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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..d7b82bc --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,4 @@ +*.txt text eol=lf +*.htm text eol=lf +*.html text eol=lf +*.md text eol=lf diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1ff3bb --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #54926 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/54926) diff --git a/old/54926-8.txt b/old/54926-8.txt deleted file mode 100644 index ed5bc41..0000000 --- a/old/54926-8.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,10829 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Fairy Gold, by Christian Reid - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fairy Gold - -Author: Christian Reid - -Release Date: June 17, 2017 [EBook #54926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIRY GOLD *** - - - - -Produced by MFR, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - - FAIRY GOLD - - _By_ CHRISTIAN REID - - _Author of "Véra's Charge," "Philip's Restitution," "A Child of - Mary," "His Victory," etc._ - - [Illustration] - - - THE AVE MARIA PRESS - NOTRE DAME, INDIANA - - -COPYRIGHT, 1897, - -BY - -D.E. HUDSON. - - - - -FAIRY GOLD. - - - - -PRELUDE. - - -"Claire! do stop that tiresome practicing and come here. Helen and I -want you." - -The voice was very clear and vibrating, and had a ring of command in it -as it uttered these words; while the summer dusk was dying away, and -the summer air came soft and sweet into the school-room of a convent, -that, from the eminence on which it stood, overlooked a city at its -feet, and the rise and fall of Atlantic tides. It was drawing toward -the close of the exercise-hour, but the two girls who stood together -in school-girl fashion beside an open window, and the third, who in an -adjoining music-room was diligently practicing Chopin, were not the -only ones who had neglected its observance and incurred no rebuke; -for was not to-morrow the end of the scholastic year, and did not -relaxation of rules already reign from dormitory to class-room? - -Many hearts were beating high at the thought of the freedom which that -morrow would bring; many dreams were woven of the bright world which -lay beyond these quiet shades; of pleasures which were to replace -the monotonous round of occupation in which youth had so far been -spent--the round of lessons from teachers whose voices were gentle as -their faces were holy and serene; of quiet meditations in the beautiful -chapel, with its sculptured altar and stained-glass windows and -never-dying lamp; of walks in the green old garden, and romps along its -far-stretching alleys. They were ready to leave it all behind, these -careless birds, eager to try their new-fledged wings; and when the heat -and burden of the day should come down upon them, how much they would -give for one hour of the old quiet peace, the old happy ignorance! - -And among them all no face was more bright with triumphant hope--or -was it triumphant resolve?--than hers whose voice went ringing through -the almost deserted school-room, in the half-entreaty, half-command -recorded above. - -The sound of the piano ceased on the instant; a slight rustling -followed, as of music being put away; and then a girl came down the -middle aisle of desks, toward the window which overlooked the garden -and faced the glowing western sky, where the two girls were standing, -both of whom turned as she advanced. - -"You must pardon me," she said, in a tone of apology. "I did not mean -to stay so long, but I forget myself when I am at the piano, and I -could scarcely bear to think that this was my last hour of practice." - -"I am quite sure that it will not be your last hour of practice," said -the girl who had spoken first. "You are too fond of drudgery for that. -But how can you talk of not bearing to think of its being the last -_here_, when Helen and I have been congratulating each other on the -fact until we exhausted all our expressions of pleasure, and had to -call on you to help us?" - -"Then you would have done better to let me finish my practicing," -said the other, with a faint smile; "for I cannot help you with one -expression of pleasure: I am too sorry." - -"Sorry!"--it was the one called Helen who broke in here. "Oh! how can -you say that, when we are going home to be so happy?" - -"_You_ are going home, dear," remarked Claire, gently. - -"And are not you? Is not my home your home, and will I not be hurt if -you do not feel it so?" - -"You are very kind, dear," said Claire; "but you cannot give me what -God has denied. Perhaps I too might be glad of to-morrow, Helen, if I -had your future or Marion's courage; but, lacking both, I only feel -afraid and sad. I feel as if I should like to stay here forever--as if -I were being pushed out into a world with which I am not able to cope." - -"But a world which shall never harm you so long as my love and Marion's -courage can help you," said Helen, as she passed her disengaged arm -around the slender form. "You know we three are pledged to stand -together as long as we live; are we not, Marion?" - -"I know that Claire is very foolish," answered Marion. "If I had her -talent I should be eager to go into the world--eager to cope with and -overcome it. Everyone says that she is certain to succeed, and of all -the gifts in the world fame must be the sweetest." - -"I suppose it is," said Claire; "but I know enough of art--just -enough--to be aware that it is a long journey before one can even dream -of fame. I love to paint--oh! yes, better than anything else,--but I -know what difficult work lies before me in becoming an artist." - -"Yet you do not mind work," observed Helen, in a wondering tone. - -"No." answered the other, "not here, where I had help and encouragement -and the sense of safe shelter. But out in the world, where I shall have -only myself to look to, and no one to care whether I fail or not--well, -I confess my courage ebbs as I think of that." - -"How strange!" said Marion. "If my hands were as free as yours are, I -should like nothing better than for them to be as empty--if you can -call hands empty that have such a power." - -"And are not your hands as free as mine?" asked the other. "We are both -orphans, and both--" - -"Poor," said Marion, frankly. "Yes, but with a difference. Most people, -I suppose, would think the difference in my favor; _I_ think it is in -yours. You have no family obligations to prevent your doing what you -will with your life, from following the bent of your genius; while -I--well, it is true I have no genius, but if I had it would be all the -same. My uncle would never consent to my doing anything to lower the -family dignity, and I owe him enough to make me feel bound to respect -his wishes." - -"It is well to have some one whose wishes one is bound to respect," -said Claire gently, and then a silence fell. - -They were decided contrasts, these three girls, as they stood together -by the open window, and looked out on the bright sunset and down into -the large garden;--decided contrasts, yet all possessed in greater or -less degree the gift of beauty. - -It was certainly in greater degree with Marion Lynde, whose daily -expanding loveliness had been the marvel of all who saw her for two -years past;--the marvel even in this quiet convent, where human aspect -was perhaps of less account than any where else on all God's earth. The -little children had looked with admiration on her brilliant face, the -older girls had gazed on it with throbs of unconscious envy; the nuns -had glanced pityingly at the girl who bore so proudly that often fatal -dower; and many times the Mother Superior had sent up a special prayer -for this defiant soldier of life, when she saw her kneeling at Mass or -Benediction with a many-tinted glory streaming over her head. - -As she stood now in her simple school dress, Marion was a picture -of striking beauty. Tall, slight, graceful, there was in her grace -something imperial and unlike other women. Her white skin, finely -grained and colorless as the petal of a lily, suited the regular, -clear-cut features; while her eyes were large and dark--splendid eyes, -which seemed to carry lustre in their sweeping glance,--and her hair -was a mass of red gold. Altogether a face to study with a sense of -artistic pleasure,--a face to admire as one admires a statue or a -painting; but not a face that attracted or wakened love, as many less -beautiful faces do, or as that of her cousin, Helen Morley, did. - -For everyone loved Helen--a winsome creature, with lips that seemed -formed only for smiles, and hands ever ready to caress and aid; with -endearing ways that the hardest heart could not have resisted, and -a heaven-born capacity for loving that seemed inexhaustible. It was -impossible to look on the bright young face and think that sorrow could -ever darken it, or that tears would ever dim the clear violet of those -joyous eyes. From the Mother Superior down to the youngest scholar, all -loved the girl, and all recognized how entirely she seemed marked out -for happy destinies. "You must not let the brightness of this world -veil Heaven from your sight, my child," the nuns would say, as they -laid their hands on the silken-soft head, and longed to hold back from -the turmoil of life this white dove, whose wings were already spread -for flight from the quiet haven where they had been folded for a time. - -Least beautiful of the three girls was Claire Alford,--a girl whose -reserved manner had perhaps kept love as well as familiarity at bay -during the years of her convent tutelage. Even Marion, with all her -haughty waywardness, had more friends than this quiet student. Yet -no one could find fault with Claire. She was always considerate and -gentle, quick to oblige and slow to take offense. But she lived a life -absorbed within itself, and those around her felt this. They felt that -her eyes were fixed on some distant goal, to which every thought of her -mind and effort of her nature was directed. - -The only child and orphan of a struggling artist--a man of genius, but -who died before he conquered the recognition of the world,--Claire knew -that her slender fortune would hardly suffice for the expenses of her -education, and that afterward she must look for aid to herself alone. -Usually life goes hard with a woman under such circumstances as these. -But Claire had one power as a weapon with which to fight her way. Her -talent for painting had been the astonishment of all her teachers, and -it was a settled thing that she would make art the object and pursuit -of her life. If least beautiful of the three girls who stood there -together, an observant glance might have lingered longest on her. There -was something very attractive in the gray eyes that gazed so steadily -from under their long lashes, and in the smile that stirred now and -then the usually grave and gentle lips. - -It only remains to be added that both Claire and Helen were Catholics, -while Marion had been brought up in Protestantism, which resulted, in -her case, in absolute religious indifference. - -The silence had lasted for some time, when Helen's voice at last broke -it, saying:-- - -"You are right, Claire. It does make one sad to think that we are -standing together for the last time in our dear old school-room. We -have been so happy here! I wonder if we shall be _very_ much more happy -out in the world?" - -"I doubt if we shall ever be half as happy again," answered Claire. - -"Oh, you prophet of evil! Why not?" - -"Why not, Helen!" repeated Claire. "Because I doubt if we shall ever -again feel so entirely at peace with ourselves and with others as we -have felt here." - -"It is a very nice place," observed Helen; "and I love the Mother -Superior and all the Sisters dearly. But, then, of course, I want to -see mamma and Harry and little Jock. I want to ride Brown Bess again, -and I do want to go to a party Claire." - -"Well," said Claire, smiling, "I suppose there is no doubt that you -will go to a good many parties, and I hope you will enjoy them." - -"There is no doubt of her enjoyment," interposed Marion, speaking in -her usual half satiric tone, "if Paul Rathborne is to be there." - -"I was not thinking of Paul Rathborne, and neither, I am sure, was -Helen," said Claire. - -"That is likely!" cried Marion, laughing. "Don't, Helen! I would not -tell a story to oblige Claire, if I were you." - -But Helen had apparently little idea of telling the story. Even in the -dusk, the flush that overspread her face was visible, and the lids -drooped over the violet eyes. - -"At all events, we will not talk of him," said Claire, decidedly. "We -will talk of ourselves and our own futures. We are standing on the -threshold of a new life, and surely we may spare a little time in -wondering how it will fare with us. Marion, what do you say?" - -"If one may judge the future by the past, I should say, so far as I am -concerned, badly enough," Marion replied. "But whether I alter matters -for better or for worse, I don't mean to go on in the same old way; I -shall change the road, if I don't mend it." - -"Change it in what manner?" - -"I don't know exactly. Circumstances will have to decide that for -me. But I don't mean to go back to my uncle's, to share the family -economics, and hear the family complaints, and wear Adela's old -dresses; you may be sure of that, Claire!" - -"But how can you avoid it," asked Claire, "when you have just said that -you will not disregard your uncle's wishes by attempting to support -yourself?" - -"I shall not do anything to hurt the Lynde pride," answered the girl, -mockingly. "I shall only take my gifts of body and mind into the world, -and see what I can make of them." - -"Make of them!" repeated Helen. "In what way?" - -"There is only one way that I care about," returned the other, -carelessly: "the way of a fortune." - -"Oh! I understand: you mean to marry a rich man." - -"I mean that only as a last resort. The world would think worse of me -if I robbed a man of his fortune; but I should think worse of myself, -and wrong him more, if I married him to obtain it. No, Helen, I shall -not do that--if I can help it." - -"But you would not be wronging him, Marion, if you loved him." - -"And do you think," demanded the young cynic, "that one is likely to -love the man it is best for one to marry?" - -"Yes, I think so--I know so." - -"Ah! well, perhaps it may be so to such a child of happy fate as you -are, but it is never likely to occur to me." - -"And is a fortune all that you mean to look for in life?" asked Helen. - -"Why should I look for anything more? Does not that comprise -everything? Ah! you have never known the bitterness of poverty, or -you would not doubt that when one has fortune, one has all that is -necessary for happiness." - -"But I have known poverty," broke in Claire; "and I know, Marion, that -there are many worse things in life than want of money, and many better -things than possessing it." - -"That is all you know about the matter," replied Marion, with an air -of scorn. "Perhaps I, too, might be able to feel in that way, if I had -known only the poverty that you have--a picturesque, Bohemian poverty, -with no necessity to pretend to be what you were not. But genteel -poverty, which must keep up appearances by a hundred makeshifts and -embarrassments and meannesses--have you ever known _that_? It has been -the experience of my life,--one which I shudder to recall, and which I -would sooner die than go back to." - -"Poor darling! you shall not go back to it," cried Helen. - -But Marion threw off her caressing hand. - -"Don't, Helen!" she said, sharply. "I can't bear pity, even from you. -But I have talked enough of myself. You both know what I am going to -do: to make a fortune by some means. Now it is your turn, Claire, to -tell your ambition." - -"You know it very well," answered Claire, quietly. "I am going to be an -artist, and perhaps, if God helps me, to make a name." - -"Yes, I know," said Marion, gloomily. "Yours is a noble ambition, and I -think you will succeed." - -"I hope so," responded Claire, looking out on the sunset with her -earnest eyes. "At least I know that I have resolution and perseverance, -and I used to hear my father say that with those things even mediocre -talent could do much." - -"And yours is not mediocre. Yet you talk of being sorry to leave here, -with such a prospect before you." - -"Such a battle, too. And people say that the world is very hard and -stern to those who fight it single-handed." - -"So much the better!" cried Marion, flinging back her head with an air -of defiance. "There will be so much the more glory in triumph." - -"You never seem to think of failure," observed Claire, with a smile. -"But now Helen must tell us what she desires her future to be." - -"Mine?" said Helen. "Oh! I leave all such things as fortune and fame to -you and Marion. I mean only to be happy." - -"To be happy!" repeated Marion. "Well, I admire your modesty. You have -set up for yourself a much more difficult aim than either Claire's or -my own. And how do you mean to be happy? That is the next question." - -"I don't know," replied Helen, with a laugh. "I just mean to go home to -enjoy myself; that is all. And how happy it makes me to think that you -are both going with me!" - -"Dear little Helen!" said Claire, caressingly. "But it will not make -you unhappy to hear that I am not going with you, will it? I have just -found out that I can not go." - -"Not go!" repeated Helen. The deepest surprise and disappointment were -written on her face. "O, Claire, it is impossible that you can mean -it--that you can be so unkind! Why do you say such a thing?" - -"I say it because it is true, dear; though it is a greater -disappointment to me than to you. I have just had a letter from my -guardian, telling me he has found an opportunity to send me abroad with -a lady, an acquaintance of his own; and I have no choice but to go." - -"I should think you would be delighted to find such an opportunity," -said Marion. "But surely the lady is not going to Rome at this season?" - -"No: she is going to Germany for the summer, and to Italy in the -autumn; which is a very good thing, for I shall see the galleries of -Dresden and Munich before I go to Rome. Of course I am glad--I must be -glad--to find the opportunity at once; but I had promised myself the -pleasure of a quiet, happy month with Helen and you, and I am sorry to -lose it." - -"It is too bad," said Helen, with a sound as of tears in her voice. "I -had anticipated so much pleasure in our all three being together! And -now--why could not your guardian have waited to find the lady, or why -does she not put off going abroad until the autumn?" - -"Why, in short, is not the whole scheme of things arranged with -reference to one insignificant person called Claire Alford?" replied -Claire, laughing. "No, dear; there is no help for it. I must give up -the idea of a short rest before the combat." - -"And now there is no telling when we shall all be together again!" said -Helen. "I could not have believed that such a disappointment was in -store for me." - -"I hope you will never know a worse one," remarked Claire. "But if we -live, we must meet again some day. We are too good friends to suffer -such trifles as time and space to separate us always." - -"But you are going so far away, one cannot tell when or where that -meeting will be," said Helen, still mournfully. - -"Perhaps it may be when Marion has made her fortune, and asks us to -visit her castle," answered Claire. "Marion, have you formed any plans -as to where it is to be situated? Marion, don't you hear?" - -"What is it?" asked Marion, starting. "I beg your pardon, but I was -thinking. Did you say, Claire, that this visit, which you could not -make, would have been a rest before the combat to you? I was wondering -if it will be a rest to me or a beginning." - -She spoke half dreamily, and neither of the others answered. They only -stood with the sunset glow falling on their fair young faces, their -wistful gaze resting upon each other, and quite silent, until a bell -pealed softly out on the twilight air, and their last school-day ended -forever. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -There is nothing specially attractive about Scarborough--a town which -nestles among green hills near the foot of the Blue Ridge,--except its -salubrious and delightful climate, which has long drawn summer visitors -from the lower malarial country; but if it had been as beautiful as -Naples or as far-famed as Venice, it could not have wakened more loving -delight than that which shone in Helen Morley's eyes as she drew near -it. For that deeply-rooted attachment to familiar scenes--to those -aspects of nature on which the eyes first opened, and which to the -child are like the face of another mother--was as strong in her as it -is in most people of affectionate character. For several miles before -the train reached Scarborough, she was calling Marion's attention to -one familiar landmark after another; and when finally they stopped at -the station on the outskirts of the town, her eagerness knew no bounds. - -"Come, Marion; here we are!" she cried, springing up hastily. But at -that moment the car was burst open by a tall young man, who entered, -followed by two small boys, upon all three of whom, as it seemed to -Marion, Helen, with a glad little cry, precipitated herself. There were -embraces, kisses, inquiries for a moment; then the young man turned -and held out his hand, saying, "This is Miss Lynde, I am sure?" - -"Yes," said Helen, turning her flushed, smiling face. "And this is my -cousin, Frank Morley, Marion. And here is my brother Harry, who has -almost grown to be a man since I went away; and here is little Jock." - -Marion shook hands with all these new acquaintances; the boys seized -bags and baskets, and the young man led the way from the car and -assisted them to the platform outside, near which a large open carriage -was standing, with a broadly-smiling ebony coachman, whom Helen greeted -warmly. Then her cousin told her that she had better drive home at -once. "I shall stay and attend to the trunks, and will see you later," -he said. - -So Helen, Marion, and the boys were bundled into the carriage, and -drove away through the streets of Scarborough,--Helen explaining that -her home was at the opposite end of the town from the station. "Indeed -we are quite in the county," she said: "and I like it much better than -living in town." - -"Who would wish to live in a town like this!" asked Marion, eying -disdainfully the rural-looking streets through which they were passing. -"I like the overflowing life, the roar and fret of a great city; but -places of this kind seem to me made only to put people to sleep, -mentally as well as physically." - -"Oh, Scarborough is a very nice place when you know it!" said Helen, -in arms at once for her birth-place. "And I assure you people are not -asleep in it, by any means." - -"These young gentlemen certainly look wide awake," resumed Marion, -regarding the two boys, who were in turn regarding her with large and -solemn eyes. "And so looked your cousin--very wide awake indeed." - -"Oh, Frank is a delightful boy!" exclaimed Helen; "and I am very fond -of him." - -"I am glad to hear it," said Marion. "I hope you will be fond enough of -him to keep him away from me; for if I abhor anything, it is a boy--I -mean" (with a glance at the two young faces before her) "a boy who -fancies himself a man." - -"Frank is twenty years old," observed Harry, who, being himself barely -ten, naturally regarded this as a venerable age. - -"So I imagined," replied Marion; "and twenty is not my favorite -age--for a man. Jock's age suits me better. Jock, how old are you?" - -Jock replied that he was seven; but at this point an exclamation from -Helen cut the conversation short; for now they were rapidly approaching -a house situated in the midst of large grounds on the outskirts of -the town,--a shade-embowered dwelling, on the broad veranda of which -flitting forms were to be seen, as the carriage paused a moment for the -gate to be opened. Helen stood up and eagerly waved her handkerchief; -then they drove in, swept around a large circle and drew up before an -open door, from which poured a troop of eager welcomers of all ages and -colors. - -It seemed to Marion a babel of sound which ensued--kisses, welcomes, -hand-shakings, questions,--then she was swept along by the tide into -the cool, garnished house, and thence on to a bowery chamber, where -she was left for a little while to herself: since Helen was, after -all, the grand object of the ovation, and it was into Helen's room -that the loyal crowd gathered, who had merely given to Marion that -cordial welcome which no stranger ever failed to receive on a Southern -threshold. - -Only Helen's mother--who, having been twice married, was now Mrs. -Dalton--lingered behind with the young stranger, and looked earnestly -into the fair face, as if seeking a likeness. - -"You are very little like your mother, my dear," she said at last; -"though you have her eyes. Alice was beautiful, but it was a gentle -beauty; while you--well, I think you must be altogether a Lynde." - -"I know that I am very like the Lyndes," Marion answered. "I have a -miniature of my father, which I can see myself that I resemble." - -"He was a very handsome man," said Mrs. Dalton, "and daring--ah! it -was no wonder that he was among the first to rush into the war, and -among the first to be killed! My child, you do not know how my heart -has yearned over you during all these years, how happy I was to hear of -your being at the convent with Helen, and now how glad I am to see you -under my own roof. I want you to feel that you are like a daughter of -the house." - -"You are very kind," replied Marion, touched by the evident sincerity -of the words. "I am glad, too, to know at last some of my mother's -kindred." - -"I can't help wishing that you looked more like her," said Mrs. Dalton, -returning wistfully to that point. "She was very lovely--though you--I -suppose I need not tell you what _you_ are. My dear"--and suddenly the -elder woman stooped to kiss the younger--"I am sorry for you." - -"I am sorry for you!" The words lingered on Marion's ear after her -aunt's kindly presence had left the room and she stood alone, asking -herself why she was so often met in this manner. Why was it that, even -with her royal beauty, she had thus far encountered more of pity than -of admiration? Why did all eyes that had looked on the sin and sorrow -of earth regard her with compassion, and why had she heard so often in -her old life that which was her first greeting in the new--"I am sorry -for you"? - -"Sorry!