my uncle. I was in my room, walking restlessly,—for the habit was a -confirmed one now,—when the door opened, and Hannah, Dr. Karnac, my -uncle, and a gentleman whom I knew to be his lawyer, entered, and -surveyed me as if I were a spectacle. I saw my uncle start and turn -pale; I had never seen myself since I came, but, if I had not suspected -that I was a melancholy wreck of my former self, I should have known it -then, such sudden pain and pity softened his ruthless countenance for a -single instant. Dr. Karnac’s eye had a magnetic power over me; I had -always felt it, but in my present feeble state I dreaded, yet submitted -to it with a helpless fear that should have touched his heart,—it was on -me then, I could not resist it, and paused fixed and fascinated by that -repellent yet potent glance. Hannah pointed to the carpet worn to shreds -by my weary march, to the walls which I had covered with weird, -grotesque, or tragic figures to while away the heavy hours, lastly to -myself, mute, motionless, and scared, saying, as if in confirmation of -some previous assertion,— - -“You see, gentlemen, she is, as I said, quiet, but quite hopeless.” - -I thought she was interceding for me; and, breaking from the -bewilderment and fear that held me, I stretched my hands to them, crying -with an imploring cry,— - -“Yes, I _am_ quiet! I _am_ hopeless! Oh, have pity on me before this -dreadful life kills me or drives me mad!” - -Dr. Karnac came to me at once with a black frown, which I alone could -see; I evaded him, and clung to Hannah, still crying frantically,—for -this seemed my last hope,— - -“Uncle, let me go! I will give you all I have, will never ask for Guy, -will be obedient and meek if I may only go to madame and never hear the -feet again, or see the sights that terrify me in this dreadful room. -Take me out! for God’s sake take me out!” - -My uncle did not answer me, but covered up his face with a despairing -gesture, and hurried from the room; the lawyer followed, muttering -pitifully, “Poor thing! poor thing!” and Dr. Karnac laughed the first -laugh I had ever heard him utter as he wrenched Hannah from my grasp and -locked me in alone. My one hope died then, and I resolved to kill myself -rather than endure this life another month; for now it grew clear to me -that they believed me mad, and death of the body was far more preferable -than that of the mind. I think I _was_ a little mad just then, but -remember well the sense of peace that came to me as I tore strips from -my clothing, braided them into a cord, hid it beneath my mattress, and -serenely waited for the night. Sitting in the last twilight I thought to -see in this unhappy world, I recollected that I had not heard the feet -all day, and fell to pondering over the unusual omission. But, if the -steps had been silent in that room, voices had not, for I heard a -continuous murmur at one time: the tones of one voice were abrupt and -broken, the other low, yet resonant, and that, I felt assured, belonged -to my uncle. Who was he speaking to? what were they saying? should I -ever know? and even then, with death before me, the intense desire to -possess the secret filled me with its old unrest. - -Night came at last; I heard the clock strike one, and, listening to -discover if John still lingered up, I heard through the deep hush a soft -grating in the room above, a stealthy sound that would have escaped ears -less preternaturally alert than mine. Like a flash came the thought, -“Some one is filing bars or picking locks: will the unknown remember me -and let me share her flight?” The fatal noose hung ready, but I no -longer cared to use it, for hope had come to nerve me with the strength -and courage I had lost. Breathlessly I listened; the sound went on, -stopped, a dead silence reigned; then something brushed against my door, -and, with a suddenness that made me tingle from head to foot like an -electric shock, through the keyhole came again that whisper, urgent, -imploring, and mysterious,— - -“Find it! for God’s sake find it before it is too late!” then fainter, -as if breath failed, came the broken words, “The dog—a lock of -hair—there is yet time.” - -Eagerness rendered me forgetful of the secrecy I should preserve, and I -cried aloud, “What shall I find? where shall I look?” My voice, -sharpened by fear, rang shrilly through the house, Hannah’s quick tread -rushed down the hall, something fell, then loud and long rose a cry that -made my heart stand still, so helpless, so hopeless was its wild lament. -I had betrayed and I could not save or comfort the kind soul who had -lost liberty through me. I was frantic to get out, and beat upon my door -in a paroxysm of impatience, but no one came; and all night long those -awful cries went on above, cries of mortal anguish, as if soul