--for what?" The girl asked herself this with fiery and -impatient disdain. What did they all mean? Why did this keynote of -unknown misfortune or suffering meet her at every turn, like a shadow -flung forward by the unborn future? Why did this refrain always ring -in her ears? She was tired of it--so she said to herself with sudden -passion,--and she would let the future prove whether or not their pity -was misplaced. - -She let down her magnificent hair as she thought this, and looked at -herself in the mirror out of a burnished cloud. Not, however, as most -beautiful women look at the fair image that smiles from those shadowy -depths--not with the gratified gaze of self-admiration or the glance of -conscious power, but with a criticism severe and stern enough to have -banished all loveliness from a less perfect face; with a cool reckoning -and appreciation, in which the innocent vanity of girlhood bore no -part. And when this scrutiny was ended, the smile that came over her -face spoke more of resolution than of pleasure. - -She took up a comb then, and began arranging her hair. The task did not -occupy her many minutes; for her deft fingers were very quick, and no -one had ever accused her of caring for the arts of the toilet. On the -contrary, she had always manifested a careless disregard of them, which -puzzled her associates, and was by not a few set down to affectation. -Now, when she had piled her hair on top of her head like a coronal -of red gold, she proceeded to make her simple toilet, with scarcely -another glance toward the mirror. It was soon completed, and she had -been ready some time when a knock at the door was followed by the -appearance of Helen's beaming face. - -"So you are dressed?" she said. "I came to show you the way down. I -would have come sooner, but, you know, there was so much to say." - -"And to hear," added Marion. "I can imagine, though I do not know, what -such a home-coming is. And what a lovely home you have, Helen!" - -"You have hardly seen it yet," answered Helen. "Come and let me show -you all over it." - -It was certainly a spacious and pleasant house, built with the stately, -honest solidity of the work of former generations, but with many modern -additions which served to enhance its picturesqueness and comfort. -Marion praised it with a sincerity that delighted Helen; and, having -made a thorough exploration, they passed out of the wide lower hall -into a veranda, which, as in most Southern houses, was at this hour the -place of general rendezvous. Here a pretty dark-eyed girl came forward -to meet them. - -"I was introduced to you when you arrived, Miss Lynde," she said, "but -there was such a hubbub I fancy you did not notice me, and I am glad to -welcome you again. I feel as if Helen's cousin must be my cousin too." - -"Helen's cousin is much obliged," said Marion. "You are Miss Morley, -then?" - -"I am the Netta of whom you have doubtless heard. But pray sit down. -Are you not tired from your journey?" - -"A little. It was so warm and dusty!" answered Marion. "But this seems -a perfect place of rest," she added, as she sank on a lounge that had -been placed just under the odorous shade of the vines which overran -the front of the veranda. "I mean to indulge freely in the luxury of -idleness here." - -"I hope you will," said Helen. "But I wish that you felt sufficiently -rested to come with me into the garden. I should like you to see how -lovely it is." - -"I wish that I did, but I don't. Pray go yourself, however. You must -not let me begin my visit by being a bore to you. Miss Morley, pray -take her along." - -After some little demur, the two girls complied with her request, and -with sincere satisfaction Marion watched them disappear down the garden -paths. She was very fond of Helen, she told herself and certainly -believed; but, none the less, a very moderate amount of Helen's society -sufficed to content, and any more to weary her. Just now she felt -particularly wearied, as if both mind and body had been on a strain; -and, sinking back on the couch, with the vines breathing their rich -perfume over her, she remained so still while the shades of twilight -began to gather, that any one who discovered her would have had to look -very closely. - -This was presently proved; for the silence, which had lasted some time, -was broken by a quick step--a step which passed across the veranda and -entered the hall, where a ringing and hilarious voice soon made itself -heard. - -"Where is everybody?" it inquired. "Surely I am late enough! I thought -they would all be down by this time." - -"They've all been down ever so long, Frank," a child's shrill tones -replied. "They are out in the garden--Helen and Netta and Cousin -Marion." - -"Oh, very good! Come along, Jock, and let us find them," said Mr. Frank -Morley. "Has your cousin Paul been here yet?" - -"No--not yet." - -"Ah, better still! We are before him, then. I shall go and welcome -Helen over again, and take a kiss before she can prevent it." - -"Then she'll box your ears--I saw her do it once!" cried Jock, in glee. -"Oh! yes; I'll come along with you, Frank." - -The tall, lithe figure, followed by the smaller one, crossed the -veranda again, and strode toward the garden, leaving Marion smiling to -herself in her shady nook. - -Ten minutes later another step--this time a more sedate one--sounded -on the gravel. But keener eyes explored the veranda before their owner -entered the house. Consequently they discovered the figure under the -vines, and Marion was startled by a quiet voice which said:-- - -"What! all alone, Helen? I had not hoped for such good fortune--so -soon." - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -Probably the speaker had seldom been more surprised than when Marion -rose quickly, and, the last glow from the west falling over her, he -found himself face to face with a stranger. - -Even to the most self-possessed there is something a little -embarrassing when tender tones or caressing words are heard by ears -for which they were not intended; and, although there was nothing -specially significant in the letter of this speech, its spirit had been -eloquent enough to make Mr. Paul Rathborne start with confusion when he -discovered his mistake. - -"I beg pardon," he said, a little hastily--"I did not observe--that is" -(with a sudden grasp of self-possession), "I thought I was addressing -my cousin. I suppose I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Lynde?" - -"Yes," answered Marion. "And you, I presume, are Mr. Rathborne?" - -He bowed. "I am glad to perceive that you have heard of me." - -"Oh!" said Marion, "in knowing Helen, one knows all the people that -make up her home circle. I assure you I feel intimately acquainted with -yourself and all the Morleys, and the children--" - -"And probably the horses and the dogs," he said as she paused. "I am -aware of the comprehensiveness of Helen's affections." - -"Her heart is large enough to hold all that she gives a place in it," -remarked Marion. - -"Oh! no doubt," said Mr. Rathborne. "But, perhaps, if one had one's -choice, one would be flattered by more exclusiveness." - -Marion glanced at him and thought, "It is evidently in your nature to -want to monopolize." But she only said: "I do not think you have reason -to complain of your place in Helen's regard." - -"I have no thought of complaining," he replied; "I am very grateful for -all the regard she is good enough to give me." - -The humility of the words could not conceal an arrogance of tone, -which did not escape the ear of the listener. At that moment she was -as thoroughly convinced as ever afterward that this man perfectly -understood how paramount was the place he held in Helen's regard. - -"Helen's affection is something for which one may well be grateful," -she observed, sincerely enough. "But do you not wish to find her? She -is in the garden." - -Mr. Rathborne did not stir. "If she is in the garden," he said, "she -will no doubt come in presently. And I judge from sounds which I hear -in that direction that she is not alone. If you do not object, I will -remain here and wait for her." - -"Object! Why should I object?" asked Marion. She reseated herself, and -was not displeased that Mr. Rathborne drew forward a chair and also sat -down. She was aware that he was, in a manner, engaged to Helen--in -other words, that their positive engagement had only been deferred on -account of Helen's youth; but the fact did not at all detract from the -interest he had for her--the interest of a man with wider life and, -presumably, wider thoughts than the school-girls who, up to this time, -had formed her social atmosphere. It offended her, therefore, that when -he spoke next it was in the tone of one addressing a school-girl. - -"I suppose, Miss Lynde, that, like Helen, you were very much attached -to the convent?" - -"It is not at all safe to suppose that I am in any respect like Helen," -she replied. "We are very good friends, but exceedingly different in -character." - -"And therefore in tastes?" - -"That follows, does it not? Different characters must have different -tastes." - -"It certainly seems a natural inference. And so I am to presume that -you were _not_ attached to the convent?" - -"That is going rather too far. I liked it better than any other -school at which I ever was placed. But I am not fond of restraint and -subjection; therefore I am glad that my school-days are over." - -Mr. Rathborne smiled slightly. Even in the dusk he could see enough of -the presence before him to judge that restraint and subjection would -indeed be little likely to please this imperial-looking creature. - -"I am to congratulate you, then," he said, "on the fact that your -school-days are definitely over?" - -"Yes, they are definitely over, and it remains now to be seen what -schooling life holds for me." - -"Certainly a singular girl this!" thought the man, who was well aware -that most young ladies had little thought of what schooling life might -hold for them. "If I may be permitted to prophesy," he said aloud, "I -think that life has in store for you only pleasant experiences." - -"That is very kind of you," answered Marion, with a mocking tone in -her voice, which was very familiar to her associates; "but I don't -know that I have any claim to special exemption from the usual lot of -mankind; and certainly pleasant experiences are not the usual lot, -unless everyone is very much mistaken." - -"People are too much given to sitting down and moaning over the -unpleasantness of life, when they might make it otherwise by taking -matters into their own hands," said Mr. Rathborne. "But that requires a -strong will." - -"And something beside will, does it not?" - -"Oh! of course the ability to seize opportunity, and make one's self -master of it." - -"That is what I should like," said Marion, speaking as if to herself: -"to seize opportunity. But the opportunity must come in order to be -seized." - -"There is little doubt but that it will come to you," remarked her -companion, more and more impressed. - -How far the conversation might have progressed in this personal vein, -into which it had so unexpectedly fallen, it is difficult to say; for a -spark of congenial sympathy had been already struck between these two -people, who a few minutes before had been absolute strangers to each -other. But at this point Mrs. Dalton stepped out of the hall and came -toward them. - -"I thought I heard your voice, Paul," she said, as Rathborne rose to -shake hands with her; "and I wondered to whom you were talking, since I -knew the girls were in the garden. But this is Marion, is it not?" - -"It is Marion," replied that young lady. "I did not go into the -garden--I felt too tired,--and Mr. Rathborne found me here a few -minutes ago." - -"It is somewhat late for an introduction, then," said Mrs. Dalton, -"since you have already made acquaintance." - -"Not a very difficult task," observed Rathborne. "I have heard a good -deal of Miss Lynde, and she was good enough to say that my name was not -altogether unknown to her." - -"Helen talks so much of her friends that they could hardly avoid -knowing one another," resumed Mrs. Dalton. "But pray go and tell her, -Paul, that it is time to come in to tea." - -"With pleasure," said Mr. Rathborne, departing with an alacrity which -seemed to imply that only politeness had prevented his going before. - -At least so Mrs. Dalton interpreted the quickness of his step, as she -looked after him for an instant, and then turned to Marion. "I suppose, -my dear," she said, "that you have heard Helen speak of Paul very -often?" - -"Very often indeed," answered Marion. - -"And you are probably aware that if I had not refused to allow her to -bind herself while she was so young, they would be engaged?" - -Marion signified that she had also heard this--exhaustively. - -"The responsibilities of a parent are very great," said Mrs. Dalton, -with a sigh. "I certainly have every reason to trust Paul, who has been -as helpful as a son to me in all business matters since my husband's -death--he is my nephew by marriage, you know--yet I hesitate when I -think of trusting Helen's happiness to him. She is so very affectionate -that I do not think she could be happy with any one who did not feel as -warmly as herself. Now, Paul is very reserved in character and cold in -manner. I fear that he would chill and wound her--after a while." - -"But is it not a rule that people like best those who are most opposite -to them in character?" asked Marion, whose interest in Helen's -love-affair began to quicken a little since she had met its hero. - -"I believe it is a general rule," replied Mrs. Dalton, dubiously; "but -I distrust its particular application in this case. And, then, they are -not of the same religion." - -"Oh!" exclaimed Marion, carelessly, "that surely does not matter--with -liberal people." - -"It matters with Catholics," said Mrs. Dalton. "Although not a Catholic -yourself, you ought to know that." - -"I know that people who have always been Catholics feel so. But you, -who were once a Protestant--I should think that you would be more -broad." - -"Converts are the last people to be broad in that respect," said Mrs. -Dalton. "They have known too much of the bitterness of differing -feeling on that subject. But you do not understand, so we will not -discuss it. I forgot for a moment that you are separated from us in -faith." - -"I am separated from you because I do not hold _your_ faith," said -Marion, frankly; "but I am not separated because I hold any other. All -religions are alike to me, except that I respect the Catholic most. But -I could never belong to it." - -"Never is a long day," observed Mrs. Dalton. "You do not know what -light the future may hold for you. However, we will talk of this -another time; for here come the garden party." - -They came through the twilight as she spoke, the light dresses of the -girls showing with pretty effect against the dark masses of shrubbery, -and their gay young voices ringing out, with accompaniment of laughter, -through the still air. - -"Marion!--where is Marion?" cried Helen, as she reached the veranda. -"Oh! there you are still, under the vines! Here is a greeting from the -garden that you would not go to see." - -It was a cluster of odorous roses--splendid jacqueminots--which fell -into Marion's lap, and which she took up and pinned against her white -dress. Their glowing color lent a fresh touch of brilliancy to her -appearance when Paul Rathborne found himself opposite to her at the -well-lighted tea-table. The twilight had revealed to him that she was -handsome, but he had not been prepared for such beauty as now met and -fascinated his gaze. He regarded her with a wonder which was as evident -as his admiration, and not less flattering to her vanity. For Helen's -confidences had enabled her to form a very correct idea of this cold, -self-contained man; and she felt that to move him so much was no small -earnest of her power to move others. - -Meanwhile she glanced at him now and then with critical observation, -seeing a keen face, with deep-set eyes under a brow more high than -broad; a thin-lipped mouth, which did not smile readily; and a general -air of reserve and power. It was a face not without attraction to the -girl, whose own spirit was sufficiently ambitious and arrogant to -recognize and respond to the signs of such a spirit in another. "He is -a man who means to make his way in the world, and who will use poor -little Helen as a stepping-stone," she thought. "A cold, supercilious, -selfish man--the kind of man who despises women, I fancy. Let us see if -he will despise _me_." - -There was not much reason to suspect Mr. Rathborne of such presumption. -Almost his first remark to Helen, when they were together after tea, -was, "What a remarkable person your cousin seems to be!" - -"Marion?" said Helen. "Yes, she is so remarkable that Claire and I have -often said that she is made for some great destiny. She looks like an -empress, does she not?" - -Rathborne laughed. "She has a very imperial air, certainly," he said; -"and she is strikingly beautiful. She might have the world at her feet -if she had a fortune. But I suppose she has very little?" - -"None at all, I think," answered Helen, simply. "And it has embittered -her. She values money too highly." - -"It is difficult to do that," said Rathborne, dryly; "and Miss Lynde -knows what is fitted for her when she desires wealth. I never saw a -woman who seemed more evidently born for it." - -"I wish I could give her my fortune," said Helen, sincerely. "She hates -poverty so much, while I would not at all mind being poor." - -An echo of the wish shot through Rathborne's mind, but he only said, -with one of his faint, flitting smiles: "My dear Helen, you are not -exactly a judge of the poverty you have never tried. And, while it is -very good of you to wish to give your cousin your fortune, there can -be no doubt that with such a face she will not go through life without -finding one." - -Helen looked across the room at the beautiful face of which he spoke. -In her heart no pang of envy stirred, only honest admiration as she -said: "I knew you would admire her!" - -"Admire her--yes," Paul answered; "one could hardly fail to do that. -But I do not think I shall like her. I like amiable, gentle women, -and I am very certain that not even _you_ can say that Miss Lynde is -amiable and gentle." - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -"You have not told me yet, Marion, what you think of Paul," said Helen -the next day. - -The two girls were together in a handsome, airy parlor, through which -the stream of family life had been flowing all morning, but from which -it had now ebbed, leaving them alone. Helen, who had been flitting like -a bird from one occupation, or attempt at occupation, to another, now -threw herself into a chair by one of the low open windows, and looked -at Marion, who was lying luxuriously on a couch near by, and for an -hour past had not lifted her eyes from her book. - -They were lifted now, however, and regarded the speaker quietly. "What -do I think of Mr. Rathborne?" she asked. "My dear Helen, what can I -possibly think of him on such short acquaintance, except that he is -tall and good-looking, and appears to have a very good opinion of -himself?" - -"O Marion!" - -"For all that I know, it may be an opinion based on excellent grounds, -but it is undoubtedly the first thing about him that attracts one's -attention." - -"It _is_ based on excellent grounds," said Helen, with some spirit. -"Everyone who knows Paul admires and looks up to him." - -"Not quite everyone," observed an unexpected voice, and through the -window by which she sat Mr. Frank Morley stepped into the room. "I am -sorry to come upon the scene with a contradiction," he said, as he took -his cousin's hand; "but really, you know, Helen, that is too sweeping -an assertion. _I_ don't look up to Paul Rathborne." - -"So much the worse for you, then," said Helen. "A boy like you could -not do better." - -"I think that a boy, even though he were like me, might do much better. -He might look up to someone who was not so selfish and conceited." - -A rose flame came into Helen's cheeks. "You are very rude as well as -ill-natured," she answered in a low tone. "You have no right to say -such things to _me_." - -"I have never been told that there was any reason why I should not -say them to you," replied the young man, significantly; "but I had no -intention of making myself disagreeable. After all, the truth is not -always to be told." - -"It is not the truth," exclaimed Helen, with a flash of fire in her -glance. "Paul is neither selfish nor conceited. But you never liked -him, Frank--you know you never did." - -"I never hesitated to confess it," said Frank; "but I regret having -annoyed you, Helen. I did not think you would take my opinion of Mr. -Rathborne so much to heart." - -"It is not your opinion," responded Helen. "It is--it is the -injustice!" And then, as if unwilling to trust herself further, she -sprang up and left the room. - -There was an awkward pause for a moment after her departure. Mr. Frank -Morley began to whistle, but checked himself, with an apologetic glance -at Marion, who, leaning back on the cushions of her couch, was faintly -smiling. - -"I have, as usual, put my foot into it," said the young man. "But I -could not imagine that Helen would be so fiery. She used to laugh when -I abused Paul." - -"Did she?" asked Marion. "But, then, you know, there comes a time when -one ceases to laugh; and if one likes a friend, one does not wish to -hear him abused. That time seems to have arrived with her." - -"Yes," said Morley, rather ruefully. "And the worst of it is that it -looks as if she liked the fellow better than I imagined. I am awfully -sorry for that." - -"You evidently do not like him." - -"I!--no indeed. As Helen remarked, I never liked him, but I like him -less and less as time goes on." - -"What is the matter with him?" - -"Everything is the matter with him. He is as cold as a stone; he cares -for nobody in the world but Paul Rathborne, and for nothing that does -not advance that important person's interest. He is supercilious until -one longs to knock him down; and so ambitious that he would walk over -the body of his dearest friend--granting that he had such a thing--to -advance himself in life one inch." - -"Altogether a very charming character!" remarked Marion. "It is certain -that you are not the dearest friend over whose body he would walk." - -Young Morley laughed. "No," he said, frankly. "I would walk over _his_ -with a good deal of pleasure; but he will never walk over mine, if I -can help it. Though he may, for all that," he added, after an instant; -"for he is so sharp that one can never tell what he is up to, until it -is too late to frustrate him." - -"This is very interesting," said Marion. "It is like reading a novel to -hear a character analyzed in so masterly a manner." - -Morley colored. He was too shrewd not to know that she was laughing at -him; but while the fact was sufficiently evident, it was not exactly -evident how best to show his appreciation of it. After a moment he -spoke in a tone which had a little offense in it:-- - -"I don't suppose the subject interests you, so I ought to beg pardon -for dwelling on it. But I only meant to explain why Helen was vexed." - -"And now _you_ are vexed," observed Marion. "What have I done? I assure -you I was in earnest in saying I was interested in your analysis of Mr. -Rathborne's character." - -"It sounded more as if you were satirical," said Morley. "And I was not -trying to analyze his character: I was only answering your questions -about it." - -"Quite true, but those questions led to your analyzing it--and so -successfully, too, that I am going to ask another. Tell me if you think -he is much attached to Helen?" - -A sudden cloud came over the young man's face, and his eyes seemed to -darken. "I do not think he is attached to her at all," he replied, -bluntly. "Or, if that is saying too much (for everyone _must_ be -attached to Helen), I do not believe he would wish to marry her but -for her fortune." - -"Well," said Marion, philosophically, "I suppose it is the ordinary -fate of rich women to be married for their money. And, after all, they -do not seem to mind it: they appear happy enough." - -"Helen would never be happy," said Frank Morley, impetuously. - -"Do not be sure of that," responded the young cynic on the couch. -"There is a French proverb, you know, which says: '_Il y a toujours -l'un qui baisse et l'un qui tend la joue._' Helen would play the active -part in that to perfection." - -The young man looked at her with something of indignation. "You may -consider yourself a friend of Helen's," he remarked, "but you certainly -do not understand her." - -"No?" said Marion, smiling. "Then perhaps you will enlighten me, as you -have about Mr. Rathborne. I am probably deficient in penetration." - -Morley made a gallant effort not to be betrayed into boyish petulance, -and succeeded sufficiently to say, with a dignity which amused his -tormentor:-- - -"I am sure that penetration is the last thing you are deficient in, -Miss Lynde. But you do not credit others with enough of the quality. I, -at least, know when I am laughed at. Now, if you will excuse me, I will -go and make my peace with Helen." - -He walked out of the room, holding his slim, young figure very erect; -and Marion looked after him with a glance of mingled amusement and -approval. - -"Very well done, Mr. Morley!" she said to herself. "You are an -uncommonly nice boy, with uncommonly clear reasons for your opinions. -Ten years hence you may be a very agreeable man. As for Mr. Rathborne, -your account of him agrees entirely with my own impressions. I really -do possess a little penetration, after all." - -Then she took up her novel again, and settled back among the -sofa-cushions with an air of comfort. At that moment her only desire -was that she might not be disturbed for a reasonable length of time. -The people in the book interested her much more than the people who -surrounded her in life. At this period of her existence she was wrapped -in a ruthless egotism, which made all human beings shadows to her, -unless they touched her interest. It was not yet apparent whether any -of those who were now about her would touch her interest; and until -that fact was demonstrated, she troubled herself very little about them. - -A quarter of an hour, perhaps, had passed without any one appearing to -disturb her quiet, when, through the same window by which young Morley -had entered, another presence stepped into the room. It was Rathborne, -who looked around, met Marion's eyes, and came toward her with a -pleased expression. - -"It seems to me my good fortune to find you always alone, Miss Lynde," -he observed. - -"And it seems to be the custom here that visitors shall appear in the -most unexpected and informal manner," said Marion. "Do they always come -in unannounced, by way of the window?" - -"Oh, no! Here, as elsewhere, most visitors enter decorously by way of -the door. But I have long been as familiarly intimate in this house as -if it were my home, and I expected to find the family assembled." - -"The family has been assembled, but the different members have been -called away by one thing or another, until only I remain." - -"You appear to be fond of solitude." - -"Is not that a wide conclusion to draw from the fact that you have -found me twice alone?" - -"Discerning people can draw wide conclusions from slight indications. -On each occasion a person sociably inclined would not have been left -alone." - -"Generally speaking, I am not very sociably inclined, I suppose; but -that does not mean that I object to society--when it pleases me." - -"I judge that you are not very easily pleased," answered Rathborne, -regarding the face which he found even more beautiful than his -recollection had painted it. - -She looked at him with a smile so brilliant that it almost startled -him. "Are you trying to give me another proof of your discernment?" she -asked. "If so, you will be gratified to hear that you are right. I am -_not_ easily pleased--as a rule. I suppose people are much happier who -are not so 'difficult,' as my French teacher used to call me. There is -Helen, for instance; she likes everything and everybody, and she is -certainly happier than I am." - -"But, then, unfortunately it is not very flattering to the vanity when -one pleases a person who is so easily pleased." - -Marion lifted her eyebrows with a mocking expression. "But why should -one's vanity be flattered?" she asked. "It is not good for one that it -should be." - -"Not good perhaps, but very pleasant," replied Mr. Rathborne; "and I -am, like yourself, somewhat 'difficult,' and hard to please." - -"Ah! then you can sympathize with me. It is not an agreeable -disposition to possess." - -"I can sympathize with you on a good many points--or at least so I have -the presumption to fancy," he said. "There is an instinct that tells -one these things. Even in our brief conversation yesterday evening I -felt as if a sympathetic understanding was established between us. It -seemed to me that we were likely to look at many things in the same -light." - -It is hardly necessary to observe that, considering what she had -recently heard of the speaker's character, and hence of his probable -way of looking at things, Marion should not have been very much -flattered by this. But, as a matter of fact, she was flattered. She had -as strong a belief in her own powers, as strong a determination to make -events and people serve her ends, as Mr. Rathborne himself possessed. -But her powers were untried, her ability to impress people untested; -and this first proof that she _was_ remarkable--that even this cold, -selfish man recognized in her something altogether uncommon--something -allied to his own ambitious spirit,--was like wine to her self-esteem. -She thought that here was material on which she might try whatever -power she had, without fear of doing mischief,--material certain to -look after itself and its own interest in any event, and with which no -unpleasant results could be feared. - -To do her justice, Marion wanted only to make a mental impression: -to extort admiration for her unusual gifts of mind and character -from this man, who, she knew instinctively, was not easily moved to -admiration or interest. If she forced it from him, then she might be -sure that it would be easy to win it from others. These thoughts were -not absolutely formulated in her mind at this moment, but they were -impressed on her consciousness sufficiently to make her reply:-- - -"You flatter me by saying so; for you are a man who knows the world, -and I was yesterday a school-girl. It would be strange, then, if we did -see things in the same light." - -"It is difficult to realize that you were yesterday--or ever--a -school-girl," said Rathborne, leaning back and looking at her intently -from under his dark brows. - -"That does not sound very flattering," she replied, with a laugh; and -yet in her heart she knew that it was just the kind of flattery she -desired. - -"I am not trying to flatter you," he replied. "I am telling you exactly -how you impress me. And I do not see how, in the name of all that is -wonderful, you ever became what you are in that convent from which you -come." - -A swift shade passed over Marion's face. "You must not blame or credit -the convent with what I am," she said. "If I had gone there earlier, -I might be a very different person. But my character and disposition -were formed when I went there, two years ago; and the influences of the -place could not change me, though they often made me feel as if change -would be desirable." - -"They made you feel a mistake, then," remarked her companion, with -emphasis. "Change in you would not be desirable. You are--" - -But Marion was not destined to hear just then what she was. Steps and -voices came across the hall; Helen's laugh sounded, and the next moment -Helen herself appeared in the doorway, followed by Frank Morley, who -had apparently succeeded in making his peace. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -When Sunday came, Helen said to her cousin, rather wistfully: "Will you -go to church with us to-day, Marion?" - -"Not to-day, I believe, if you will excuse me," answered Marion. "If I -go anywhere--which is doubtful--I suppose it ought to be to the church -I was brought up in." - -"I thought you always said at the convent how much you preferred -Catholic services," said Helen, in a disappointed tone. - -"Well, at the convent, you see, one had not much choice," replied the -other, laughing; "and, then, the services were charming there--so -poetical and beautiful. That chapel was a picture in itself. But, from -the outward appearance of your church here, I should not judge that it -possessed much inward beauty." - -"No," said Helen, reluctantly, "it has not much beauty; but, then, the -Mass is everywhere the same, you know." - -"For those who believe in it, very likely," was the careless rejoinder. -"But I am an outsider. I believe only in what I see; and when I see -beautiful ceremonies, I enjoy them for their beauty." - -"It is just as well, in that case, that you should not go with us, -my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, from the head of the table--for this -conversation took place at breakfast. "Ours is a very plain little -chapel, the congregation being small and poor. If you are in search -of beautiful ceremonies, the Episcopal church will be more likely to -gratify you. They have a new Ritualistic clergyman there, who has -introduced many new customs, I hear." - -"I see no particular reason why I should go anywhere," observed Marion, -truthfully. "It is a very pleasant day for staying at home." - -But she was not destined to stay at home on this particular Sunday, -which was the beginning of a change in her life. After breakfast, while -they were enjoying the freshness of the summer morning on the veranda, -and before any chime of bells yet filled the air, Miss Morley made -her appearance, fully dressed for church parade; and, after a general -greeting, said to Marion:-- - -"I have come to inquire if you would like to go to church with me this -morning, Miss Lynde. I have heard Helen say that you are not a Roman -Catholic." - -"I am not anything at all," answered Marion; "and I confess that I do -not, as a rule, see the need of church-going; but, since it is such a -pleasant day, and you are so kind as to come, Miss Morley,--may I ask -what church you attend?" - -"Oh, Netta is an Episcopalian!" interposed Helen. "She will take you to -a handsome church, filled with well-dressed people, where you will have -pretty ceremonies and nice music to amuse you." - -"Satire is not in your style, Helen," said Marion, putting out her -hand to give a soft pinch to the round arm near her. "But, since you -give such an attractive description, I believe I will go with Miss -Morley." - -"Then we have not much time to spare," said that young lady, with a -glance at her dress, as a concert of bells suddenly burst out. - -"Oh, I will be ready in a few minutes!" exclaimed Marion, smiling. - -Her simple toilet was soon made, yet its very simplicity enhanced the -striking character of her beauty; and when she followed Miss Morley up -the softly-carpeted aisle of the Episcopal church, every eye turned on -her, and everyone wondered who she could be. To herself, the atmosphere -which surrounded her was very agreeable, speaking as it did of wealth -and refined tastes. Beautiful architectural forms, polished woods, -stained glass, a pretty procession; sweet, clear voices singing to the -rich roll of a fine organ; and a congregation which gave the impression -of belonging altogether to the favored classes of society,--these -things she liked, independently of any religious association or meaning. - -Indeed, as a religious ceremony, the service seemed to Marion very -much of a failure, so recently had she witnessed the divine Reality of -worship. She missed the thrill of awe which had come even to her when -the Sacred Host was lifted up to heaven in the Mass; and her keen, -unprejudiced mind realized how entirely what she now saw was only the -mutilated remnant of an older and grander ritual. "It is a pity that -the Catholic religion is so exacting, and that so many common people -belong to it," she thought; "for it is the only one with any reality -about it, or any claim to one's respect." - -Nobody would have suspected these reflections, however, from her -outward deportment. She went through the service decorously, and -listened with exemplary attention to the sermon, which was by no means -contemptible as a literary effort. Her beautiful face--conspicuously -placed in one of the front pews--somewhat distracted the attention of -the young clergyman, and he found himself now and again looking from -his MS. to meet the large, dark eyes fixed so steadily on him. But -Marion herself was distracted by no one, although she was aware of the -appearance and manner of everybody in her immediate neighborhood. - -Among the rest, she observed a lady who sat near, and more than once -glanced inquiringly toward her; a lady of specially distinguished and -fashionable appearance. "She does not belong to Scarborough," thought -Marion, noticing (without appearing to do so) some of the details -of her costume. And her conclusion she soon found was correct. When -the services were over, and the congregation, passing out of church, -interchanged salutations as they went, Miss Morley acknowledged a -greeting from this lady; and Marion, as they walked on, said: "Who is -that handsome and elegant woman?" - -"Mrs. Singleton," was the reply. "She is very handsome and very -elegant, is she not? But she does not live in Scarborough; she is here -only for the summer." - -"I felt sure of that," thought Marion--though she had too much tact to -say so. "Who is she?--where does she come from?" she asked. - -"She is one of _the_ Singletons," answered Netta--"at least her husband -is,--and you know who they are. They appear to have ample means, and -live in a great many places. She has just returned from Europe." - -"And why has she come to Scarborough?" inquired Marion, in a tone not -altogether flattering to that place. - -"Well, chiefly, I believe, because the climate here agrees wonderfully -with an old gentleman who is her husband's uncle, to whom they seem to -devote themselves." - -"Is he wealthy?" asked Marion, with unconscious cynicism. - -"Oh, very!" replied Netta, with simplicity; "immensely rich, I believe, -and has no children; so he lives with the Singletons, or _they_ live -with him." - -"The last most likely," said Marion, whose knowledge of life was -largely drawn from its seamy side. - -The conversation ended here, and she thought no more of it. But on the -evening of the next day Miss Morley came into the drawing room where -the family group were assembled after tea, and, turning to Marion, -said:-- - -"Do you remember our speaking of Mrs. Singleton as we came from church -yesterday, Miss Lynde? She seems to have been as much impressed by -you as you were by her. I met her on the street this morning, and she -stopped me to ask who you were. I suppose I must not venture to repeat -all that she said of your appearance, but I may tell you that she has -some connections named Lynde, and that she is very curious to know if -you belong to them." - -"I am sorry that I can not satisfy her," said Marion, who showed no -signs of being as flattered as she really was. "Family genealogies have -never interested me. If my uncle were here now, he could tell her all -that she wished to know." - -"So that elegant Mrs. Singleton is in Scarborough again this summer!" -cried Helen, with interest. "Is the same old gentleman with her, and do -they still keep up an establishment with so much style?" - -"Oh, yes!" her cousin answered. "They have taken the Norton House for -the summer, and have brought a beautiful carriage and horses, and -servants, with them. Not many people have seen the old gentleman yet. I -hear that he is feebler than he was last year." - -"Then no doubt Mrs. Singleton still laments touchingly how sad it is -for old people--for their own sakes entirely!--when they live too -long," said Paul Rathborne, who was present as usual. - -"At least she does not devote much of her time and attention to him," -responded Mrs. Dalton, "unless report greatly belies her." - -"Why should she?" said Rathborne. "He has an expensive, highly-trained -nurse for his special service, besides a staff of servants. What could -she do for him, except worry him? Oh, no: it is not on account of any -demand upon her time or attention that she thinks he lives too long, -but because he keeps his fortune in his own hands, and will until death -relaxes his hold of it." - -"How awful," exclaimed Helen, with a shudder, "to want anybody to -die! I cannot believe that Mrs. Singleton does. She seems so kind and -pleasant." - -"And you think everyone must be kind and pleasant who seems so?" said -Rathborne, with a covert sneer. "My dear Helen, it will not do to judge -the world by yourself." - -"Why not?" asked Helen, innocently. "Why should I not believe that -others are honest and sincere as well as myself?" - -"Well, really there does not seem any reason on the surface, except -that experience proves it otherwise," he answered, with a laugh. - -"I hope it may be long before experience proves it to me," said Helen. -"I can not bear to think badly of people. It seems to me that it would -break my heart to be forced to think badly of any one for whom I cared." - -If one heart present felt a twinge of compunction at those words, there -was no sign of it; but Mrs. Dalton looked at her daughter with a sudden -glance of something like apprehension. - -"You should not talk in such a way, Helen," she said. "A broken heart -is not a thing of which to speak lightly." - -"I did not intend to speak lightly," answered Helen. "I meant what I -said very seriously. I do not think I could bear it." - -"That is foolish," continued her mother. "We must bear whatever God -sends." - -"I do not think Helen will ever have to bear a broken heart, or -anything like it," observed Marion. "I am very certain that she is made -for happy fortune." - -"No one in the world, who lives for any length of time, can know -unbrokenly happy fortune," said Mrs. Dalton, gravely. "But I do not -think it well to discuss such personal subjects." - -"Then we will discuss the rich old man who has a highly-trained nurse -and a staff of servants," said Marion, laughingly. "Tell me"--turning -to Rathborne--"what is his name?" - -"Singleton," replied that gentleman. "Have you never heard of him? He -is a very rich man; and Tom Singleton--the husband of the lady you have -seen--hopes to inherit his wealth." - -"He is his nearest relative?" - -"Oh, I presume there are other nieces and nephews, but he is a favorite -of the old man." - -"Have I not heard something of a disowned son?" asked Mrs. Dalton. - -"A disowned son!" repeated Marion. "I did not know that people out of -novels--and even in novels it has gone out of fashion--ever disowned -their sons now." - -"As I have heard the story," said Rathborne, "it is more a case of the -son disowning the father. He refused to comply with his father's wishes -in any respect, and finally broke away and left home, going off to -South America, I believe. He has not been heard of for a considerable -number of years, and Tom Singleton says there is every reason to -believe him dead. Of course the wish is father to the thought with -_him_, but others have told me the same thing." - -"Perhaps his father drove him away by harshness, and remorse is what is -the matter with him," said Netta Morley, solemnly. - -Rathborne laughed. "From my knowledge of old Mr. Singleton," he -replied, "I should not judge that remorse preyed upon him to any great -extent. The son, I have been told, was a wild, rebellious youth, whom -it was impossible to control--one of those unfortunate human beings who -seem born to go wrong, and whom no influence can restrain." - -"Where was the poor boy's mother?" asked Mrs. Dalton. - -"She died when he was very young. But, with all due deference to the -popular idea of a mother's influence, I think we see many cases in -which it fails altogether." - -"Yes," said Mrs. Dalton. "But even if her influence fails, her patience -is more long-suffering than that of any one else, and her love is more -enduring. Perhaps this boy might not have been lost if his mother had -lived." - -"If we begin with 'perhaps' we may imagine anything we please," -remarked Rathborne, in atone which Marion had learned to understand as -expressing contempt for the opinion advanced. - -"Without indulging in any imagination at all, so much as is known of -the Singletons is very interesting indeed," she said, in her clear, -fluent voice. "If I see any of them, I shall look at them with much -more attention from having heard this romantic story of a lost son and -a great fortune." - -"I think you are very likely to see Mrs. Singleton," observed Netta. -"She spoke as if she desired to make your acquaintance." - -"That is a great compliment--from her," said Helen. "What an impression -you must have made, Marion!" - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -Events soon proved that Helen was right in saying that Marion must have -made an impression upon Mrs. Singleton. A few days later that lady's -card was brought to Mrs. Dalton, who regarded it with mild surprise, -saying, "Why, I have not called on her since her arrival this summer!" - -"But you called on her last summer," said Helen; "and I suppose she has -some reason for coming without waiting for you to make another formal -visit. Pray find out what it is." - -It was not at all difficult to discover Mrs. Singleton's reason for -the visit. She declared it frankly and at once. "I hear that you have -your charming daughter at home, Mrs. Dalton," she said; "and, knowing -her accomplishments, I want to secure her aid for some musical evenings -I am anxious to inaugurate. Mr. Singleton--my husband's uncle--finds -almost his only pleasure in music; so I desire very much that these -evenings shall be a success. Do you think Miss Morley will assist me?" - -"I have no doubt she will be very glad to do so," answered Mrs. Dalton. - -"I am delighted to hear it. And I am told that a very striking-looking -young lady, whom I saw in church with Miss Netta Morley last Sunday, -is your niece. Has she, also, taste and talent for music?" - -"Oh! yes; she has a finer voice than Helen," said Mrs. Dalton, "and -sings much better." - -"How very charming for me!" cried Mrs. Singleton. "May I have the -pleasure of seeing the young ladies? I should like to have their -definite promise to help me." - -The young ladies were summoned, and very readily gave the promise asked -of them. They would be delighted, they said, to assist to the full -extent of their musical abilities. "And when," Helen asked, "will the -evenings begin?" - -"Oh! at once," Mrs. Singleton replied. "On every Wednesday I hope to -gather all the musical talent of Scarborough into my drawing-room. I -shall send out my cards immediately to that effect. You don't know, -Miss Lynde,"--turning to Marion--"how pleased I am to find unexpectedly -such an addition as I am sure you will prove." - -Marion smiled. "You are very kind," she said; "but I fear you are -taking too much for granted. I am not a good musician. I have never had -industry enough. Helen plays much better than I do." - -"Oh, but, Marion, your voice is so fine!" cried Helen. "And everyone -likes singing best." - -"_I_ do, I confess," said Mrs. Singleton. "And so, I think, does my -uncle. I have no doubt that you sing well, Miss Lynde." - -"That is kind of you again," responded Marion; "but I must warn you -that Helen is not altogether a trustworthy witness. She always thinks -well of what her friends do, and poorly of what she does herself." - -"I am willing to wait and let Mrs. Singleton decide whether or not I -think too well of what you do," observed Helen, with a gay little nod. - -"Mrs. Singleton has no doubt what her decision will be," said that -lady. "Meanwhile, Miss Lynde, I wonder if we are not related in some -way? I am very certain that the Singletons have connections of your -name, and I fancy it must be your family." - -"It is likely," answered Marion; "but matters of pedigree and -relationship have never interested me sufficiently for me to know -much about them. I regret that fact now," she continued, with unusual -graciousness; for she felt that she would not be sorry to be able to -claim relationship with people of such social position as these were. - -"Oh!" said Mrs. Singleton, "my uncle will know all about it, I am sure. -Like most people of the old school, he thinks a great deal of such -things. And I hope I may prove right in my conjecture," she added, as -she rose to take leave. - -"_What_ an impression you must have made upon her, Marion!" cried -Helen, as soon as they were alone. "Do you know that she is usually the -most supercilious woman, and so haughty that the idea of her claiming -relationship with any ordinary person seems incredible!" - -"Do you consider me an ordinary person?" asked Marion, laughing, as she -walked toward a mirror. "I am exceedingly obliged to you." - -"You know that I consider you a most extraordinary person," answered -Helen, with emphasis; "but Mrs. Singleton does not know yet what you -are in yourself, and--and you are not rich or--" - -"Distinguished in any way," said Marion, as she paused. "There is no -doubt of that. As far as the outward accidents of life go, I am a very -insignificant person. But I shall not be so always, Helen. I am sure -of that; and people who know the world seem to have an instinct of it -also." - -Helen looked at the fair face which, with such an air of conscious -power, regarded itself in the mirror. To her this ambition belonged -to the order of inexplicable things; yet she had a belief that it was -natural enough in Marion, and that it was fully justified by gifts -which she acknowledged without defining. - -"No one could know you and not be sure of it," she said, in answer -to the last speech. "Of course you will fill some great place in the -world--we settled _that_ long ago. But I do think it strange that Mrs. -Singleton should recognize how remarkable you are--so soon." - -"Perhaps it is an indication that other people will recognize it too," -replied Marion, with a smile; while she said to herself that one other -person had recognized it already. - -And, indeed, the recognition of that person had by this time become -sufficiently evident to everyone. In the innocence of her heart, Helen -rejoiced that her hero and oracle agreed with her in admiring the -cousin whom she admired so much. "I knew how it would be!" she said to -him, triumphantly. "You might be critical about other people, but I -knew you _must_ acknowledge that Marion is beyond criticism." - -"That, however, is just what I don't acknowledge," Rathborne answered, -laughingly. "Miss Lynde is by no means beyond criticism; she is only a -beautiful and clever young lady, who has clearly determined to do the -best for herself without much regard for others." - -"Marion has never been taught or accustomed to think of others," said -gentle Helen. "But I do not think she would harm any one for her own -advantage." - -"Oh! no; she would only quietly walk over the person who was unlucky -enough to get in her way," remarked Rathborne. "And it is not I who -would blame her for that." - -Helen looked at him reproachfully. "Now you are doing yourself -injustice," she said. "I understand that you do not mean anything of -the kind, but such remarks make others think badly of you." - -"No doubt," he replied, carelessly; "but, my dear Helen, there is -nothing in the world of less importance to me than what others--the -class of others you mean--think of me." - -"But it is of great importance to _me_," said Helen. "I cannot bear -that you should be misjudged by any one." - -He laughed--people were right who said of Rathborne that he had not -a pleasant laugh--as he replied, "Who can say when one is misjudged? -Don't trouble yourself about that. As long as you are satisfied with -me, I can snap my fingers at the rest of the world." - -"You know how well I am satisfied," said Helen. - -"Yes, I know," he answered, with a short thrill of compunction. "I am -not all you think me, Helen. The 'others,' whose opinion makes you -indignant, are nearer right than you are, if the truth were known, I -suspect." - -"You shall not say such things!" cried Helen. "There is nothing I could -want changed in you, except"--her face fell a little--"except your -religion. If you were only a Catholic I should be perfectly happy." - -Rathborne smiled a little, as one would at the folly of a child. "I a -Catholic!" he said. "My imagination is not strong enough to fancy that. -No, my dear little Helen; you must be content with me as I am." - -"Have you read the book I gave you--which you promised to read?" asked -Helen, wistfully. - -"I glanced into it--because I promised you," he answered; "but I found -little of interest, and nothing to change my convictions. Do not -indulge the hope that they ever will be changed. Let us understand each -other on that point from the first. You are at liberty to believe and -practice what you like, and I claim the same liberty for myself. Is not -that just?" - -"I--suppose so," answered Helen, whose forte was not controversy, and -whose eyes were full of tears. "But surely you wish to believe and -practice the truth?" - -Rathborne shrugged his shoulders. "What is truth?" he said. "There is -ancient and high authority for that question, and I don't know that it -has ever been answered satisfactorily. I shall not endeavor to begin to -answer it. And I shall not take an answer from the lips of a priest. -Now let us change the subject." - -The subject was changed, but poor Helen's heart was heavier than -before it was begun. Whenever she did not talk to Rathborne on the -subject of religion, she indulged a hope of his conversion, founded on -her own ardent desire; but whenever she timidly opened the subject, -she felt the hopelessness of moving this nature so deeply rooted in -self-opinion, spiritual indifference, and worldly interests. At such -times her poor little heart had its first taste of bitterness of -life,--that bitterness which is so largely made up of the jarring of -different natures and of irreconcilable desires. - -Meanwhile some irreconcilable desires had begun to disturb the even -current of Rathborne's carefully-planned life. For years he had seen -very clearly what he meant to do--first to marry Helen, in order to -secure the financial independence which her fortune would give; and -then to climb, by certain well-marked steps, the ladder of professional -and political eminence. He had never hesitated or wavered for an -instant in this plan, neither had any obstacle arisen in his way. -Helen had yielded to his influence, her mother's opposition was easily -overcome, his professional success was all that he could desire, and -already he was known as a man certain to gain the coveted prizes of -public life. - -But now into this well-ordered and orderly existence a distraction -came. A beautiful, imperious, ambitious woman suddenly appeared in -his path, and the strongest temptation of his life assailed him--the -temptation to give up Helen and her fortune for Marion and Marion's -striking gifts. "What might not a man accomplish with such a brilliant -and ambitious spirit to aid his own ambition!" he said to himself, and -so felt the temptation grow daily stronger. Yet he was well aware that -in giving up Helen, he would give up more than her affection (which he -did not count at all), and her fortune (which he counted very heavily): -he would give up also a large and influential family connection, and -the respect of every person of his acquaintance whose respect was worth -most to him. He felt, however, that he might make up his mind to the -last, if it were all; for he was too cynical and had too thorough a -knowledge of the world not to know that people do not long remember -anything to the disadvantage of a successful man. But to resign Helen's -fortune, after the careful work of years to secure it, was something -more difficult to him; and he had by no means made up his mind to do so -when the above conversation took place. - -It was the day of Mrs. Singleton's _musicale_; and presently Rathborne, -who found conversation tiresome to maintain, said as he rose to go: -"Shall I accompany you this evening? Of course I have had a card like -everyone else." - -"Oh! yes; come by all means," replied Helen. "Mamma is going with us, -and Netta and Frank are to call by; but it is always pleasant to have -_you_." - -"It is not pleasant to me, however, to form one of a caravan," he said, -with some impatience. "If I am to accompany you, can you not dispense -with Miss Morley and her brother?" - -"I hardly like to tell them not to come; and why should you object to -them? It is pleasant for us all to go together." - -"Do you think so?" said Rathborne, with the sneer which came so readily -to his lip. Some words of Marion's recurred to his mind. "Helen is so -gregarious and so easily pleased," that young lady had said, "that -I think she would like to live always with a mob of people." But for -the memory of this speech he might not have felt so irritated with a -harmless and amiable love of companionship; but the contempt which -dictated the words found a ready echo in his own mind. - -"If your cousins are going to accompany you, there is no need for -me," he observed; "so I will content myself with meeting you at Mrs. -Singleton's. Good-morning!" - -"Oh, I am sorry!" said Helen, with quick regret. "Netta and Frank would -think it very strange, else I would send and ask them not to come--" - -"Not on my account, I beg," responded Rathborne. "I am very well -satisfied with matters as they are. It gives me the opportunity of -choosing my own time to appear." - -"Don't be too late," said Helen. "You know that Marion and I are both -going to sing; and Marion, I am sure, will do her best." - -"And you also, I hope." - -She shook her head. "I am not like Marion. A public performance -unnerves me, but it always puts her at her best. You will hear to-night -how much better she will sing for a number of people than she has ever -sung for a small circle." - -"I shall certainly hear," said Rathborne. "Tell Miss Lynde that I am -preparing myself to be electrified." - -Perhaps he was aware in uttering these words that Miss Lynde had -appeared in the open door behind him. At least there was no surprise -on his face, but a great deal of satisfaction, when she came forward, -saying:-- - -"And why, pray, Mr. Rathborne, should you be preparing yourself to be -electrified?" - -"Because Helen has just been telling me how much you are inspired by an -audience," he answered; "and you are to have all Scarborough for your -audience." - -She made a gesture of indifference. "Give me credit," she said, -"for caring a little more for the quality than the mere quantity of -appreciation. 