and body -were being torn asunder. Till dawn I listened, pent in that room which -now possessed an added terror; till dawn I called, wept, and prayed, -with mingled pity, fear, and penitence, and till dawn the agony of that -unknown sufferer continued unabated. I heard John hurry to and fro, -heard Hannah issue orders with an accent of human sympathy in her hard -voice; heard Dr. Karnac pass and repass my door, and all the sounds of -confusion and alarm in that once quiet house. With daylight all was -still, a stillness more terrible than the stir; for it fell so suddenly, -remained so utterly unbroken, that there seemed no explanation of it but -the dread word death. - -At noon Hannah, a shade paler, but grim as ever, brought me some food, -saying she forgot my breakfast, and when I refused to eat, yet asked no -questions, she bade me go into the garden and not fret myself over last -night’s flurry. I went, and, passing down the corridor, glanced -furtively at the door I never saw without a thrill; but I experienced a -new sensation then, for the hound was gone, the door was open, and, with -an impulse past control, I crept in and looked about me. It was a room -like mine, the carpet worn like mine, the windows barred like mine; -there the resemblance ended, for an empty cradle stood beside the bed, -and on that bed, below a sweeping cover, stark and still a lifeless body -lay. I was inured to fear now, and an unwholesome craving for new -terrors seemed to have grown by what it fed on: an irresistible desire -led me close, nerved me to lift the cover and look below,—a single -glance,—then, with a cry as panic-stricken as that which rent the -silence of the night, I fled away, for the face I saw was a pale image -of my own. Sharpened by suffering, pallid with death, the features were -familiar as those I used to see; the hair, beautiful and blonde as mine -had been, streamed long over the pulseless breast, and on the hand, -still clenched in that last struggle, shone the likeness of a ring I -wore, a ring bequeathed me by my father. An awesome fancy that it was -myself assailed me; I had plotted death, and, with the waywardness of a -shattered mind, I recalled legends of spirits returning to behold the -bodies they had left. - -Glad now to seek the garden, I hurried down, but on the threshold of the -great hall-door was arrested by the sharp crack of a pistol; and, as a -little cloud of smoke dispersed, I saw John drop the weapon and approach -the hound, who lay writhing on the bloody grass. Moved by compassion for -the faithful brute whose long vigilance was so cruelly repaid, I went to -him, and, kneeling there, caressed the great head that never yielded to -my touch before. John assumed his watch at once, and leaning against a -tree cleaned the pistol, content that I should amuse myself with the -dying creature, who looked into my face with eyes of almost human pathos -and reproach. The brass collar seemed to choke him as he gasped for -breath, and, leaning nearer to undo it, I saw, half hidden in his own -black hair, a golden lock wound tightly round the collar, and so near -its color as to be unobservable, except upon a close inspection. No -accident could have placed it there; no head but mine in that house wore -hair of that sunny hue,—yes, one other, and my heart gave a sudden leap -as I remembered the shining locks just seen on that still bosom. - -“Find it—the dog—the lock of hair,” rung in my ears, and swift as light -came the conviction that the unknown help was found at last. The little -band was woven close, I had no knife, delay was fatal, I bent my head as -if lamenting over the poor beast and bit the knot apart, drew out a -folded paper, hid it in my hand, and rising strolled leisurely back to -my own room, saying I did not care to walk till it was warmer. With -eager eyes I examined my strange treasure-trove; it consisted of two -strips of thinnest paper, without address or signature, one almost -illegible, worn at the edges and stained with the green rust of the -collar; the other fresher, yet more feebly written, both abrupt and -disjointed, but terribly significant to me. This was the first,— - - “I have never seen you, never heard your name, yet I know that - you are young, that you are suffering, and I try to help you in - my poor way. I think you are not crazed yet, as I often am; for - your voice is sane, your plaintive singing not like mine, your - walking only caught from me, I hope. I sing to lull the baby - whom I never saw; I walk to lessen the long journey that will - bring me to the husband I have lost,—stop! I must not think of - those things or I shall forget. If you are not already mad, you - will be; I suspect you were sent here to be made so; for the air - is poison, the solitude is fatal, and Karnac