'All Scarborough' does not mean a great deal to me, I -assure you." - -"Such as it is, though, it will be at your feet," he said. "Do not -scorn it." - -"I shall certainly wait until it is at my feet to begin to do so," she -answered, with a laugh. - -"It is not good policy to scorn even that which is at your feet," he -said. "You may need it some day." - -"Be sure that I have no inclination to scorn any kindness that comes in -my way," she observed, quickly. "You do me injustice if you believe me -capable of that." - -"Then you will not scorn your audience to-night," he answered; "for I -am sure you will meet nothing but kindness from it." - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -Never was a prophecy better fulfilled than that of Rathborne; for -no one of the large company assembled in Mrs. Singleton's spacious -drawing-room but felt prepared to admire and approve the beautiful -young stranger, who was led to the piano by her host when the musical -programme was about half over. Everybody had an instinct that the star -of the evening had now appeared--that one who looked so proud and -confident was not likely to entertain them with a mediocre performance. -And, indeed, Marion, who had professed to scorn "all Scarborough," -was sufficiently inspired by her audience to feel capable of doing -her best. As the first notes of the accompaniment were struck, she -threw back her head like one who answers to a challenge; and when she -opened her lips such a tide of melody rose, such crystal-clear notes, -such a flood of pure, sweet sound, that even the lowest undertone of -conversation stopped, and people held their breath to listen. - -Rathborne, who had been late in arriving, and who stood just outside -one of the open windows, conveniently sheltered from observation, -smiled to himself as he watched the scene within. It was one which -gave him as much pleasure as his nature was capable of feeling. That -beautiful, stately figure beside the piano, with its regal bearing and -crown of red-gold hair, deserved to be the center of all attention; and -suited his own taste so exactly that he did not even perceive Helen's -sweet, smiling face near by. It did not surprise him that Marion sang -as he had never heard her sing before. He had read her character -accurately enough, by the light of his own, to feel sure that she would -never fail when occasion called for display. - -His glance swept around the apartment, taking in the expressions -of the various faces, and finally fastening on one that was partly -sheltered behind a curtain at the end of the room. This curtain fell -between the drawing-room and a smaller apartment opening from it. Now -and then during the course of the evening a few of the oldest and -most distinguished of Mrs. Singleton's guests were admitted to the -smaller apartment, where it was understood that "old Mr. Singleton" -was established to listen to the music at his ease. It must have been -very much at his ease that he listened; for he had given no sign of -his presence or appreciation until now, when--as if Marion's clear, -ringing notes had been a spell--Rathborne observed at the opening of -the curtain a thin face, with a high, aquiline nose and white moustache. - -Mrs. Singleton also observed it; and as soon as the song was ended, -leaving others to crowd around the singer and express their admiration, -she walked to the curtained arch and exchanged a few words with the -person sheltered behind it. Then, turning, she crossed the room and -deftly made her way to Marion's side. - -"My dear Miss Lynde," she exclaimed, "what a pleasure you have given -us! What a delight to hear such a voice as yours! My uncle is charmed, -and he begs that you will sing again. Of course we all beg that you -will, but I give _his_ request first, because it is a very great -compliment--from him." - -It was certainly a compliment which he had paid no one else; and Marion -smiled with a sense of triumph. She preserved due modesty of manner -and appearance, however, as she said: "I am exceedingly glad that I -have been able to give pleasure to Mr. Singleton; perhaps there is some -special song that he would like to hear?" - -"Oh! I am sure he will like to hear anything that you sing," replied -Mrs. Singleton, who did not wish to delay the amusement of the evening -long enough to make inquiry. - -So Marion sang again, with increased self-confidence and success; and -the thin, keen face appeared again at the opening of the curtains, as -if looking were no less a pleasure than listening. - -But, this song over, Mrs. Singleton was too wise a hostess to encourage -any request for a third. "We must not ask too much of Miss Lynde's -kindness," she said. "Later in the evening, perhaps she will sing for -us again; and we must be reasonable. Miss Royston is going to play for -us now." - -Miss Royston, a tall, angular young lady, whose elbows seemed unduly -developed, took her seat on the piano-stool, struck a few crashing -cords, and began a sonata. Being fresh from a conservatory of music, -and having a severely classical taste, she was understood to be a very -fine musician--a fact taken on trust by most of those who composed -her present audience; but very soon a conversational murmur began to -be heard; those who were near windows slipped out on the veranda "to -enjoy the cool air while they listened," and there was no longer any -glimpse of the aquiline nose and white moustache at the opening of the -_portičres_. - -Marion, who had not been conscious of this brief, partial appearance -of the invalid recluse, for whose amusement the entertainment had been -arranged, whispered to Helen, by whom she sat down: "I wonder how Mr. -Singleton likes this?" - -"Not as well as your singing, I am sure," answered Helen, in the same -tone; "for all the time you were singing he was looking at you from -behind those curtains yonder." - -"Was he indeed?" said Marion. She looked at the now closed, -unresponsive curtains with a quick glance of interest. "What does he -look like? I wish I had seen him." - -"When you sing again, glance over there and you will certainly be -gratified," said Helen. "But here comes Paul at last. He has missed -your singing; is not that too bad?" - -"I doubt very much if he considers it so," replied Marion. "He has -heard me several times and never expressed any particular pleasure, -that I remember." - -"That is Paul's way," said Helen, eagerly. "It is hard to tell what he -feels by what he expresses. He admires your voice very much. I am sure -of that." - -"What is it you are so sure of, Helen?" asked Rathborne, who had drawn -near enough to hear the last words through the crash of the piano. - -"That you are very sorry not to have heard Marion's singing," answered -Helen, looking up into his face with a smile. - -"I should certainly have been very sorry if I had not heard it," he -said; "but, as it happens, I had that pleasure. And it was just as I -expected," he added, turning to Marion. "You sang as I never heard you -sing before. An audience inspires you--an occasion calls forth all your -power." - -She laughed softly. "Perhaps it was not the audience or the occasion so -much as the consciousness of Mr. Singleton's presence, and a desire to -evoke some sign of interest from a critic who buries himself in silence -behind drawn curtains." - -"Well, if so, you evoked it. I congratulate you upon that." - -"Helen was just telling me that he vouchsafed a glimpse of himself -during my song. I wish I had seen him. I have a curiosity to know what -he is like." - -"Like a very ordinary old man," observed Rathborne, carelessly. "But -here comes Mrs. Singleton--to tell us, perhaps, that we should not be -talking while the music is going on." - -So far from that, Mrs. Singleton began at once to talk herself, in a -discreetly lowered tone. "Miss Lynde," she said, "I hope you have no -objection to making the acquaintance of my uncle? He has asked me to -bring you in to see him. He is an old man, you know, and an invalid, so -you will excuse his not coming to see _you_." - -"I shall be delighted to go to him," answered Marion, with ready -courtesy and grace. - -So the entire company were surprised and interested to see -their hostess leading the young stranger across the room to the -jealously-guarded inner apartment where Mr. Singleton was secluded. All -eyes followed them curiously, and lingered on the curtains, which Mrs. -Singleton held back for a moment while Marion passed within, and then -let fall. - -Marion's own curiosity and gratification were equally balanced. It was -like a public triumph to be led in this manner behind these curtains, -which had opened for no other of the performers of the evening. -Evidently this rich and presumably fastidious old man was to be -included in the number of those who recognized her to be something more -than ordinary. The instant that the _portičres_ were drawn back, she -looked eagerly into the apartment thus revealed. - -It was smaller than the drawing-room behind her, and was luxuriously -furnished. The light which filled it was softly toned and shaded, but -quite brilliant enough to show all the variety of silken-covered chairs -and couches, the richly-blended tints of Eastern rugs, the carved -tables and stands covered with books and papers. Sunk in the depths -of one of the easiest of these easy-chairs was a small, slight man; -his wasted face, with its high, distinct features, snowy hair, and -moustache, thrown into relief against the back of the chair on which -he leaned. His hands, which rested on its arms, were like pieces of -delicate ivory carving, and his whole appearance spoke as distinctly of -refinement as of ill health. Seated opposite him was an old gentleman, -whose robust aspect was in strong contrast with his own, and who was -talking in a tone which showed that he took no heed of the music in the -next room. - -He paused and rose at sight of the two ladies; but Mr. Singleton did -not stir, though Marion felt his bright, keen eyes fastened on her at -once. She followed her hostess, who went forward to his chair. - -"Here is Miss Lynde, who has come to see you, uncle," said that lady. - -"It is very kind of Miss Lynde," replied Mr. Singleton, with the air -of the old school--that air which a younger generation has lost and -forgotten. He held out his hand, and, when Marion laid her own in -it, looked at her with an admiration to which she had always been -accustomed, and an evident pleasure in the contemplation of so much -beauty. "Will you sit down?" he said, after a moment, indicating a low -chair by his side. "I want you to tell me where you learned to sing so -well." - -"Where do the birds learn?" asked Marion, smiling. "I have sung like -the birds as long as I can remember; although, of course, I have had -some teaching. Not a great deal, however." - -"It is a pity that you should not have more," he said. "Your voice, if -fully trained, would be magnificent. But, as it is, you sing remarkably -well; you have no vices of style, and you have given me a great deal of -pleasure." - -"I am very glad to have given you pleasure," answered Marion, with an -air of gracious sincerity. "Mrs. Singleton has told me that you are -very fond of music." - -He made a slight grimace. "I am very fond of good music," he said; "but -I do not hear a great deal of it from amateurs. When Anna told me of -the entertainment she had arranged, I had little idea of hearing such -a voice as yours." - -Marion laughed. "While I was singing," she said, "I had something of -the feeling which I imagine the singers must have who are obliged now -and then to go through an opera in an empty theater, for the sole -benefit of the King of Bavaria, who is invisible in his box." - -"But you had plenty of visible listeners besides the invisible one," -said Mr. Singleton. - -"I thought nothing of them," she answered. "I was singing to _you_ -altogether, and now I feel as if I had been summoned to the royal box -to be complimented." - -There was a playfulness in the words which deprived them of any -appearance of flattery, yet it was evident that Mr. Singleton was not -ill-pleased at being compared to royalty--even such eccentric royalty -as that of the then living King of Bavaria. - -"To carry out the comparison," he said, smiling, "I ought to have -a diamond bracelet to clasp on your arm. Such are the substantial -compliments of royalty. But, instead, I am going to ask a favor of -you--a very great favor. Will you come some time and sing to me alone? -I promise you that I will not be invisible on that occasion." - -"I shall be very happy to do so," she answered, promptly. "It will be a -real pleasure to myself. Tell me when I shall come." - -"That must be settled hereafter. My health, and consequently my state -of feeling, is very uncertain. Sometimes even music jars on me. Anna -shall see you and arrange it." - -Mrs. Singleton, hearing her name, turned from a conversation which she -had been maintaining with the gentleman who was the other occupant of -the room. - -"What is it that I am to arrange?" she asked. "That Miss Lynde will -come sometime and sing to us alone? Oh, that will be charming! But now -I must go back to my duties, for I think I hear the sonata ending. Will -you come with me?" she said to Marion. - -"If my audience is ended," replied Marion, with a pretty smile, to Mr. -Singleton. - -"Your audience is not ended, if you do not mind remaining with an old -man for a little while," he answered. "Anna can return or send for you -when she wants you to entertain her guests again. Meanwhile I want you -to entertain _me_." - -"Before I go, then, I will introduce General Butler, and charge him -to bring you back presently," said Mrs. Singleton, after which she -disappeared. - -General Butler, no less pleased than his friend with the charm of a -beautiful face, sat down again, and said to Marion: "Your name is very -familiar to me, Miss Lynde. I wonder if you are not a daughter of -Herbert Lynde, who was killed at Seven Pines?" - -"Yes," answered Marion, "I am his daughter, and always glad to meet his -old friends. You knew him, then?" - -"Oh! very well. He was in my brigade, and one of the bravest men I ever -saw. I thought there was something familiar to me in your face as well -as in your name. You are very like him." - -"Herbert Lynde!" repeated Mr. Singleton. "If that was your father's -name, my niece was right in thinking that there might be some -relationship between us. The Singletons and those Lyndes have -intermarried more than once. I hope that you do not object to -acknowledging a distant link of cousinship with us?" - -"So far from objecting, I am delighted to hear of it," answered Marion. -"Who would not be delighted to find such cousins?" - -There was something a little sad as well as ironic in the smile with -which Mr. Singleton heard these words, as he extended his hand and laid -it on hers. - -"That sounds very cordial and sincere," he said. "I hope you may never -find reason to qualify your delight. I confess I am glad to find that -we are not altogether strangers. It gives me a faint, shadowy claim on -your kind offices. I am not a man whom many things please. But you have -pleased me, and I shall like to see you again." - -"I shall like to come," answered Marion, "for my own pleasure as well -as for yours. I am not easily pleased either," she added, with a smile; -"so you must draw the inference." - -"It is one I should like to be able to draw also," observed General -Butler. "This is really too narrow. I cannot claim relationship, Miss -Lynde; but remember I am an old friend of your family." - -"Of mine, too, then," said Marion, holding out her hand to him. As he -bent over it with a flattered air, she had a triumphant sense that it -was a conclusive test of her power to be able to charm and influence -men of the world and of mature experience like these. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -"Well, Marion," said Helen, "now that you have seen Mr. Singleton, what -do you think of him?" - -They were walking home through the soft, moonlit summer night when this -question was asked; and Marion answered, lightly: "I find him charming. -He is refined, fastidious, has seen a great deal of the world, and is -altogether a man after my own taste." - -"Then," said Frank Morley, who was walking by her side, "a man after -your own taste must be a heartless valetudinarian; for that is what Mr. -Singleton has the credit of being." - -"As it chances," said Marion, "neither his heartlessness nor his -valetudinarianism concerns me in the least--granting that they exist. -But I confess to a doubt on that point. Are you very intimately -acquainted with him, Mr. Morley?" - -Had the moonlight been brighter, it might have been perceived that -young Morley flushed at the tone of the question. "No," he answered; "I -have no acquaintance with him at all. But that is the opinion of every -one." - -"The opinion of 'everyone' has very little weight with me," said -Marion. "I prefer my own." - -"You are quite right to distrust an uncharitable opinion, my dear -Marion," interposed Mrs. Dalton's quiet voice. "The fact of its being -general is no reason for crediting it. People are always quicker to -believe evil than good, I am sorry to say." - -"I suppose that is meant for me," said Frank Morley. "But really I am -not inclined, on general principles, to believe evil sooner than good. -I do think, however, that some weight is to be given to a _consensus_ -of public opinion." - -"What a large word!" cried Helen, laughing, while Rathborne observed, -with his familiar sneer:-- - -"A word which represents a large fact also, but a fact that must be -based on knowledge in order to have any value. Now, the public opinion -of Scarborough has no knowledge at all of Mr. Singleton. Therefore its -decision about him has no value." - -"I am glad to hear it," said Marion; "for I do not believe that he is -either heartless or a valetudinarian." - -"I suppose he made himself agreeable to _you_," said young Morley. - -"Very agreeable," she answered, coolly. "He informed me that we are -related, and he asked me to come and sing for him alone." - -"I congratulate you on a triumph, then," said Rathborne; "for he is a -most critical person, who likes few things and tolerates few people." - -"So I judged," she answered; "and I felt flattered accordingly." - -"How frightened I should have been of him!" exclaimed Helen. "I am very -glad that my singing was not worthy of his notice!" - -There was a general laugh at this, as they paused at Mrs. Dalton's -gate, where good-nights were exchanged. "I will see you to the house," -said Rathborne, when his aunt declared that in the soft, bright -moonlight there was no need for any one to accompany them farther; he -opened the gate and went in, while the Morleys walked off. - -"Frank," said Miss Morley, "what is the reason that you so often speak -to Miss Lynde in a manner that sounds disagreeable and sarcastic? I -don't think it is well-bred, and I never knew you guilty of speaking so -to any one before." - -"I never had such cause before," answered Frank. "It is the tone Miss -Lynde habitually employs to _me_. You will say, perhaps, that is no -excuse, but at least you will admit that it is a provocation." - -"A provocation you ought to resist," said the young lady. "I am really -ashamed of you? What is the reason that you positively seem to dislike -each other?" - -"Miss Lynde appears to think that I am a person who needs to be kept in -his place by severe snubbing," replied the young man; "and I think that -she is the most vain and conceited girl I ever encountered. I don't -trust her an inch; and if there is not something very like a flirtation -going on between Rathborne and herself, I'm mistaken." - -"How can you say such a thing! Why, Paul Rathborne is as good as -engaged to Helen; and, of course, her cousin knows it." - -"That's neither here nor there. Whatever she knows or doesn't know, you -have only to see them together to observe how well they understand each -other. As for Rathborne, no treachery would surprise me in him." - -"Frank, I am really shocked at you!" cried his sister. "You have let -prejudice run away with your judgment. You dislike Paul Rathborne -until you are ready to suspect him of anything. Of course he admires -Miss Lynde--everyone does except yourself,--but that is no reason for -believing that he would be treacherous to Helen. And Miss Lynde's -manner is the same to him as to everyone, so far as I have observed." - -"As far as you have observed may not be very far," said Frank, with -brotherly candor. "Wait and see--that is all." - -"I think _you_ ought to wait and see before you make such charges," -returned Miss Morley. "You always disliked Paul Rathborne, and now you -dislike Miss Lynde, so you suspect them both of very unworthy conduct. -It shows how we ought to guard against disliking people, since to do so -leads at last to unjust judgments." - -"Very fine moralizing," remarked the young man; "but not at all -applicable in this case, since I don't suspect them because I dislike -them, but I dislike them because I suspect them. There's all the -difference in the world in that." - -"It amounts to the same thing with you, I fancy," answered his -skeptical sister. "But I hope that at least you will keep your -suspicions to yourself. If you breathed them to Helen--" - -"Do you think I would!" he said, indignantly. "What good could it do? -Helen will believe nothing against any one she loves. And she does love -Rathborne--confound him!" - -"Frank, you are really growing so uncharitable that it distresses me -to hear you talk," said his sister, solemnly. - -Frank only responded by a laugh compounded of scorn and vexed -amusement; but in his heart he knew that it was true--that he was -growing uncharitable, and that he disliked Rathborne so much that he -was ready to believe any ill of him. It was this dislike which had -sharpened his eyes to perceive what that astute gentleman thought he -was concealing from every one--the fact of the strong attraction which -Marion had for him; and whoever else that fact might surprise, it -did not surprise young Morley in the least. He had never believed in -the disinterestedness of Rathborne's affection for Helen, and it had -enraged him to perceive the trust with which his cousin gave her heart -to a man unworthy of it. These sentiments had prepared him to observe -any failure in the conduct of that man, and there had been a gratified -sense of the justification of his own judgment when he perceived -what was so far hidden from everyone else except Rathborne himself -and--Marion. - -For Marion was fully alive to the admiration with which Rathborne -regarded her; but it is only justice to say that no thought of -treachery to Helen was ever in _her_ mind. Many and great as her -faults might be, they were not of a mean order. By towering ambition -and arrogant pride, she might fall into grievous error, but hardly -into baseness--at least not by premeditation. But it is hard to -say at exactly what milestone we will stop on the road of seeking -the gratification and interest of self. It pleased her to see that -Rathborne regarded her in a very different manner from that in which -he regarded any other woman with whom she saw him associating; the -unconscious homage of his air when he approached her, of his tone when -he addressed her, the choice of his subjects when he talked to her -alone, were all like incense to her vanity; and it was this incense -which she liked, rather than the man. Concerning the latter, she had -not changed her first opinion, which did not differ very widely from -that of Mr. Frank Morley. - -The day after Mrs. Singleton's evening, Helen said to her cousin: "I -wish so much, Marion, that you would sometimes sing in our choir! Miss -Grady, our organist, said to me last night that she would be so glad if -you would, and I promised to ask you." - -"Why, certainly," replied Marion, with ready assent; "I shall be very -glad to do so whenever you like. Catholic music is so beautiful that it -is a pleasure to sing it; but I don't know much of it." - -"You know that lovely '_Ave Maria_' you used to sing at the convent." - -"Gounod's? Oh, yes! But when can I sing that?" - -"At the Offertory in the Mass. I know Miss Grady will be delighted, for -she has no really good voice. Fancy, mine is her best!" - -"How modest you are!" said Marion, smiling. "Very well, then, I will -sing the '_Ave Maria_' next Sunday with a great deal of pleasure, if -your organist likes, and your priest does not object to a Protestant -voice." - -"He is not likely to do that; but I thought you always declared that -you are not a Protestant." - -"I suppose one must be classed as a Protestant, according to the strict -sense of the term, when one is not a Catholic--and that I am not." - -"But you may be some day." - -"Nothing is more unlikely. Your religion is too exacting: it puts one's -whole life in bondage. Now, I want to be free." - -"Not free to do wrong, Marion! And the only bondage which the Catholic -Church lays upon people is to forbid their doing what is wrong." - -"I must be free to judge for myself what _is_ wrong," returned Marion, -with a haughty gesture of her head. "But we had better not talk of -this, Helen. We do not think alike, and I do not wish to say anything -disagreeable to you." - -"Nor I to you," said Helen; "and indeed I have no talent for argument. -One needs Claire for that. Dear Claire! how I wish she were here!" - -"So do I," said Marion; "but not for purposes of argument, I confess." - -Glad to do something to please her aunt and cousin, Marion went -willingly the next Sunday to the Catholic church; and, having already -seen the organist--a pleasant young music teacher--accompanied Helen -into the choir-loft. Here, sitting quietly in a corner during the first -part of the Mass, she had time to contrast the scene before her with -that which she had witnessed during the other Sundays of her stay in -Scarborough. The first thing which struck her was the poverty of the -small building, as compared with the luxury and beauty of the Episcopal -place of worship. Here were no finely-carved and polished woods; but -plain, plastered walls, relieved from bareness only by the pictures -which told in simple black and white the woful story of the Cross. -The sound of moving feet and scraping benches on the uncovered floor -jarred on her nerves after the subdued quiet, which was the result of -carpeted aisles and pews; while the appearance of the congregation -spoke plainly of humble, hard-working lives. No suggestion of social -distinction and elegance was here. But in the sanctuary there was -something of beauty to please even her ćsthetic eye. - -The small altar was beautifully dressed with freshly-cut flowers, -draped with spotless linen and fine lace, and brilliant with light -of wax tapers. Evidently Helen's careful hand and convent-bred taste -had been there, even as Helen's pure, sweet, young voice was even now -singing the angelic words of the "_Gloria_." The priest, who was a pale -and rather insignificant-looking man, certainly lacked the refined -and scholarly air of the handsome young clergyman with whom Marion -instinctively compared him; but there was an assured dignity in his -air and gestures, as he stood at the altar, which she was too keen an -observer not to perceive, and remember that the other had lacked. - -In the midst of these mingled thoughts and impressions--thoughts and -impressions wherein devotion had no place--she was suddenly summoned to -sing. She took her place with the self-possession which never failed -her, and began that beautiful strain to which Gounod has set the sacred -words of the "_Ave Maria_." There were not many musically trained ears -or critically trained tastes among the congregation below, but even -they turned instinctively to see what voice was rising with such divine -melody toward heaven. Over and over again Marion had sung these words -without thinking of their meaning, but she had never before sung them -in the Mass; and now something in the hush of the stillness around -her, in the reverence of the silent people, in the solemn, stately -movements of the priest and the uplifting of the chalice, seemed to -fill her with a consciousness that she, too, was uttering a prayer--a -prayer of such ancient and holy origin that careless lips should fear -to speak it. - -"_Sancta Maria, Mater Dei!_"--Never before had the wonder, the majesty, -the awfulness of the Name struck her as it struck her now, when she -was, as it were, the mouthpiece for all the believing hearts that so -called the Blessed Maid of Israel. "_Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc -et in hora mortis nostrć._" Her voice sank over the last words with a -strange sense of their meaning. The hour of our death! It would come to -her, too, that hour--a sudden, intense realization of the fact seemed -to run through her veins like ice,--and when it came, would it not be -well to have appealed in earnest to Her who stood by the Cross, and was -and is eternally the Mother of God? - -Such a thought, such a question was new to this proud and worldly -spirit. Why it came to her at this moment is one of the miracles of -God's grace. It was not destined to make any lasting impression; but -for the time it was strong enough to cause her, when the hymn was -ended, to go and kneel down in the place she had left; while from her -heart rose the appeal which only her lips had uttered a moment before, -"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me now and at the hour of my death." - -It gratified Helen to observe that Marion knelt with apparent -devoutness during the solemn portion of the Mass; but when they -came out of church, and she turned with a smile to congratulate her -on her singing, she was struck by the paleness and gravity of the -beautiful face. "What is the matter?" she asked, quickly. "Has anything -displeased you?" - -"Displeased me!" said Marion, with a start of surprise. "No; why should -you think so?" - -"You look so grave." - -"Do I? Perhaps I am displeased with myself, then. I did not know before -that I was impressionable, and I find that I am. That vexes me. I -detest impressionable people; I detest above all to feel that I myself -am at the mercy of outward influences." - -Helen looked all the wonder that she felt. "I don't understand what you -mean." she said. "How have you found out that you are impressionable--I -mean particularly so?" - -Marion smiled slightly. "I am afraid you would not understand if -I told you," she replied. "Or you would misunderstand, which is -worse. But don't ask me to go to your church again, Helen. Something -there--something about the services--affects me in a way I don't -like. Nothing I should dislike so much as to become a mere emotional, -susceptible creature; and I feel there as if I might." - -"But, Marion," exclaimed Helen, half-shocked, half-eager, "surely our -feelings are given, like everything else, to lead us to God! And, O -Marion! how can you turn away from what may be the grace of God? For -remember, _God Himself_ was on the altar to-day!" - -She uttered the last sentence in tones of reverent awe; but Marion -frowned impatiently. - -"It was because I knew you would not understand that I did not want -to speak," she said. "What I am talking of is a mere matter of -susceptibility to outward influences. It is disagreeable to me, and I -do not wish to subject myself to it--that is all. I am never troubled -in that way at the Episcopal services," she added, more lightly. "I -shall go there in future." - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -It was not very long before Marion's promise to Mr. Singleton was -recalled to her mind--if, indeed, that could be said to be recalled -which had never been forgotten. For she had not exaggerated in saying -that this old man, with his air of the world, with his keen, critical -glance, and the mingled imperativeness and courtliness of his manner, -was after her own taste. His evident admiration and appreciation of -herself no doubt led greatly to this result; for had she been treated -as he was in the habit of treating people whom he did not like, there -could hardly have been much liking on her side. But since his approval -of _her_ was very manifest, her approval of _him_ was not less so; and -was, moreover, sharpened by the restless ambition which made her look -eagerly for any opening by which she might gain her desired ends. - -She was glad, therefore, to receive one morning a note from Mrs. -Singleton, begging to know if that day would suit her for the -fulfillment of her promise to sing for Mr. Singleton alone. "I should -have asked _you_ to name the day," the note went on, "but for the fact -that there are only certain days on which my uncle feels equal to the -exertion of seeing any one; and, of course, he wishes to see as well -as to hear you. If you have no other engagement for this afternoon, -will you, then, gratify him by coming at five o'clock? And I hope to -keep you to spend the evening with me." - -Had any engagement interfered with the proposed appointment, there -is no doubt that Marion would have broken it like a thread; but she -was, happily, free from such a necessity, and had only to tell Mrs. -Singleton that she would accept her invitation for the afternoon with -pleasure. So, at the time appointed, her aunt's carriage dropped her at -the door of the house which the Singletons had taken for the season. -It was by far the handsomest house in Scarborough--wide, spacious, -stately, with nobly proportioned rooms, and halls that spoke eloquently -of the wealth that had planned them. It was a wealth that had vanished -now, as the house had passed out of the possession of those who built -it; but the fine old place served admirably as a setting for the -Singleton establishment, which was formed on a very lavish scale. - -When Marion was shown into the drawing room, she found Mr. Singleton -there, established in a deep easy-chair near the piano, with an open -newspaper before him. He laid it on his knee when she entered, and held -out his hand. - -"You will excuse my keeping my seat," he said, as she came toward -him. "I rise with great difficulty, owing to obstinate sciatica, and -never without assistance. But you must believe that I appreciate your -kindness in coming." - -"I am very glad to come," she said, with cordial sincerity. "I told you -that it would be a pleasure to me. I like to sing, especially to one -who knows what good singing is; and whose praise, therefore, has value." - -He smiled, evidently well pleased. "And how do you know," he said, -"that my praise has that value?" - -"One can tell such things very quickly," she replied. "I think I should -have known that you possessed musical culture even if I had not heard -so." - -"I have a good deal of musical knowledge, at least," he said. "In my -youth I lived much abroad, and I have heard all the great singers of -the world. It has been a passion with me, and I have missed nothing -else so much during these later years of invalidism. You can judge, -therefore, whether or not it is a pleasure to hear such a voice as -yours." - -"I know that my voice is good," said Marion; "but I also know how much -it lacks cultivation. I fear that must jar on you, since you have heard -so many great singers." - -"No, it does not jar on me, because you have no bad tricks. You sing -simply and naturally, with wonderful sweetness and power. Sing now, and -afterward I will take the liberty of asking you some questions about -yourself." - -Marion went to the piano, and, animated by the last words, sang as -well as she could possibly have sung for a much larger audience. In -the lofty, wide room she let out the full power of her splendid voice -with an ease, a total absence of effort, which delighted her listener. -Lying back in his deep chair while song followed song, and marking -how clear and true every note rang, his interest in the singer grew; -and he began to rouse a little from the state of indifferent egoism -which was normal with him, to consider what would be the future of this -girl, whom nature had so richly endowed. Perhaps curiosity had a part -in the interest; at least when Marion had sung for some time, he said -suddenly:-- - -"That is enough for the present. I must not be unreasonable, and I must -not let you strain your voice. Will you come now and talk to me for a -while?" - -"Willingly," she answered, rising from the instrument with a smile. -"But you must remember that it does not follow that because I can -entertain you by singing I can also entertain you by talking." - -"I think it will follow," he said. "You talk, if not as well as you -sing--for that would be very extraordinary--at least well enough to -make me desire to listen to you. And in order to make you appreciate -that, I must tell you that the talking of most people bores me -intolerably." - -"Are there any signs by which one can tell when one begins to bore -you?" asked Marion, sitting down on a low chair in front of him. -"Because I should like to cease as soon as that point is reached." - -He smiled, all the lines of his face relaxing as he looked at her. -In fact, he found the charm of her beauty almost as great as that of -her voice. Had it been an unintellectual beauty, he would have cared -nothing for it; but the flash of that indescribable quality which the -French call _esprit_, the quickness and readiness of her speech, the -grace of her manner,--all pleased and interested the man, who was not -easily pleased or interested. - -"I do not believe there is any danger of your ever reaching that -point," he said. "And I think you are sure of it yourself. You have no -fear of boring any one; for you know the thing is impossible." - -"You are very kind," she answered. "But I have never observed that the -people who bore one are at all afraid of doing it. So, lack of fear -would not prove exemption from the possibility. But I flatter myself -that I have penetration enough to detect the first sign, and I am -certain that I would not need to detect the second." - -"Any one who saw you would be certain of that," he said, regarding -her intently. "As it chances, however, it may be I who will prove the -bore; for I am going to claim one of the privileges of an old man, and -ask you some questions about yourself; or, to spare me the trouble of -asking the question, I should like for you to tell me something about -your life, if you have no objection." - -"Not the slightest," replied Marion; "indeed your interest flatters me. -But I am sorry to say that there is very little to tell. You see, my -life is only beginning." - -"True. You have just left school, I believe?" - -"Only a few weeks ago. I came then with my cousin from the convent, -where I had spent two years." - -"You are not a Roman Catholic, I hope?" - -"Oh! no, certainly not." It occurred to her, as she spoke, that if he -should ask what she was, she would not be prepared with so ready an -answer. But his interest was apparently satisfied with ascertaining -what she was _not_, and he went on to another question:-- - -"Where is your home?" - -"Ah! that is difficult to answer," she said. "Before going to the -convent, I lived with my uncle, but I could hardly call that home; and, -since I have no desire to return to his house, I must reply with strict -correctness that I have no home." - -"That is a sad statement for one so young. Is not your uncle your -guardian?" - -"I suppose that he is; but, you see, I have no fortune to look -after--somehow it has all vanished away,--and, personally, I am not -very much in need of a guardian." - -"Permit me to differ with you there," said Mr. Singleton, gravely. -"Personally, I think that you are very much in need of a guardian. -And by that I do not mean any reflection on your power of conducting -yourself--which I have no doubt is very sufficient,--but I mean that -no young and beautiful woman of good social rank should be without the -protection of such guardianship." - -"I presume certainly that my uncle considers himself my guardian, -and it is likely that he has legal power to interfere with my -actions," said Marion. "But I think he does not feel interest enough -to interfere--unless he thought me likely to bring discredit on the -family. And I believe he knows me well enough not to fear that." - -Mr. Singleton smiled at the unconscious pride of her tone, and the -gesture with which she lifted her head. "One need not know you very -well in order to be sure of that," he said. "But, since these are your -circumstances, allow me, as your kinsman, to ask another question. What -are your plans for the future?" - -She opened her hands with a gesture signifying emptiness, and slightly -shrugged her shoulders. "Frankly, I have none," she answered. "I am -waiting on fate. Don't think that I mind it," she added, quickly, -catching an expression on his face. "It is interesting--it is like -waiting for a play to begin. If I had my choice, I should prefer the -uncertainties of my life to a life already mapped and arranged like -that of my cousin, Helen Morley. Why should uncertainty of the future -daunt one who has a consciousness of some powers, and has no fear at -all? I am only anxious for the play to begin, that is all." - -"Poor child!" said her listener. The words were uttered involuntarily, -and startled him a little; for he was not easily moved to sympathy -or compassion. But the very dauntlessness of this courage, the very -rashness of this self-confidence, were sad to the man who knew so well -the pitfalls of life, the dangers which no powers could avert, no -bravery overcome. If Marion had subtly calculated how best to rouse -his interest, and touch whatever heart remained to him in the midst -of the gradual withering up of the springs of feeling, she could -not have succeeded better, nor probably half so well. Any appeal to -his sympathy, any tearful eyes or supplicating tones, he would have -resisted; but this proud daring of fate, this quick rejection of pity, -moved him more than, beforehand, he would have imagined possible. When -conscious of the words which had escaped him, he went on:-- - -"Pardon me, but I have known so long the life you are just -beginning--indeed I am about to leave the stage as you make your -_début_,--that I fear the play may not prove all that you fancy. It is -apt to take sudden turns which no skill can foresee, and which force -one, whether one will or not, into very unpleasant situations. But I -have no inclination to act the part of a prophet of ill, so I hope all -this may be reversed for you; certainly so much courage and so much -beauty ought to propitiate Fate. And, meanwhile, if there is anything I -can do to serve you, remember that I am your kinsman, and let me know." - -"Thank you," said Marion, graciously. "But while waiting for the play -to begin, I have nothing to desire. My friends are very kind. And now I -fear that I may have reached that point of which we spoke earlier--the -point of possible boredom. At least I know that I have talked too much -of myself." - -"Not at all," he replied, quickly. "You have only answered my -questions; and I have been, I fear, too inquisitive. But my interest in -you must plead my excuse. I suppose I have been more ready to gratify -it because it is not easily roused--at least not to the degree in which -you have roused it." - -"That is very pleasant for me to hear," said Marion, truthfully. "I -like to rouse interest--everyone does, I imagine; and yet I should not -care for it if it were easily roused." - -"No, I imagine not," said he, with a look that seemed to read her -through and through. "You will care only for difficult things, and you -are made to gain them." - -Before Marion could express her approval of this prophecy, the sound of -approaching footsteps was heard, and Mrs. Singleton entered the room, -in the freshest and prettiest of evening toilets. She held out both -hands to Marion, with an air of effusion. - -"I was roused out of my _siesta_ by the most delightful sounds!" she -cried. "At first I thought it must be an angel singing, but angels are -not in the habit of visiting me; so then I remembered your appointment, -and that I had intended to be present to share the pleasure with uncle. -Unfortunately I slept too long for that, but you will sing some for me -now--or perhaps we had better defer it until later, when Tom can have -the pleasure too. You remember that you are going to spend the evening -with us." - -Marion remembered, and was very willing to do so; for these were people -whom she liked to cultivate. They were not only people of high social -consideration, who might be useful to her, but their knowledge of the -world, their familiarity with society abroad as well as at home, and -their easy habits of wealth and luxury, pleased her taste and gratified -her own instinctive yearning for these things. The quiet, old-fashioned -comfort of her aunt's establishment lost all its charm when contrasted -with the fashion and lavish expenditure which were here. She was the -only guest at the beautifully served dinner to which they sat down in -the summer gloaming; but she could truly assure Mrs. Singleton that she -was glad it was so. "Who could be found in Scarborough as entertaining -as yourselves?" she asked. - -"How very nice of you to say so!" replied that lady, patting her hand. -"Then we are very well satisfied; for I am sure nobody could be found -in Scarborough as entertaining as you are. In fact, you do not belong -to the Scarborough order of life at all; you are totally out of place -here." - -Marion laughed. "I am afraid I feel so occasionally," she said; -"but I have an idea that it is my fault: that I expect too much of -Scarborough." - -"You belong to another life altogether," repeated Mrs. Singleton, -positively. "I felt sure of it the first time I saw you. A quiet, -sociable, country-town existence may suit other people--your pretty -cousin, for example,--but it does not suit _you_." - -"That is very true," said Marion. "As a matter of taste, it certainly -does not suit me; but I learned early that one cannot always expect to -have one's tastes gratified." - -"You are very philosophical. Now, for me, I always expect to have my -tastes gratified, and they generally are. Demand a great deal and you -will get at least some of it; that is my philosophy." - -"And, unlike many philosophers, you always practice what you preach. -That I can testify," said Mr. Singleton (the husband). "Don't let her -demoralize you, Miss Lynde. If you have any moderation of desire, by -all means keep and culture it." - -"Unfortunately, my desires are boundless," replied Marion, smiling. "It -is only my expectations which are moderate." - -"Well, that is remarkable enough," said the gentleman; "if only you can -manage to keep them so--but you will not." - -"Why not?" - -He cast a glance into an opposite mirror. "About the best reason I -offer is to be found there," he answered. "No woman is going to expect -less than Nature gave her a right to demand." - -And so on all sides fresh fuel was offered to the vanity which already -turned high and strong in dangerous flame. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -Several weeks passed, during which the acquaintance of Marion with the -Singletons progressed rapidly to intimacy--such intimacy, that Helen -protested more than once that her cousin spent more time with Mrs. -Singleton than with herself. She was certainly very often the companion -of that lady--seen by her side in the pretty phaeton which she drove, -met at all her entertainments, called upon for all occasions when she -needed assistance, social or otherwise. The vaguely understood link of -relationship between them served as an excuse for this, had any excuse -been required beside the caprice of the elder and the inclination of -the younger lady. "I have discovered a cousin in Miss Lynde," Mrs. -Singleton would say to her Scarborough acquaintances. "Do you not -think that I am very fortunate?" And there were few who did not reply -honestly that they considered her very fortunate indeed. - -But the person who regarded this association most approvingly was old -Mr. Singleton, since it secured him a great deal of Marion's society, -for which he evinced a partiality. It was, in fact, to this partiality -that Marion owed Mrs. Singleton's attentions. "Your uncle has taken a -most extraordinary fancy to that girl, Tom." she said to her husband -at a very early stage of the acquaintance; "so I think that I had -better cultivate her. It will be better for me to use her as a means -to contribute to his amusement than to let her develop into a power -against us. There is no counting on the whims of an old man, you know." - -"Especially of _this_ old man," assented Mr. Singleton. "He is capable -of anything. Therefore I don't think I would have the girl about too -much." - -"It is better for me to have her about than for him to take her up. If -he considers her my _protégée_, he will not be so likely to make her -his own. I have given the matter some thought, and that is the way I -look at it." - -"You may be right," said easy-going Mr. Singleton. "I have great -confidence in your way of looking at things, and of managing them too. -But I confess that I have no confidence in this handsome and clever -young lady. I don't think she would hesitate to play one any trick." - -"Confidence in _her_!" said Mrs. Singleton, with scorn. "Of course I -have not a particle. But she will have no opportunity to play me a -trick. Be sure of that." - -Meanwhile Helen said to Marion, rather doubtfully: "Marion, do you -really like Mrs. Singleton very much? She is very pleasant and very -elegant, but somehow--I hope I am not uncharitable--I never feel as if -one could thoroughly trust her." - -"My dear," replied Marion, with her mocking smile, "do you know, or -fancy that you know, many people whom you can 'thoroughly trust'? If -so, you are more fortunate than I am; for I have known only one or two -in my life." - -"O Marion! no more than that? How can you be so unjust to your friends?" - -"I have no friends, in the true sense of the term, except you and -Claire. I trust _you_." - -"I hope so, and I you--most thoroughly." - -Marion regarded her with something like wonder. "Now, why," she said, -dispassionately, "should you trust me? I am sure I have never shown a -character to inspire that sentiment." - -"You delight in showing your worst side," answered Helen; "but it does -not deceive me. I know that the worst is not as bad as you would have -it believed to be, and that the best exists all the time." - -"It certainly exists for you, and always will," said Marion, quickly. -"There is nothing I could not sooner do than betray your trust." - -"How can you even hint such a thing!" exclaimed Helen, indignantly. "Do -you think I could ever fear it?" - -"No," replied Marion; "I am sure that you would never fear it from -any one whom you love. But you may have to suffer it some day, -nevertheless." - -The speaker's tone had more significance than she intended, and Helen -looked at her with a glance of sudden apprehension. "What do you mean?" -she asked. "Why should I fear it?" - -"Why should any of us fear that we will have to share in the common -lot--the common knowledge of evil as well as of good?" said Marion, -evasively. "We must all expect it; at least that is one of the pleasant -things we are told." - -"Oh! yes, I suppose we must expect it," said Helen. "But expecting a -thing in a general way, and doubting any--any one in particular, is a -very different matter." - -The conversation ended here; but the mere fact that she had been so -quick to take alarm might have told Helen that, unconsciously to -herself, suspicion had taken some root in her mind. The readiness with -which she put herself into an attitude of defense showed that she -feared attack. And, indeed, she had already suffered more than one -attack on the subject of Rathborne--if that could be called attack -which was only the expression of a gentle doubt, first from her mother, -and then from the priest, who, distrusting all such marriages in -general, had special reasons for distrusting this one in particular. -Like most priests, he had many sources of information; many streams -flowed, as it were, into the silent reservoir of his mind; and in -this way things concerning Rathborne had come to his knowledge, which -rendered him deeply averse to seeing Helen link her pure young life -with that of a man so unscrupulous and selfish. Loath to give pain -if unable to achieve any practical good thereby, he had spoken very -guardedly to her when she sought his counsel; but, perhaps because he -spoke with so much caution, his words sank deeply into her mind, and -left a sense of weight behind. But it was one of her characteristics -that, after once reposing confidence in a person, she could not lightly -recall it; and she clung to Rathborne more closely for the opposition -which she attributed to mistaken judgment. - -Nevertheless, Helen was already learning something of what Marion -called the common lot,--she was acquiring some knowledge of -the difficulty of reconciling conflicting desires, and of the -impossibility of finding things made smooth and easy. Now and then -there was a wistful look in her eyes, which touched her mother deeply, -and made her ready to consent to anything which would restore sunshine -to one who seemed so wholly made to enjoy it. - -But Mrs. Dalton was not blind to one fact, which may or may not have -been clear to Helen,--the significant fact that Rathborne had not, -since the return home of her daughter, pressed his suit with his former -ardor. He had not begged that the conditional and merely tolerated -engagement should be converted into an open and positive one; he seemed -quite satisfied with matters as they stood, and took Helen's sentiments -entirely too much for granted, so Helen's mother thought. What to do, -however, she did not clearly perceive, and Father Barrett strongly -advised a policy of inaction. "Let matters take their own course," he -said. "I am of opinion that Helen may be spared what you fear most -for her; but this cannot be brought about by any effort of yours, -which would tend, on the contrary, to rouse opposition. If the child -must