remorseless in his - mania for prying into the mysteries of human minds. What devil - sent you I may never know, but I long to warn you. I can devise - no way but this; the dog comes into my room sometimes, you - sometimes pause at my door and talk to him; you may find the - paper I shall hide about his collar. Read, destroy, but obey it. - I implore you to leave this house before it is too late.” - -The other paper was as follows:— - - “I have watched you, tried to tell you where to look, for you - have not found my warning yet, though I often tie it there and - hope. You fear the dog, perhaps, and my plot fails; yet I know - by your altered step and voice that you are fast reaching my - unhappy state; for I am fitfully mad, and shall be till I die. - To-day I have seen a familiar face; it seems to have calmed and - strengthened me, and, though he would not help you, I shall make - one desperate attempt. I may not find you, so leave my warning - to the hound, yet hope to breathe a word into your sleepless ear - that shall send you back into the world the happy thing you - should be. Child! woman! whatever you are, leave this accursed - house while you have power to do it.” - -That was all; I did not destroy the papers, but I obeyed them, and for a -week watched and waited till the propitious instant came. I saw my -uncle, the doctor, and two others, follow the poor body to its grave -beside the lake, saw all depart but Dr. Karnac, and felt redoubled -hatred and contempt for the men who could repay my girlish slights with -such a horrible revenge. On the seventh day, as I went down for my daily -walk, I saw John and Dr. Karnac so deep in some uncanny experiment that -I passed out unguarded. Hoping to profit by this unexpected chance, I -sprang down the steps, but the next moment dropped half-stunned upon the -grass; for behind me rose a crash, a shriek, a sudden blaze that flashed -up and spread, sending a noisome vapor rolling out with clouds of smoke -and flame. Aghast, I was just gathering myself up, when Hannah fled out -of the house, dragging her husband senseless and bleeding, while her own -face was ashy with affright. She dropped her burden beside me, saying, -with white lips and a vain look for help where help was not,— - -“Something they were at has burst, killed the doctor, and fired the -house! Watch John till I get help, and leave him at your peril!” then -flinging open the gate she sped away. - -“Now is my time,” I thought, and only waiting till she vanished, I -boldly followed her example, running rapidly along the road in an -opposite direction, careless of bonnetless head and trembling limbs, -intent only upon leaving that prison-house far behind me. For several -hours I hurried along that solitary road; the spring sun shone, birds -sang in the blooming hedges, green nooks invited me to pause and rest, -but I heeded none of them, steadily continuing my flight, till spent and -footsore I was forced to stop a moment by a wayside spring. As I stooped -to drink, I saw my face for the first time in many months, and started -to see how like that dead one it had grown, in all but the eternal peace -which made that beautiful in spite of suffering and age. Standing thus -and wondering if Guy would know me, should we ever meet, the sound of -wheels disturbed me. Believing them to be coming from the place I had -left, I ran desperately down the hill, turned a sharp corner, and before -I could check myself passed a carriage slowly ascending. A face sprang -to the window, a voice cried “Stop!” but on I flew, hoping the traveller -would let me go unpursued. Not so, however; soon I heard fleet steps -following, gaining rapidly, then a hand seized me, a voice rang in my -ears, and with a vain struggle I lay panting in my captor’s hold, -fearing to look up and meet a brutal glance. But the hand that had -seized me tenderly drew me close, the voice that had alarmed cried -joyfully,— - -“Sybil, it is Guy! lie still, poor child, you are safe at last.” - -Then I knew that my surest refuge was gained, and, too weak for words, -clung to him in an agony of happiness, which brought to his kind eyes -the tears I could not shed. - -The carriage returned; Guy took me in, and for a time cared only to -soothe and sustain my worn soul and body with the cordial of his -presence, as we rolled homeward through a blooming world, whose beauty I -had never truly felt before. When the first tumult of emotion had -subsided, I told the story of my captivity and my escape, ending with a -passionate entreaty not to be returned to my uncle’s keeping, for -henceforth there could be neither affection nor respect between us. - -“Fear nothing, Sybil; madame is waiting for you at the Moors, and my -father’s unfaithful guardianship has ended with his life.” - -Then with