suffer, in any event do not let her have the additional pain of -thinking that she owes any of the suffering to you." - -To this counsel Mrs. Dalton gave heed--or thought she did. But many -things betrayed to Helen that her mother's disapproval of Rathborne's -suit had not lessened with time. Anxious to avoid any possible -conflict, the girl shrank from broaching the subject; but it was -a growing pain to her affectionate nature that there should be a -subject--and that the nearest her heart and life--in which she was not -sure of her mother's sympathy--where her deepest feelings might yet be -arrayed against each other, and a difficult choice be made necessary. - -To Marion, meantime, Rathborne had become somewhat troublesome. As we -learn in many an old legend that it is easier to raise a fiend than to -put him down, so she found it easier to make the impression which she -had desired than to regulate the effect of that impression. She had -made it with the utmost ease,--an ease very flattering to her vanity; -but, innocent as she had been of any intention save that of gratifying -vanity, retribution followed hard upon her steps. Apart from the fact -that she was incapable of deliberately betraying Helen's confidence, -she trusted Rathborne no further than most other people did. Moreover, -her arrogance of spirit was as great as her ambition, and she -considered herself fitted for a position much higher than he could -possibly offer her--had she believed him ready to offer anything. But, -so far from believing this, she gave him no credit for any sincerity of -intention toward her, knowing well that self-interest was the sole rule -of his life. "He dares to think that he can amuse himself with me and -then marry Helen!" she thought. "There may be two who can play at that -game. Let us see!" - -The thought that it was a very dangerous game did not occur to her; -or, if it occurred, did not deter her. At this time of her life she -had only a sense of worldly honor to deter her from anything which -she desired to do; and she desired most sincerely to punish the man -whom she believed to be true neither to Helen nor herself. Therefore, -although his attentions began to annoy her, she did not discourage -them, notwithstanding that she noted scornfully how he avoided, as -far as possible, devoting himself to her when he was likely to be -observed. But his precautions had not saved him, as we are aware, from -the keen observation of Frank Morely; and Mrs. Dalton herself, with -eyes sharpened by a mother's anxiety, began to perceive that Marion -possessed a great attraction for him. - -Matters were in this by no means satisfactory state when Mrs. -Singleton, growing weary of other forms of amusement, decided to -patronize Nature. There was a great deal of beautiful scenery in -the vicinity of Scarborough, which she declared had been too long -neglected. "A picnic is horrid!" she said. "The very word is full -of vulgar associations, and the thing itself is tiresome beyond -expression. One would grow weary of the most delightful people in the -world if doomed to spend a whole day in the woods with them. But a few -hours in the pleasantest part of the day--that is another matter. A -gypsy tea is just the thing! We will go out in the afternoon to Elk -Ridge, have tea, look at the sunset, and return by moonlight; is not -that a good idea?" - -"Excellent," said the persons whom she addressed--a party of five -or six who had been dining with her. "It will make a very pleasant -excursion, only we must be sure of the moon." - -"Oh! we have only to consult the almanac for that," said the lively -hostess. "I think there is a new moon due about this time." - -Marion laughed, and, touching the arm of old Mr. Singleton, by whom she -sat, pointed out of a western window to the evening sky, where hung the -beautiful crescent of the moon, framed between the arching boughs of -tall trees. - -"Hum--yes," observed that gentleman. "Anna's attention to Nature is -altogether controlled by the question of whether or not it can be made -to contribute to her amusement. Now that the moon has arrived, it will -not be long before the gypsy tea takes place." - -And, indeed, in a few days all arrangements for this festivity were -completed, the party made up, and the programme settled. Mrs. Singleton -wished that Marion should accompany her; but Helen protested so much -against this that the arrangement was changed; and it was finally -settled that Marion and herself, with Rathborne and Morley, would make -up a _parti carré_ in a light open carriage. - -There is nothing more attractive to youth, nothing more suited to -its natural lightness of heart and spirit, than such pleasures as -these--golden afternoons in summer woods and under summer skies; -sunsets when all nature is flooded with beauty, like a crystal cup -filled to the brim; and nights of spiritual, entrancing loveliness. -Even with older persons, the sense of care seems lifted from the mind -for a little time among such scenes; while to the young and happy, care -is a thing impossible to realize when earth itself in transformed into -Arcadia. - -So Helen felt as she started on this excursion. In some subtle fashion, -the doubts which had weighed upon her for a considerable time past -were lifted. She did not say to herself that she had been foolish, for -she was little given to self-analysis; but involuntarily she felt it, -involuntarily she threw off the shadow which had fallen over her, and -grasped the pleasure offered, as a child puts out its hand to grasp -sunbeams. When they drove away, her heart was as light as a feather, -her face as bright as the day, and she turned back to wave her hand in -gay farewell to her mother. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -Elk Ridge, the place selected by Mrs. Singleton for her gypsy tea, was -a very picturesque and beautiful locality, distant seven miles from -Scarborough. The drive there, through the soft, golden beauty of the -August afternoon, was delightful; and the beauties of the height when -reached well repaid any exertion that might have been necessary to -gain it. Since none was necessary, however, it proved a great surprise -to those who had not been there before to find themselves on a noble -eminence, crowned by splendid masses of rock, and commanding a most -extensive view of the smiling country around and the blue mountains in -the distance. It was an ideal spot for _al fresco_ amusements, and the -party assembled were in the mood to enjoy it. - -Very soon a kettle was hung from crossed sticks over a blazing fire; -and while the water was boiling, and the arrangements for tea in -progress, all those who were not actively engaged in these arrangements -scattered over the summit, admiring the view, and now and then climbing -some of the more accessible of the great granite boulders. Among the -last were Helen and Frank Morley, both in high spirits, and laughing -like a pair of merry children. Marion shrugged her shoulders over their -exploits. - -"I have never been young enough for that," she said to Rathborne. "I -could never, at any stage of existence, see the 'fun' of risking one's -neck." - -"It is childish!" he responded, with ill-concealed contempt. He had -endeavored to dissuade Helen, but for once she had been deaf to his -remonstrances. Her spirits were so high this afternoon that an outlet -for them was indispensable; and she was still so much of a child that -this special outlet of physical exertion and daring was very agreeable -to her. - -"I suppose it is a good thing to be childish now and then," said -Marion. "I don't think _I_ ever was; and, no doubt, it is so much the -worse for me." - -"On the contrary, I think, so much the better," replied Rathborne. -"Where there is childishness there must be folly, and I cannot imagine -you guilty of that." - -"Can you not?" She paused an instant and seemed to reflect. "But there -are things worse than folly," she said, with one of her sudden impulses -of candor; "and I might be guilty of some of them." - -"Oh! you might--yes." He laughed. "So might I. Perhaps for that reason -I have more sympathy with them than with folly." - -Marion gave him a glance which he did not understand nor yet altogether -fancy. "Yes," she said, "I am very sure you have more sympathy with -what is bad than with what is foolish." - -Before he could reply to such an equivocal speech, Mrs. Singleton sent -a messenger for Miss Lynde to come and help her pour out tea; and the -young lady rose and walked away. - -It was very gay and bright and pleasant, that gypsy tea among the -rocks, with depths of verdure overhead and far-stretching beauty of -outspread country below. The amber sunshine streamed over the scene; -pretty pale-blue smoke, from the fire over which the kettle hung, -mounted in the air; there was a musical chatter of tongues and sound of -laughter. At such times and in such scenes it is difficult for the most -thoughtful to realize the great sadness of the world, the care that -encompasses life, and the pain that overshadows it. But these light -hearts were never at any time troubled with the realization of such -things. They were all young and, for the most part, prosperous; life -went easily with them, and nothing seemed more remote than trouble or -unhappiness. The hours sped lightly by, as such hours do, and presently -it was time to think of returning. The sun sank into his golden bed, -the moon would soon rise majestically in the east, and the drive back -to Scarborough would be as delightful as the drive out had been. - -But just before the move for departure was made Rathborne came to -Marion and said: "You have not yet seen the finest view--that from the -other side of the Ridge. Would you not like to walk over there and look -at it?" - -"I think not," replied Marion, who did not care for a _tęte-ŕ-tęte_ -with him. "I am not very fond of views." - -"O but, Marion, this view is really fine!" cried Helen, eagerly. "Pray -go; you will be repaid for the exertion." - -Not caring to make her refusal more marked, Marion rose with an inward -sense of vexation. "Very well, then," she said to Rathborne; "since -Helen is sure I will be repaid for the exertion, I will go; but, since -_I_ am not sure, I hope the exertion required is not very much." - -"It is only that of walking about a hundred yards," he answered. And -as they turned and followed a well-defined path, which led among the -rocks and trees, he added, "I do not mean, however, to insist upon any -exertion which would be disagreeable to you." - -Marion might truthfully have answered that it was not the exertion -which was disagreeable to her; but she had no desire to make an enemy -of this man, and instinct told her that whoever wounded his vanity was -thenceforth to him an enemy. So she replied lightly that she was very -indolent, especially where the beauties of nature were concerned; but -that she had no doubt the view would repay her after she reached it. - -"I think it will," said Rathborne; "otherwise I should not have -proposed your coming." - -And indeed even Marion, who was right in saying that the beauties of -nature did not greatly appeal to her, was moved by the loveliness and -extent of the view suddenly spread before her, when they came to the -verge of the Ridge, on the other side, where the hill broke off in a -sheer precipice. The great rock-face of this precipice shelved downward -to a soft, pastoral valley, beyond which were belts of encircling -woodlands, green hills rising into bolder heights as they receded, and -a distant range of azure mountains fair as hills of paradise. - -"Oh! this _is_ glorious!" cried Marion, involuntarily, as the broad -scene, with the long, golden lights and beautiful shadows of late -evening falling across it, was suddenly revealed by an abrupt turn in -the path. She walked to the edge of the precipice and stood there, -with hands lightly clasped, looking into the far, magical distance. -At this moment, as in other moments like it, something stirred in -her nature deeper and nobler than its ordinary impulses. She had a -consciousness of possibilities which at other times were remote from -her realization,--possibilities of loftier action and feeling, of a -higher standard, of a loftier aim than her life had known. It was a -state of feeling not unlike that which came to her in the Catholic -church, and she shrank from it. By this grand arch of bending, lucid -sky, by those distant heavenly heights with their mystical suggestions, -thoughts were roused in her which seemed in little accord with the -other thoughts of her life. She forgot for a moment the man who stood -beside her, and started when he spoke. - -"It repays you--I see that," he said. "And so I am repaid for bringing -you." - -"Yes, it is very beautiful," she answered, slowly; "but I am not sure -that I am obliged to you for bringing me here. It produces in me -feelings that I do not like." - -"What kind of feelings?" inquired Rathborne, curiously. - -She swept him with a quick glance from under her half-drooped eyelids, -and he had again the impression that it conveyed something of contempt. - -"If I could define them," she said, "I doubt if you would be able to -understand them. I am certain that you have never felt anything of the -kind." - -"Why should you be certain of that?" he asked, a little irritated as -well by her tone as by her glance. "You do not surely think that you -have gauged all my possibilities of feeling." - -"I have made no attempt to do so," she said, indifferently. "Why should -I? But one receives some impressions instinctively." - -"And you think, perhaps, that I have no feeling," he replied quickly; -"that I am cold and hard and selfish, and altogether a calculating -machine. But you are mistaken. I was all that once--I frankly confess -it,--but since I have known you, I have changed. I have learned what it -is to feel in the deepest manner." - -There was a short silence. Marion's heart gave a great bound and then -seemed to stand still. A fear which she had striven to put away was -now a horrible certainty. She had played with fire, and the moment of -scorching was come--come to desecrate a place which she had felt to be -a sanctuary filled with the consciousness of God. Her first impulse -was to turn and go away without a word; her next, to utter words as -scornful as her mood. - -"If I am mistaken, so are you, Mr. Rathborne," she said,--"exceedingly -mistaken in imagining that I have given any thought to your feelings, -or that I am in the faintest degree interested in them." - -Her tone stung him like the stroke of a whip, and roused a passion on -which she had not calculated. He took a few hasty steps toward her; -and she found herself prisoned between the precipice on one side, and -this man, who stood and looked at her with eyes that gleamed under his -frowning brow. - -"Do you mean to tell me," he said, peremptorily, "that you have -no interest in feelings which you have deliberately excited and -encouraged? Do you mean to say that you have meant nothing when by -every art in your power you have led me on to love you?" - -Surely retribution was very heavy upon Marion at that moment. The -injustice of the charge--for of any such intention her conscience -acquitted her--only added to her sense of angry humiliation, and to the -consciousness, which she could not ignore, that she had, in some degree -at least, brought this upon herself. Her indignation was so deep, her -anger so great, that for once her readiness of speech failed, and she -could only reply: - -"How dare you address me in this manner?" - -He laughed--a short, bitter laugh, not pleasant to hear. "You are -a good actor, Miss Lynde," he said. "I never doubted your capacity -in that line; but I see that it is even greater than I imagined. -How dare I address you with the truth! Why should I not? You have -made me believe that you desired nothing more than to hear it. Your -manner to me, since the first evening we met, has admitted of but -one interpretation--that you wished to excite the feeling I have not -hesitated to show you. And so long as I merely _showed_ it, you were -pleased; but now that I utter it, you profess an indignation which it -is impossible you can feel." - -"You are speaking falsely!" cried Marion, whose anger was now so -excessive that no words seemed strong enough to express it. "I have -never for one instant wished to encourage the feeling of which you -speak. I knew you were engaged to Helen, and I thought you something, -at least, of a gentleman. I now see that you have no claim whatever to -that title. Let me pass!" - -"No," he said--and now he extended his hand and caught her wrist in a -vise-like grasp. "I have no doubt, from the proficiency you exhibit, -that you have played this game before with success; but you shall not -have the pleasure of playing it successfully with me. In one way or -another, I will make it a costly game to you, unless you tell me that -all this affected indignation means nothing, and that if I end my -entanglement with Helen, you will marry me." - -"Let me go!" said Marion, pale and breathless with passion. "If you -were free as air--if you had never been engaged to Helen--I would not -think of marrying you! Is that enough?" - -"Quite enough," he answered--but still he did not release her wrist. -"Now listen to me. I am not a man with whom any woman--not even one -so clever as you are--can amuse herself with impunity. I do not mean -to be melodramatic; I shall not curse you for your deception, for the -heartlessness with which you have sacrificed me to your vanity; but I -warn you that you have made an enemy who will leave nothing undone to -pay his debt. I read you very thoroughly, beautiful and unscrupulous -schemer that you are; and I promise you that in the hour when you think -your schemes are nearest success, you will find them defeated by me. To -that I pledge myself." - -There is something terrible in feeling one's self the object of hatred, -even if that hatred be both undeserved and impotent; and, brave as -Marion was, proud and defiant as she was, she felt herself shiver under -these words, and under the gaze which seconded them. What, indeed, -if she had made a mistake on the very threshold of the life in which -she had expected to manage so well. What if, instead of making a -satisfactory test of her power, she had roused an enmity which even -her experience knew to be more powerful and more tireless than love? -She did not quail under the fiery gaze bent on her, but her heart sank -with a sense of apprehension, of which she was strong enough to give no -outward sign. - -"It is a very worthy object to which you pledge yourself," she -observed, with scorn. "But I am not afraid of a man who is cowardly -enough to threaten a woman with his enmity because she rejects and -despises what he calls his love." - -Her voice had always a peculiar quality of clearness in speaking, -but when she was at all excited it was like silver in its resonance. -Therefore the words distinctly reached the ears of one who was coming -toward them, and the next instant Helen's pale face and startled eyes -rose before her. - -She uttered a sharp exclamation, which stopped the words that were -rising to Rathborne's lips; and, wrenching her arm from his grasp, she -sprang forward to her cousin's side. "Helen!" she cried, unconscious -almost of what she said, "what are you doing here?" - -It is not always the people who seem most weak whom emergency proves to -be so. At this moment Helen exhibited a self-control which would have -surprised even those who knew her best. She was pale as marble, and her -violet eyes had still their startled, piteous look; but she answered, -quietly:-- - -"I came to look for you. It was foolish--I will go back now. Don't -trouble to come with me." - -But as she turned, Marion seized her arm. "Helen!" she exclaimed, -"don't misjudge me! Don't think that this is my fault!" - -"No," replied Helen, with the same strange quietness; "I heard what you -said. I don't blame--any one. I suppose it was natural." - -Then it was Rathborne's turn. "Helen," he said, coming up to her, and -speaking with an attempt at the old tone of authority; "you must listen -to _me_." - -But she turned away from him with something like a shudder. "No," she -said, "do not ask me--not now. I may be weak, but not so weak as not to -understand--this. Don't come with me. Frank will look after me and take -me home. That is all I want." - -She moved away through the beautiful greenery, a slender, lovely -figure, with drooping head; and the two whom she left behind watched -her with one sensation at least in common--that of a keen sense of -guilt, which for the moment no other feeling was strong enough to -stifle. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -When Marion returned to the party, who were preparing for their -homeward drive, Frank Morley came up to her with a very grave face. - -"Helen tells me that she is feeling so bad, Miss Lynde," he said, -coldly, "that she wishes me to take her home. I have, therefore, -arranged for our return in the buggy in which Netta came out, and she -and her escort will take our places in the carriage with you." - -"Make whatever arrangement you please," answered Marion, as coldly as -himself; "but pray leave me out of it. There is a vacant seat in Mrs. -Singleton's carriage, which I shall take for the return." - -"Very well--the matter, is settled, then," he said. "I will take Helen -away at once." And he walked off with a scant courtesy, which his youth -and indignation excused. - -But it was a new sensation to Marion to be treated with discourtesy by -any one; and she had to pull herself together with an effort before she -was able to approach Mrs. Singleton in her usual manner, and announce -that she was willing to take the seat she had before declined. - -"I don't like to repeat anything, not even a drive, in exactly the -same manner," she said by way of explanation; "so if you will allow me, -I will join you for the homeward drive." - -"I shall be delighted to have you," answered Mrs. Singleton. "I thought -you would do better to come with me. Tom will be delighted, too. You -shall sit with him, and drive if he will let you." - -Good-natured Mr. Singleton was much pleased to share his box seat with -such a companion, and even to make over the reins to her whenever -the road was good enough to allow of it with safety; while to Marion -there was distraction from her own thoughts--from the recollection -of unpleasant complications, and the sense of angry humiliation--in -guiding the spirited horses, that tried all the strength of her arms -and wrists, and required an undivided attention. - -However, the drive was soon over, and then she had before her the -disagreeable necessity of facing her aunt and Helen. Brave as she was, -she was assailed by a cowardly impulse to avoid meeting them. What if -she went home with Mrs. Singleton, and for the evening at least did not -meet them? But what would be gained by that, except delay? She knew -that unless she wished to leave it in Rathborne's power to make what -statement he chose, she _must_ go to them with her own statement; and, -this being so, delay would serve no end except to give the impression -of heartless indifference. No, there was nothing for it but to meet at -once what had to be met sooner or later; so when the Singleton carriage -drew up at her aunt's gate, she exchanged a gay farewell with her -companions, and with a heavy heart and reluctant step took her way to -the house. - -How different from its usual aspect that house looked, as she drew -near it! Usually at this hour bright lights shone from the windows; -there would be snatches of music, sounds of voices and laughter; if the -moon were shining as to-night, a gay party would be assembled on the -veranda. Now it was still and quiet; the lights in the drawing-room -were turned low; the broad, open hall looked deserted. Only one figure -emerged from the shadow of the vines on the veranda into the full -moonlight as she approached. It was a small figure--that of Harry -Dalton. - -"Why, Harry!" exclaimed Marion, with an effort to speak as usual, "are -you all alone? Where is Helen?" - -"Helen has gone upstairs; she has a headache," answered Harry. "But -mamma is in the sitting-room, and wants to see you." - -"Very well," said Marion. She began to unbutton her gloves, as some -outward relief to her inward agitation, and without pausing, walked -into the house. Since the interview must take place, the sooner it was -over the better--so she said to herself as she entered the room where -her aunt awaited her. - -Mrs. Dalton was sitting by a table on which stood a shaded lamp, and, -with a book open before her, seemed to be reading; but her effort to -fix her mind on the page had not met with much success. She had, in -reality, been waiting for the sound of her niece's step; and when she -heard her coming, she was conscious of as much shrinking from the -interview as Marion felt. "I must be reasonable," she said to herself; -and then, pushing back her volume, she looked up as the girl entered. - -It was characteristic of Marion that she spoke first. "I am sorry to -hear that Helen is not well, aunt," she said. "Has she been at home -long?" - -"About half an hour," answered Mrs. Dalton. "She has gone to her room; -she asked that she might be left alone. That is so unlike Helen, that -I am sure something very serious has occurred. And I judge from a few -words which Frank said, that you know what it is, Marion." - -"What did Mr. Frank Morley say?" inquired Marion, sitting down. The -introduction of his name roused in her an immediate sense of defiance. -After all, what right had they to suppose that what had happened was -any fault of hers? - -"He said that Helen had overheard something which passed between Paul -Rathborne and yourself," answered Mrs. Dalton; "and that afterward she -had asked him to bring her home alone. He told me this in reply to my -questions. Helen said nothing; but I feel that I ought to know how -matters stand, so I ask you what did she overhear?" - -"She overheard me tell Mr. Rathborne that I rejected and despised the -love that he ventured to offer me," replied Marion, speaking in her -clearest and most distinct tone. - -A quick contraction of the brow showed how much the answer pained, if -it did not surprise, Mrs. Dalton. "My poor child!" she said, as if -to herself. Then she looked at Marion with something like a flash in -her usually gentle eyes. "And do you hold yourself guiltless in this -matter?" she asked. "If Paul Rathborne is a traitor to Helen--as he -surely is,--have not you encouraged his admiration? Does not your -conscience tell you that you have sacrificed her happiness for the -gratification of your vanity?" - -"No," replied Marion; "my conscience tells me nothing of the kind. How -could I prevent Mr. Rathborne's folly? But, of course, I expected to be -blamed for it," she added, bitterly. "That is the justice of the world." - -"God forgive me if I am unjust!" said Mrs. Dalton. "I did not mean to -be. But, Marion, this is not altogether a surprise to me. I have seen -his admiration for you, and I have seen--I could not help seeing--that -you did not discourage it." - -"Why should I have discouraged it?" asked Marion. "I saw no harm in -it. I could not imagine that because he found some things to like--to -admire, if you will--in me, he would become a traitor to Helen. It is -asking too much to demand that one turn one's back on a man because he -is a shade more than civil." - -Mrs. Dalton shook her head. "Those are merely words," she said. "They -do not deceive yourself any more than they deceive me. You know that -you have used this man's admiration as fuel for your vanity, and that -so cautious and so selfish a man would never have acted as he has -done if he had not felt himself encouraged. Do not misunderstand me," -she added, more hastily. "For Helen's sake I am not sorry that this -has happened. It is better for her, even at the cost of great present -suffering, that her eyes should be opened to his true character. But -you, Marion--how can you forgive yourself for the part you have played? -And what is to become of you if you do not check the vanity which has -led you to betray the trust and wring the heart of your best friend?" - -The quiet, penetrating words--gentle although so grave--seemed to -Marion at that moment like a sentence from which there was no appeal. -Her conscience echoed it, her eyes fell, for an instant it looked as if -she had nothing to reply. But she rallied quickly. - -"I am sorry if you think I have wilfully done anything to pain Helen," -she said, coldly. "It does not strike me that I could have averted -this, unless I had been gifted with a foreknowledge which I do not -possess. I could never have imagined that Mr. Rathborne would be so -false with regard to Helen, and so presumptuous with regard to _me_." - -The haughtiness of the last words was not lost on the ear of the -listener, who looked at the beautiful, scornful face with a mingling of -pity and indignation. - -"You expected," she said, "to encourage a man's admiration up to a -certain point, and yet to restrain his presumption? A little more -knowledge of human nature would have told you that was impossible; a -little more feeling would have kept you from desiring it." She paused -a moment, then went on, with the same restrained gravity: "I am sorry -if I seem to you harsh, but nothing in this affair is worse to me than -the revelation it makes of your character. I am grieved by Helen's -suffering, and shocked by Paul Rathborne's treachery; but for the first -I have the comfort that it may in the end spare her worse suffering, -and for the second I feel that it is not a surprise--that I never -wholly trusted his sincerity. But _you_, Marion--what can I think of -you, who, without any stronger feeling than vanity to lead you on, have -trifled with your own sense of honor, as well as with the deepest -feelings of others? What will your future be if you do not change--if -you do not try to think less of unworthy objects and more of worthy -ones--less of gaining admiration and more of keeping your conscience -clear and your heart clean?" - -"What will my future be!" repeated Marion. She rose as she spoke, and -answered, proudly: "That concerns myself alone. I have no fear of it; I -feel that I can make it what I will, and I shall certainly not will to -make it anything unworthy. But it need not trouble you in the least. I -am sorry that my coming here should have brought any trouble on Helen. -The only amend I can make is to go away at once, and that I will do." - -"No," said Mrs. Dalton, quickly; "that can not mend matters now, and -would only throw a very serious reflection upon you when it is known -that Helen's engagement is at an end. I cannot consent to it." - -"But Helen's engagement might not be at an end if I went away," -responded Marion. - -"You do not know Helen yet," said Mrs. Dalton, quietly. "I have not -spoken to her on the subject, but I am certain what her decision will -be." - -Marion herself was by no means certain that Mrs. Dalton's judgment was -correct. She thought Helen weak and yielding to the last degree, and -believed that very little entreaty would be requisite on Rathborne's -part to induce her to forgive him. "It will be only necessary for him -to throw all the blame on me," she thought, with a bitter smile, as she -went to her chamber. Nevertheless, it was not a very tranquil night -that she passed. Whatever change the future might bring, she knew -that Helen was suffering now--suffering the keen pangs which a loving, -trusting heart feels when its love and trust have been betrayed. "It is -hard on her, she is so good, so kind, so incapable herself of betraying -any one!" thought the girl, whose conscience was still in a very -dormant state, but whose sense of pity was touched. "How sorry Claire -would be if she knew!" And then came the reflection, "What would Claire -think of me?" followed by the quick reply, "She would be as unjust as -the rest, and call it my fault, no doubt." - -The thought of Claire's judgment, however, was another sting added to -those which already disturbed her; and it was not strange that she -tossed on her pillow during the better part of the night, only falling -asleep toward morning. As is usually the case after a wakeful night, -her sleep was heavy, so that the first sound that roused her was the -breakfast bell. She opened her eyes with a start, and to her surprise -saw Helen standing beside her. - -The memory of all that had happened flashed like lightning into her -mind; and, unable to reconcile that memory with this appearance, she -could only gasp, "Helen!--what are you doing here?" - -"I knocked at the door, but you did not answer, so I came in," Helen -responded, simply. "It is late, else I should not have disturbed you. -But I wanted to speak to you before you went down." - -"Yes," said Marion. She sat up in bed, with white draperies all about -her, and looked at her cousin. She expected a demand for explanation, -perhaps reproaches, but she did not expect what came. - -"I only want to tell you," said Helen, with the same quiet simplicity, -"that I have no reason to blame you for--what occurred yesterday. It -was not your fault: you could not have helped it. I don't know that any -one is to blame very much," she added, with a sigh; "but I felt that I -ought to tell you that I do not blame _you_ at all." - -"Helen!" cried Marion. All her proud self-control suddenly gave way, -and she burst into tears. The generosity which underlay the erring -surface of her nature was touched to the quick, and her conscience -spoke as it had never spoken before. "Helen, you are too good," she -said. "You judge me too kindly. I do not feel myself that I am not to -blame. On the contrary, I have no doubt my aunt is perfectly right, and -that I am very much to blame. I let my vanity and my love of admiration -carry me too far, but never with the intention of injuring you or -betraying your trust--never!" - -"I am sure of that," said Helen, gently. She laid her hand on the bent -head of the other. It startled her to see Marion display such feeling -and such humility as this. "Mamma was thinking of me," she went on; -"else she would not have blamed you; for how could you help being more -attractive than I am? If I was unreasonable enough to think for a -little time last night that you were to blame, I know better now. God -has given me strength to look at things more calmly. I can even see -that _he_ may not be greatly in fault. No doubt he thought he loved -me--until he saw you." - -"Helen, he is not worthy of you!" cried Marion, passionately. "He loves -no one but himself." - -Helen shook her head. "Surely he loves you," she said; "else why -should he tell you so? But we need not discuss this. Will you come down -when you are ready?" - -"Oh! yes," said Marion, with an effort; "I will be down very soon." - -She rose as Helen left the room, and dressed very hastily, a prey -the while to many conflicting emotions. Relief was mingled with -self-reproach, and admiration of Helen's generosity with scorn of her -weakness. "For, of course, her excuses for him mean that she will -forgive him!" she thought. "I have heard that women--most women--are -fools in just that way, and Helen is exactly the kind of woman to be -guilty of that folly. The miserable dastard!"--she remembered his -threat to herself--"I wish I could punish him as he deserves for his -treachery and presumption!" - -It did not occur to her to ask whether or not _she_ deserved any -punishment for the share she confessed to having borne in the -treachery. Had the idea been suggested to her, she would have said that -her share was infinitesimal compared with his, and that she had already -been punished by the insolence she had drawn upon herself. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -But Helen's quietness did not deceive her mother, whose heart ached -as she saw in the pale young face all the woful change wrought by one -night of suffering, one sharp touch of anguish. Yet, if she had only -known it, the girl brought back into the house a very different face -from that which she had taken out in the early morning, when, driven -by an intolerable sense of pain, she had gone in search of strength -to bear it. There was but one place where such strength was to be -found, and thither her feet had carried her direct. She was the first -person to enter the little church when it was opened to the freshness -of the summer morning; and long after the Holy Sacrifice was over she -had still knelt, absorbed and motionless, before the altar. Everyone -went away: she was left alone with the Presence in the tabernacle; -and in the stillness, the absolute quiet, a Voice seemed speaking to -her aching heart, and bringing comfort to her troubled soul. When at -length, warned of the passage of time by the striking of a distant -clock, she lifted her face from her clasped hands, even amid the stains -of tears there were signs of peace. The sting of bitterness had been -taken out of her grief; and, that being so, it had become endurable. -She might and would suffer still; but when she had once brought herself -to resign this suffering into the hands of God, and with the docility -of a child accept what it pleased Him to permit, the worst was over. - -The first result of the struggle she had made and the victory she had -gained was apparent when, on her return home, she went to Marion's -room. The generous heart could not rest without clearing itself at once -of the least shadow of injustice,--and she had implied, if she had not -expressed, a blame of Marion which she was noble enough to feel might -be unjust. Hence that visit which so deeply touched the girl, whose own -conscience failed to echo Helen's acquittal. - -Breakfast passed very quietly. Mrs. Dalton saw that her daughter was -making an heroic effort to appear as usual, and she seconded it as far -as lay in her power, talking more than was her custom in order to allow -Helen to be silent, and to prevent the boys from asking questions about -events of the preceding afternoon. To make no change in her manner to -Marion was more difficult; but, with the example that Helen set, she -was able to accomplish even this; and finally the usual separation for -the morning took place with great sense of relief to all concerned. -Marion put on her hat and went out, ostensibly to keep an appointment -with Mrs. Singleton, but really to be safely out of the way in case -Rathborne should make his appearance. - -Helen herself had some fear of this appearance, and she took refuge -in her own chamber, dreading the necessary explanation to her mother, -not so much on her own account as on account of the judgment upon -Rathborne which she knew would follow. Tenderness does not die in an -hour or a day; and although her resolve to put him out of her life was -firm, she was not yet able to put him out of her heart, nor to think -without shrinking of the severe condemnation which her mother would -mete out to him. There was no need for haste in speaking; she might -rest a little, and gather strength for the trial, knowing that Mrs. -Dalton would make no effort to force her confidence. - -So she was resting on the bed, where she had not slept at all the night -before, when the door softly opened and Mrs. Dalton entered the room. - -"Helen," she said, gently, "I am sorry to disturb you, but Paul -Rathborne is downstairs and asks to see you. What shall I tell him?" - -"Tell him that I cannot see him," answered Helen. "It is impossible! -You must speak for me--you must make him understand that he is entirely -free from any engagement to me, and I do not blame him for what he -could not help. I suppose you have guessed that something is the -matter," she added, wistfully. "It is only that I have found out he -cares for Marion--not for me." - -Mrs. Dalton put her arm around her with a touch full of sympathy, -without speaking for a moment. Then she said: "My child, I always knew -he was not worthy of you." - -"But this does not prove him unworthy of me," replied Helen, in a tone -sharp with pain. "It only proves that he was mistaken when he thought -of me." - -"Men of honor do not make such mistakes," said Mrs. Dalton. - -"How could he help falling in love with Marion?" continued Helen. "She -is so much more beautiful, so much more attractive than I am! And that -he has done so, settles the doubt of his disinterestedness which you -always entertained. Do him so much justice, mamma. You feared that he -professed to care for me because I have a little money. But Marion has -none." - -"We need not discuss that, my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, who was touched -but not convinced by this generous plea. "It is enough if, satisfied -that his affections have wandered, you are determined to dismiss him." - -"Yes," said Helen, "I am determined on that. But I cannot see him. You -must go to him, and tell him from me that I do not blame him, but that -all is at an end between us." - -With this message Mrs. Dalton went downstairs. Her own mood with -Rathborne was far from being as charitable as her daughter's; and her -face, usually set in very gentle lines, hardened to sternness as she -descended. She was not inclined to deal leniently with one who had so -shamefully betrayed the trust placed in him, and had overshadowed so -darkly the sunshine of Helen's life. Like some other parents, she had -up to this time imagined that the stern conditions of human existence -were to be relaxed for Helen, and that one so formed for happiness was -to be granted that happiness in a measure which is allowed to few. A -sense of keen injury was, therefore, added to her indignation at a -treachery for which she could find no palliation. - -Rathborne, who was anxiously expecting yet dreading to see Helen, drew -his breath with a sharp sense of vexation when his aunt entered. This -was worse than he had feared. Calculating upon Helen's gentleness, he -had not thought that she would refuse to see him; and if she saw him, -he believed that his influence would be strong enough to induce her -to overlook anything. But when Mrs. Dalton entered, he knew that the -consequences of his treachery were to be fully paid. A cold greeting -was exchanged between them, and then a short silence followed, as each -hesitated to speak. It was Mrs. Dalton who broke it, as soon as she -felt able to control her voice. - -"I have told Helen that you are here," she said, "but she declines to -see you. It is not necessary, I presume, to explain why she declines. -Of that you are fully aware. It is not necessary, either, that I should -add anything to her own words, which are, briefly, that you will -consider everything at an end between you. She added also that she does -not blame you for anything that has occurred--but I hardly think that -your own conscience will echo that." - -"No," said Rathborne, who had paled perceptibly, "my own conscience -does not echo it. On the contrary, I feel that I am deeply to blame; -yet I hoped that Helen might believe me when I say that I am not so -much to blame as appears on the surface. A man may be tempted beyond -his strength, and some women are experts in such temptations." - -Mrs. Dalton looked at him with scorn in her eyes. "If you think," she -said, "that you will serve your cause with Helen by such cowardly -insinuations as that, you are mistaken. And, as far as I am concerned, -you have only taken a step lower in my esteem. But that is a point -which does not matter. Wherever the blame rests, the fact remains that -if Helen did not take the decision of the matter into her hands, _I_ -should do so. You have proved yourself a man whom it is impossible I -can ever consent to trust with my daughter's life and happiness." - -Rathborne rose to his feet. The decisive words seemed to leave him -no alternative. He felt that he had committed a blunder which was -altogether irretrievable; and combined with the keen mortification of -failure was a hatred, which gathered bitterness with every moment, -against the woman he believed to have led him on and deceived him. - -"In that case," he said, "there is nothing for me to do but to go. I -had hoped that Helen might understand--that she would not let a moment -of folly outweigh the devotion of years; but if she judges me as hardly -as you seem to imply, I see that my hope is vain. Tell her from me that -if she knew the whole truth she would regard the matter in a different -light. But if she does not wish to know the truth--if she prefers to -judge me unheard,--I can only submit." - -"It is best she should not see you," said Mrs. Dalton, who was glad -that Helen herself had decided this point. "Even if you persuaded her -to trust you again, I could not give my consent to the renewal of an -engagement which has been ended in this manner." - -"_You_ have always distrusted me," said Rathborne, bitterly. - -"No," she replied, gravely; "so far from that, I trusted you as my own -son, though I did not think you were the person to make Helen happy. -I had always a fear that you did not care for her enough, and now I -am forced to believe that you did not care for her at all. If you had -done so, this could never have happened, just as it could never have -happened if you had possessed the right principle and the sense of -honor which I should certainly wish my daughter's husband to possess." - -Rathborne could hardly believe the evidence of his ears as he listened -to these severe, incisive words. He had always regarded Mrs. Dalton as -a person who was mild to weakness, and whom, whenever it suited him, -he could influence in whatever manner desired. He therefore scarcely -recognized this woman, with her sentence of condemnation based on -premises which he could not deny, though he made a faint attempt to do -so. - -"You do not understand," he said, "how a brief infatuation--a delirium -of fancy--can attack a man, let his sense of honor be what it may. As -for my attachment to Helen, that is something which has lasted too long -to be doubted now." - -"Will you inform me, then, how you proposed to reconcile it with your -declaration to Marion?" - -"That was drawn from me--forced from me!" he exclaimed. "It was a -madness of the moment, into which I was led by her art." - -Mrs. Dalton rose now, a bright spot of color on each check. "That is -enough!" she said. "I can listen to nothing more. No man of honor -would, for his own sake, utter such words as those--even if they were -true, and I am sure they are not. Great as my niece's faults may be, -she is incapable of such conduct as you charge her with. Go, Paul -Rathborne! By such excuses you only prove more and more how unworthy -you are of Helen's affection or Helen's trust." - -"Very well," he answered, his face white and bitter with anger. "As you -and she have decided, so be it. But take care that the day does not -come when you will deeply regret this decision." - -Then he turned, and, without giving her time to reply had she been so -inclined, left the room. - -Mrs. Dalton looked after him with a heavy sigh. Regret her decision she -knew that she would not; but it would be vain to say that she did not -regret the necessity for it, that she did not think with a keen pang -of Helen's suffering, and that she did not feel, with much bitterness, -that Marion had not been guiltless in the matter. Yet even in the midst -of her indignation she had pity for the girl, whose vanity and ambition -were likely to wreck her life, as they had already gone far to alienate -her best friends. - -Meanwhile Marion could not disguise the fact that she was not in her -usual spirits--for the thought of Helen weighed heavily upon her,--and -Mrs. Singleton, observing this, drew at once her own conclusions. - -"I am afraid the gypsy tea was not altogether a success, so far as you -were concerned or your cousin either," she said. "I heard that she went -home with Frank Morley instead of with her _fiancé_. I will not ask any -indiscreet questions, but I suspect that your attractions have drawn -Mr. Rathborne from his allegiance. It is what I have anticipated for -some time." - -Marion frowned a little, annoyed by this freedom, which, however, she -felt that she had drawn upon herself, and had no right to resent. But -she evaded the implied question. - -"Helen was not feeling well, and so she made her cousin take her home -before we were ready to start," she said. "I am not particularly -partial to Miss Morley's society, or Mr. Rathborne's either, and -thought I would accept the seat you offered me. That was the whole -matter." - -"I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Singleton, not deceived in the -least. "I was afraid there had been a lover's quarrel, and that perhaps -you were the innocent cause of it. That is always such an awkward -position. I have occupied it myself once or twice, so I speak from -knowledge." - -"I am sure that if you occupied it, it must have been innocently," said -Marion, with malice. "But we need not discuss what is not, I trust, -likely to occur, so far as I am concerned. How is Mr. Singleton this -morning?" - -"Not well at all. This is one of his bad days. And it is one of mine, -too," she added, with a slight grimace; "for I have just heard that -Brian Earle is coming." - -"And who is Brian Earle?" - -"Surely you have heard my uncle talk of him? At least, it is most -astonishing if you have not; for he likes him better than any one else -in the world, I think; although they don't agree very well. I have no -fancy for Brian myself: I find him entirely too much of a prig; but -I will say that he might twist the old man around his finger if he -would only yield a little more to his wishes and opinions. It is a -lucky thing for us that he will not, but it does not make his folly -less. Fancy! Mr. Singleton asked him to live with him, look after his -business, and generally devote himself to him during his life, with the -promise of making him his sole heir, and _he refused_! Can you believe -that?" - -"I must believe it if you are sure of it," replied Marion, smiling at -the energy of the other. "But why did he refuse?" - -Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. "Because he was not willing to -give up control of his own life, and spend the best years of his youth -in idleness, waiting for an old man to die. That is what he said. As -if he would not gain by that waiting more than his wretched art would -bring him if he toiled at it all his life!" - -"His art--what is he?" - -"Oh! a painter--or an attempt at one. Are such people always visionary -and impracticable? I judge so from what I have read of them, and from -my knowledge of him. It is true that his folly serves our interest very -well; for if he had agreed to what his uncle proposed, we should have -no chance of inheriting anything; but, nevertheless, one has a contempt -for a man with so little sense." - -"I think you should have the highest regard for him in this instance, -since he is serving your interest so well. But why is he coming?" - -"To see his uncle before going abroad again. Mr. Singleton has a strong -attachment for him, notwithstanding the way he has acted; and I should -not be surprised if he made him his heir, after all. So you see there -is no reason why I should be overjoyed at his visit, especially since -he is not at all an agreeable person, as you will see." - -"I may not see," said Marion; "for I do not think I shall be in -Scarborough much longer." - -"You are going away?" said Mrs. Singleton, with a quick flash of -comprehension in her eyes. - -"In a few days probably," was the reply. "I promised to spend only a -month with Helen, and I have been here now six weeks." - -"But I thought you were good for the season," said Mrs. Singleton; -while her inward comment was: "So matters are just as I thought!" - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -Reticence was not Mrs. Singleton's distinguishing characteristic. It -was not very long, therefore, before she mentioned her suspicions -about Marion both to her husband and her uncle. The first laughed, -and remarked that it was only what he had expected; the latter looked -grave, and said: "In that case it will not be pleasant for her to -remain in her aunt's house." - -"So far from it," was the careless reply, "that she is speaking of -leaving Scarborough." - -Mr. Singleton glanced up sharply. "That would be very undesirable," he -said. "Her singing is a great pleasure to me; for the matter of that, -so is her society. Ask her to come and stay with you." - -Mrs. Singleton lifted her eyebrows. This was far from what she -anticipated or desired. There had been a little malicious pleasure in -her announcement, but she would certainly have refrained from making -it had she feared such a result as this. She was so vexed that for a -moment she could scarcely speak. Then she said: "You are very kind; -but, although I like Miss Lynde, I do not care enough for her society -to ask her to stay with me." - -"I never imagined for an instant that you cared for her society," -replied Mr. Singleton, coolly. "I was not thinking of your -gratification, but of my own, in desiring you to ask her here. Of -course, it is necessary that she should be nominally your guest; -although, as we are aware, really mine." - -"I think, then, that it would be best she should be nominally as well -as really yours," said Mrs. Singleton, too much provoked to consider -for the moment what was her best policy. - -Mr. Singleton looked at her with an ominous flash in his glance. "Very -well," he answered, deliberately. "That is just as you please. We can -easily change existing arrangements. I will speak to Tom about it." - -But this intimation at once brought Mrs. Singleton to unconditional -surrender. - -"There is no need for that," she said, hastily. "Of course I will do -whatever you desire. I only thought it might be best that the matter -should be clearly understood. I have no fancy for Miss Lynde, nor any -desire for her companionship. To speak the truth, I do not trust her at -all." - -Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders--a gesture to which he gave an -expression that many of his friends found very irritating. It said -plainly at present that nothing mattered less in his opinion than -whether Mrs. Singleton trusted Miss Lynde or not. - -"Let us keep to the point," he said, quietly. "What your sentiments -with regard to the young lady may be I do not inquire. I only desire -you to ask her to come here. If you object to do this--and far be -it from me to place any constraint upon you,--I must simply make an -arrangement by which it can be done. That is all." - -"Why should I object?" asked Mrs. Singleton. "If she comes as your -guest, it is certainly not my affair." - -"I have requested, however, that you ask her to come as your guest. Do -not misunderstand that point. And do not give the invitation so that it -may be declined. I should consider that tantamount to not giving it at -all. See that she comes. You can arrange it if you like." - -With this intimation the conversation ended, and Mrs. Singleton had no -comfort but to tell her husband of the disagreeable necessity laid upon -her. "I am to ask Marion Lynde to come here as my guest, and I am to -see that she comes! Could anything be more vexatious?" she demanded. -"I am so provoked that I feel inclined to leave your uncle to manage -his own affairs, and to get somebody else to invite guests for his -amusement." - -"Nothing would be easier than for him to do so," said Mr. Singleton. -"We are not at all necessary to him, you know. And why on earth should -you object to asking Miss Lynde, if he desires it? It seems to me that -you might desire it yourself." - -"Oh! it seems so to you, does it?" asked the lady, sarcastically. -"Because she has a pretty face, I presume. It does not occur to you -that a girl who has drawn her cousin's _fiancé_ into a love affair with -her--for I am certain that is what has occurred--would betray us just -as quickly, and use her influence with this infatuated old man to any -end