averted face and broken voice Guy went on to tell his father’s -purposes, and what had caused this unexpected meeting. The facts were -briefly these: The knowledge that my father had come between him and a -princely fortune had always rankled in my uncle’s heart, chilling the -ambitious hopes he cherished even in his boyhood, and making life an -eager search for pleasure in which to drown his vain regrets. This -secret was suspected by my father, and the household league was formed -as some atonement for the innocent offence. It seemed to soothe my -uncle’s resentful nature, and as years went on he lived freely, assured -that ample means would be his through his son. Luxurious, -self-indulgent, fond of all excitements, and reckless in their pursuit, -he took no thought for the morrow till a few months before his return. A -gay winter in Paris reduced him to those straits of which women know so -little; creditors were oppressive, summer friends failed him, gambling -debts harassed him, his son reproached him, and but one resource -remained, Guy’s speedy marriage with the half-forgotten heiress. The boy -had been educated to regard this fate as a fixed fact, and submitted, -believing the time to be far distant; but the sudden summons came, and -he rebelled against it, preferring liberty to love. My uncle pacified -the claimants by promises to be fulfilled at my expense, and hurried -home to press on the marriage, which now seemed imperative. I was taken -to my future home, approved by my uncle, beloved by my cousin, and, but -for my own folly, might have been a happy wife on that May morning when -I listened to this unveiling of the past. My mother had been melancholy -mad since that unhappy rumor of my father’s death; this affliction had -been well concealed from me, lest the knowledge should prey upon my -excitable nature and perhaps induce a like misfortune. I believed her -dead, yet I had seen her, knew where her solitary grave was made, and -still carried in my bosom the warning she had sent me, prompted by the -unerring instinct of a mother’s heart. In my father’s will a clause was -added just below the one confirming my betrothal, a clause decreeing -that, if it should appear that I inherited my mother’s malady, the -fortune should revert to my cousin, with myself a mournful legacy, to be -cherished by him whether his wife or not. This passage, and that -relating to my freedom of choice, had been omitted in the copy shown me -on the night when my seeming refusal of Guy had induced his father to -believe that I loved him, to make a last attempt to keep the prize by -offering himself, and, when that failed, to harbor a design that changed -my little comedy into the tragical experience I have told. - -Dr. Karnac’s exclamation had caused the recollection of that clause -respecting my insanity to flash into my uncle’s mind,—a mind as quick to -conceive as fearless to execute. I unconsciously abetted the stratagem, -and Dr. Karnac was an unscrupulous ally, for love of gain was as strong -as love of science; both were amply gratified, and I, poor victim, was -given up to be experimented upon, till by subtle means I was driven to -the insanity which would give my uncle full control of my fortune and my -fate. How the black plot prospered has been told; but retribution -speedily overtook them both, for Dr. Karnac paid his penalty by the -sudden death that left his ashes among the blackened ruins of that house -of horrors, and my uncle had preceded him. For before the change of -heirs could be effected my mother died, and the hours spent in that -unhealthful spot insinuated the subtle poison of the marsh into his -blood; years of pleasure left little vigor to withstand the fever, and a -week of suffering ended a life of generous impulses perverted, fine -endowments wasted, and opportunities for ever lost. When death drew -near, he sent for Guy (who, through the hard discipline of poverty and -honest labor, was becoming a manlier man), confessed all, and implored -him to save me before it was too late. He did, and when all was told, -when each saw the other by the light of this strange and sad -experience,—Guy poor again, I free, the old bond still existing, the -barrier of misunderstanding gone,—it was easy to see our way, easy to -submit, to forgive, forget, and begin anew the life these clouds had -darkened for a time. - -Home received me, kind madame welcomed me, Guy married me, and I was -happy; but over all these years, serenely prosperous, still hangs for me -the shadow of the past, still rises that dead image of my mother, still -echoes that spectral whisper in the dark. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of A Modern Mephistopheles and A Whisper -in the Dark, by Lousia M. 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