that suited her." - -Mr. Singleton looked a little grave at this view of the case. "Well," -he said, "that may be so, but how are we to help it? Certainly not by -showing that we are afraid of her." - -"I might have helped it by letting her go away without telling him -anything about it," said the lady. "And I wish I had!" - -"Useless!" said her philosophical husband. "He would have found it out -for himself. Don't worry over the matter. Ask her here with a good -grace, since you have no alternative, and trust that he will tire of -her as he has tired of everybody else." - -That this was good advice--in fact, the only advice to be -followed--Mrs. Singleton was well aware. And she proceeded to do what -was required of her, with as good a grace as she could command. The -invitation surprised Marion, but it was not unwelcome, as cutting the -knot of her difficulties. For, anxious as she now was to leave her -aunt's house, and to spare herself the silent, unconscious reproach of -Helen's pale face, she was deeply averse to returning to her uncle's -home. She had registered a passionate resolve never to return there if -she could avoid it; but she had begun to fear that she would be unable -to avoid doing so, when Mrs. Singleton's invitation offered her, at -least, a temporary mode of escape. She received it graciously, saying -that she would be happy to accept it whenever her aunt and cousin would -consent to let her go. - -"Oh! I am sure they will be averse to giving you up," said Mrs. -Singleton, with the finest sarcastic intention. "But if you are -intending to leave them in any event, they can not object to your -coming to me for a time." - -"They will certainly not object to that," replied Marion. "The -question is only _when_ I can avail myself of your kind invitation." - -This proved to be quite soon; for when Mrs. Dalton heard of the -invitation, she advised Marion to set an early day for accepting it. -"I think it necessary," she said, "to take Helen away for change of -air and scene. I should have asked you to accompany us; but, under the -circumstances, the arrangement proposed by Mrs. Singleton is best. I am -sure you will understand this." - -"I understand it perfectly," said Marion; "and am very sorry that you -should have been embarrassed by any thought of me." - -So it was settled. Helen was quite passive, ready to do whatever was -desired of her; but the spring of happiness seemed broken within -her--that natural, spontaneous happiness which had appeared as much a -part of her as its perfume is part of a flower. It was hard for Mrs. -Dalton to forgive those who, between them, had wrought this change; -although she knew that it was well for her daughter to be saved, at any -cost, from a marriage with Rathborne. - -But Rathborne himself was naturally not of this opinion; and, being a -person of strong tenacity of purpose, he was determined not to give up -his cause as lost until he had tested his influence over Helen. The -opportunity to do this was for some time lacking. He knew that it would -be useless to go again to Mrs. Dalton's house and ask for an interview, -even if his pride had not rendered such a step impossible. He waited -for some chance of meeting Helen alone; but she shrank from going -out, so he had found no opportunity, when he heard of her intended -departure. This brought him to see the necessity of vigorous measures, -and consequently he appeared the next morning at the Catholic church, -having learned at what hour Mass was said. - -Entering late--for he did not wish to be observed more than was -unavoidable,--he found the Mass in progress, and about half a dozen -persons representing the congregation. His glance swept rapidly -over these, and at once identified Helen, observing with a sense of -relief that she was alone. Satisfied on this point, he dropped into -a seat near the door to wait until the service ended, looking on -meanwhile with a careless attention which had not the least element of -comprehension. To him it was an absurd and unintelligible rite, which -he did not even make the faintest effort to understand. - -When it ended, he thought that his waiting would also end; but to his -irritated surprise he found that Helen's devotions were by no means -over. The other members of the congregation left the church, each -bestowing a curious glance on him in passing; but Helen knelt on, until -he began to suspect that she must be aware of his presence and was -endeavoring to avoid him. The thought inspired him with fresh energy -and obstinacy. "She shall not escape me. I will stay here until noon, -if necessary," he said to himself; while Helen, entirely unconscious of -who was behind, was sending up her simple petitions for submission and -patience and strength. They did not really last very long; and when she -rose, Rathborne rose also and stepped into the vestibule to await her. - -His patience had no further trial of delay there. Within less than -a minute the door leading into the church opened and Helen's face -appeared. At the first instant of appearing, it had all the serenity -that comes from prayer; but when she saw him standing before her, this -expression changed quickly to one of distress. With something like a -gasp she said; "Paul!" pausing with the door in her hand. - -Rathborne stepped forward, with his own hand extended. "Forgive me for -startling you," he said; "but this was my only chance to see you, and I -felt that I must do so." - -"Why?" asked Helen. She closed the door, but did not give her hand. -"There is no reason, that I am aware of, why you should wish to see -me," she added, in a voice which trembled a little. "Everything has -been said that need be said between us." - -"On your side, perhaps so," he answered; "but not on mine. I have said -nothing. You have given me no opportunity to say anything. You have -condemned me unheard." - -"Condemned you! No," she replied. "I have never had any intention or -desire to condemn you. On the contrary, I said from the first that I -did not blame you for what was probably beyond your power to control. -But I desired that all might be ended between us; and, that being -so, there is nothing more to say on a subject that is--that must -be--painful to you as well as to me." - -"It will not be painful if I can induce you to listen to me and to -believe me," he said. "That is what I have come this morning to beg of -you--the opportunity to set myself right. Appoint a time when I can -come and find you alone, or meet me where you will. Only give me the -opportunity to justify myself to you." - -He spoke with an earnest pleading which was by no means simulated, -for he never lost the consciousness of how much for him depended upon -this; and that the pleading had an effect upon Helen was evident in her -growing pallor, in the look of pain that darkened her eyes. But she -answered, with a firmness on which he had not reckoned:-- - -"You should not ask of me something which could not serve any good end. -No explanation can alter facts, and I would rather not discuss them. -What happened was very natural. No one knows that better than I. But -nothing can efface it now." - -"Not if you heard that I was led into folly by every possible art?" he -demanded, carried beyond self-control by the unforeseen difficulty of -bending one who had always before seemed so pliant to his influence. -"Not if I proved to you that your cousin--" - -Helen lifted her hand with a gesture which had in it something of a -command. "Not another word like that," she said. "I will not listen to -it. If what you imply were true, how would it help matters? A man who -is weak enough to be led away by the art of another is as little to be -trusted as the man who deliberately breaks his faith. He may not be as -blamable--I do not say that,--but one could never repose confidence in -him again. That is over." - -"Helen!" said Rathborne. He was amazed, almost confounded, by a dignity -of manner and tone which he had not only never seen in Helen before, -but of which he would not have believed her capable. He did not reckon -on the judgment and strength which earnest prayer had brought, nor did -it occur to him that the worst place he could have chosen for the -exertion of his influence was the threshold of the church, where day -after day she had come to beg for the direction that in such a crisis -would surely not be denied her. "I hardly know you," he went on, in the -tone of one deeply wounded. "How changed you are!--how cold! What has -become of the sweet and gentle Helen I have known and loved?" - -She looked at him with the first reproach that had been in either tone -or glance. "The Helen you knew--who trusted you so absolutely and loved -you so well--is dead," she answered. "There is no need that we should -speak of her." She paused for an instant, and then, with her voice -breaking a little, went on: "I am going away--I may not see you again -in a long time. Meanwhile I will try, with the help of God, to forget -the past, and I beg you to do the same; for it can never be renewed. -And if you wish to spare me pain, you will never speak of it again." - -Had Rathborne uttered what was in his mind, he would have replied that -whether he gave her pain or not was a matter of the utmost indifference -to him, if only he might gain his desired end. A sense of powerless -exasperation possessed him, the greater for his disappointment. He had -been so certain of bending Helen to his will whenever he met her alone; -yet now Helen stood before him like a rock, with immovable resolution -on her gentle face. He lost control of himself, and, stepping forward, -seized her by the hand. - -"You are not speaking your own mind in this," he said. "You are -influenced by others, and I will not submit to it. The dictation of -your mother or your priest shall not come between us." - -"Nothing has come between us except your own conduct and my own sense -of right," answered Helen. She grew paler still, but did not falter. -"It is best that we should part at once; for you have made me feel more -strongly that it is best we should part altogether. Let me go. You -forget where we are." - -"You will not listen to me?--you will not give me an opportunity to -explain?" - -"There is nothing to explain," she said, faintly; for the strain of the -interview was telling upon her. "Nothing can alter the fact of what I -heard. I could never trust you or believe in your affection after that. -Once for all, _everything is at an end between us_. Now let me go." - -He released her with a violence which sent her back a step. "Go, then!" -he said. "I always knew that you were weak, but I never knew before how -weak. You are a puppet in the hands of others, and both you and they -shall regret this." - -He left the vestibule; while she, after waiting for a moment to recover -herself, turned and re-entered the church. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -"And so, Brian, I find you as obstinate as ever!" said Mr. Singleton, -in a complaining tone. - -The person whom he addressed smiled a little. He did not look very -obstinate, this pleasant-faced young man, with clear gray eyes, that -regarded the elder man kindly and humorously. They were sitting in -the latter's private room, which opened into the drawing-room--Mr. -Singleton leaning back in his deep, luxurious chair; Brian Earle seated -opposite him, but nearer the open window, through which his glance -wandered now and then, attracted by the soft summer scene outside, -flooded with the sunshine of late afternoon. - -"I am sorry if it seems to you only a question of obstinacy," he said, -in a voice as pleasant as his face; "for that is the last thing I -should wish to be guilty of. Mere obstinacy--that is, attachment to -one's will simply because it is one's will--always seemed to me a very -puerile thing. My impulse is to do what another wishes rather than what -I wish myself--all things being equal." - -"Indeed!" said Mr. Singleton, with the sarcastic inflection of voice -which was very common with him. "Then I am to suppose that, where I am -concerned, your impulse is exactly contrary to what it is in the case -of others; for certainly you have never consented to do anything that I -wish." - -"My dear uncle, is that quite just, because I can not do _one_ thing -that you wish?" - -"That one thing includes everything. You know it as well as I do. In -refusing that, you refuse all that I can or ever shall ask of you." - -"I am sorry to hear it," said the other. "But do you not think that it -is a great thing to ask of a man to resign his own plan and mode of -life, to do violence to his inclination, and to give up not only his -ambition but his independence as well?" - -"Yes," answered Mr. Singleton, "it _is_ a great deal; but I offer a -great deal also. You should not forget that." - -"I do not forget it. You offer an immense price, but it is the price of -my freedom and my self-respect." - -"In that case we will say no more about it," returned Mr. Singleton, -hotly. "If you consider that you would lose your freedom and your -self-respect by complying with my wishes--wishes which, I am sure, are -very moderate in their demands,--I shall certainly not urge you to do -so. We will consider the subject finally closed." - -"With all my heart," said Earle. "It is a very painful subject to me, -because I regret deeply that I am unable to comply with your wishes." - -Mr. Singleton made a wave of his hand which seemed peremptorily to -dismiss this regret. "Nothing would be easier than for you to gratify -me in the matter if you cared to do so. Since you do not desire to do -so, I shall cease to urge it. I have some self-respect, too." - -To this statement Earle wisely made no reply, and he was also -successful in repressing a smile; though he knew well from past -experience that his uncle's resolution would not hold for a week, -and that the whole ground would have to be exhaustively gone over -again--probably again and again. - -"You seem very pleasantly settled here," he observed after a moment, by -way of opening a new subject. "This is a charming old place." - -"Yes. I should buy it if I expected to live long enough to make it -worth while," replied Mr. Singleton. "The climate here suits me -exceedingly well." - -"And the people are agreeable, I suppose?" observed Earle, absently, -his eye fastened on the lovely alterations of light and shade--of the -nearer green melting into distant blue--which made up the scene without. - -"I know little or nothing of the people of the town," said Mr. -Singleton; "but I meet a sufficient number of my old friends--brought -here, like myself, by the climate--to give me as much society -as I want. Tom and his wife have, of course, a large circle of -acquaintances; so you need entertain no fear of dullness in the short -time you are good enough to give me." - -"Do you fancy that I am afraid of dullness?" asked Earle, with a laugh. -"On the contrary, no man was ever less inclined for society than I am. -But I like the look of the country about here, and I think I shall do -sketching." - -"If you find sketching to do, there may be perhaps some hope of -detaining you for a little while," said Mr. Singleton. - -"The length of my stay will not be in the least dependent on any -possible or probable sketching," returned Earle, good-humoredly. He -understood the disappointment which prompted Mr. Singleton to make -these sarcastic speeches; and they did not irritate him in the least, -but only inspired him with fresh regret that he could not do what was -desired of him. For he spoke truly in saying that, all things being -equal, he much preferred to do what another wished rather than what he -wished himself. This was part of a disposition which was amiable and -obliging almost to a fault. But with the amiability went great strength -of resolution, when he was once fairly roused; and this resolution had -been roused on a matter that he felt was a question of the independence -of his life. To do what his uncle asked would be to resign that -independence for an indefinite length of time--to give up the career on -which from earliest boyhood he had set his heart--to sell his liberty -for a mess of worldly pottage--that had no attraction for him. - -A man who cares little for money beyond the amount necessary for -moderate competence, and who has no desire for wealth, is a character -so rare in this age and country that people are somewhat justified in -the incredulity with which they usually regard him. But now and then -such characters exist, and Brian Earle was one of them. Possessing -simple, almost austere tastes, having from his earliest boyhood a -passion for art, money had never appeared to him the supreme good which -it is considered to be by so many others; nor, in any real sense of the -word, a good at all. This was partly owing to the fact that he had -inherited fortune sufficient for all reasonable needs, and had no one -depending upon him. A man who has given hostages to fortune cannot be -as indifferent to fortune as one who has given none. Even if he lacks a -mercenary spirit, he must desire for those whose happiness rests in his -care the freedom from sordid anxieties which a monetary competency in -sufficient degree alone can give. - -But Brian Earle, having no nearer relative than a married sister, -had nothing to teach him to value wealth in this manner; and, since -it could purchase nothing for which he cared, he felt no temptation -to accept Mr. Singleton's proposition that he should devote his life -exclusively to him, on consideration of inheriting his whole estate. -There were few people who would have hesitated over such an offer, -and who would not have been inclined to hold the man insane who did -hesitate. But Brian Earle did more than hesitate: he absolutely refused -it. - -It said much for the influence of his personal character that, even -after this refusal, Mr. Singleton still evinced the partiality for his -society which he had always exhibited, still claimed as much of that -society as he possibly could, and generally consulted him when he had -a decision of importance to make. "Ten to one, Earle will finally get -the fortune as well as his own way," those who knew most of the matter -often remarked. But one person, at least, had no expectation of this, -and that was Earle himself. - -His affection for his uncle and gratitude for much kindness, however, -made him show a deference and regard for the latter which had no basis -in interested hopes, and which Mr. Singleton was not dull enough to -mistake. Indeed there could be no doubt that his own regard for Earle -was largely based upon the fact that the young man desired nothing -from him, and was altogether independent of him, even while this -independence vexed and irked him. Perceiving at the present time that -the conversation had reached a point where it would be well that it -should cease, Brian rose to his feet. - -"I think I will stroll about a little, and look into those -possibilities of sketching," he said. "I have scarcely glanced at the -place as yet." - -"Probably some one is going to drive," observed Mr. Singleton. "There -are plenty of horses, and Tom and his wife keep them well employed. Of -course they are at your service also." - -"I am accustomed to a humbler mode of locomotion, and really prefer -it," Brian answered. "One sees more on foot." - -"I wish you had more expensive tastes," said his uncle. "One could get -a hold on you then." - -He seemed to be speaking a thought aloud; but, as Earle had no desire -to be provoking, he did not utter in reply the quick assent, "Yes, -by no surer means than expensive tastes can a man sell himself into -bondage." - -He went out, whistling softly, seized his hat in the hall, and was -crossing toward the entrance, when down the broad, curving staircase -came Mrs. Singleton in out-door costume. Probably the encounter was no -more to her taste than to his, but she successfully simulated pleasure, -which was more than he was able to do. - -"You are just going out, Brian?" she said. "That is fortunate, for I -wanted to ask you to go to drive with us; but I knew you were with your -uncle, and he is so fond of your society that I did not like to disturb -you. But now you will come, of course. Only Miss Lynde and myself are -going. I believe you have not yet met Miss Lynde--ah, here she is!" - -For, as they came out on the portico together, they found Marion -already there. Words of polite refusal were on Earle's lips--for had he -not just remarked that he did not care to drive?--but when his glance -fell on the beautiful girl, to whom Mrs. Singleton at once presented -him, those words found no expression. It was natural enough that, with -the delight of the artist in beauty, he should have felt that the -presence of such a face put the question of driving in a new aspect -altogether. It would be a pleasure to study that face, and a pleasure -to discover if the mind and the spirit behind were worthy of such a -shrine. - -So, after handing the ladies into the open carriage that awaited them, -he followed, and took his seat opposite the face that attracted him, -as it had attracted the admiration of everyone who ever looked at it. -Marion herself was so accustomed to this admiration that the perception -of it in Earle's eyes neither surprised nor elated her. She took it -as a matter of course,--a matter which might or might not prove of -importance,--and meanwhile regarded rather curiously on her part the -man who carelessly put a fortune aside in order to follow his own will -and his own chosen path of life. On this remarkable conduct she had -already speculated more than once. Did it mean that he was a fool--as -Mrs. Singleton plainly thought,--or did it mean that he had a belief -in himself and in his own powers, which made him stronger than other -men, and therefore able to dispense with the aid which they so highly -desired? - -She had not sat opposite him for many minutes before she was able -to answer the first question. Decidedly he was not a fool--not even -in that modified sense in which people of artistic, imaginative -temperaments are sometimes held to be fools by the strictly practical. -But with regard to the other question, decision was not so easy. -Nothing in his appearance, manner or speech indicated any extraordinary -belief in himself; but Marion had sufficient keenness of perception -to recognize that, under his unassuming quietness, power of some sort -existed. It might be the power to accomplish great things, or it might -only be the power to content himself with moderate ones; but it was -certainly not an altogether ordinary nature that looked out of the -clear gray eyes, and spoke in the pleasant voice. - -"Where shall we go?" said Mrs. Singleton to Marion, when they had -rolled through Scarborough and were out in the country. "We must show -Brian all the points of picturesque interest in the vicinity. Do you -think we have time to drive to Elk Ridge?" - -"Oh, no!" answered Marion, quickly; "it is too late to go there. And -I am sure there are other places nearer at hand which are quite as -pretty." - -"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Singleton, skeptically. "Pray tell us -about them; for I know of no place half so charming in its surroundings -and view as Elk Ridge." - -Marion colored a little. She really did not know of any other place -equal to Elk Ridge in picturesque attractions; but her dislike to the -idea of revisiting it was so strong that she had spoken instinctively, -without thought. She was always quick witted enough to see her way -out of a difficulty, however, and after an instant's hesitation she -answered:-- - -"I did not say that I positively knew of such a place, only that I was -sure it must exist, and probably near at hand. Why not? The country -seems to be very much the same in its features all about here." - -Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. - -"No one can be sure of what may or may not exist," she said; "but when -it is a question of looking for it, I prefer what has been already -discovered. We will not go to Elk Ridge, however, if you object. I am -afraid our gypsy tea must have left disagreeable associations behind -it." - -Earle could not but observe that Marion's color deepened still more, -and that a slight tightening of the lines about her mouth showed that -her annoyance was greater than the nature of the subject seemed to -warrant. "Evidently some very disagreeable association in the matter!" -he thought; and, before she could reply to the last remark, he said:-- - -"Pray do not show me the best thing in the neighborhood at once. That -should be led up to by successive degrees. These lovely pastoral -meadows and those distant hills strike a note that suits me exactly -to-day. I do not care for anything more boldly picturesque." - -"In that case, take the river road, Anderson," said Mrs. Singleton, -addressing the coachman, and settling herself comfortably under the -shade of her lace-covered parasol. - -So, for several miles they bowled gently along the level road which -followed the margin of a beautiful stream, its soft valley spreading -in Arcadian loveliness around them; gentle green hills bounding it; -and far away, bathed in luminous mist, a vision of distant, purple -mountains. - -Earle felt himself lapsed into a state of pleasant content. The -luxurious motion of the carriage, the charming scenes passing before -his eyes, the beautiful face opposite him, and the sound of musical -voices--one, at least, of which did not talk nonsense--all combined to -satisfy the artist which was so strong within him, and to make him feel -that the virtue which had brought him to Scarborough was rewarded. - -As they re-entered the town, in the light of a radiant sunset, an -incident occurred which revealed a fact that astonished both Mrs. -Singleton and Marion. As they drove rapidly down a street, before them -on rising ground stood the Catholic church, with its golden cross in -bold relief outlined against the rose-red beauty of the evening sky. - -"What a pretty effect!" cried Marion. - -Earle turned in his seat to follow the direction of her glance, and, -seeing the cross, looked surprised. "What is that?" he said. "It looks -like a Catholic church." - -"It _is_ a Catholic church," answered Marion. - -He said nothing more, but as the carriage swept around a corner and -carried them in front of it, he looked toward the church and lifted his -hat. - -This act of reverence would probably have had no meaning to Mrs. -Singleton, but Marion had lived too long with Catholics not to -understand it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, involuntarily, with an accent of -surprise; adding, when Earle looked at her, "is it possible you are a -Catholic!" - -He smiled. "Does that astonish you?" he asked. "There are a good many -of them in the world." - -"A Catholic!" repeated Mrs. Singleton, incredulously. "What -nonsense!--Of course he is not--at least not a _Roman_ Catholic!" - -"Pardon me," he answered, still smiling, "but that is exactly what I -am--a Roman Catholic. For that is the only kind of Catholic which it is -worth any one's while to be." - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -"Oh, you must be mistaken, Anna!" said Tom Singleton, with his easy -good-nature. "Brian could not have told you in earnest that he is a -Catholic. The thing is absurd." - -"Ask him for yourself, then," answered Mrs. Singleton. "You will soon -discover whether or not he is in earnest." - -"I can not say that I feel interested in his religious opinions, so why -should I ask him?" - -"In order to find whether or not I am mistaken, and in order to put -your uncle on his guard; for I am sure that he would not be pleased by -such a discovery." - -"Then let him make it for himself," said Singleton. "It is no affair -of mine. I should feel like a sneak if I meddled with such a matter; -and, what is more, the old fellow would very quickly let me know that -he thought me one. Besides, it makes no difference. Earle is out of the -running. His own obstinacy settles that." - -"Not so much as you think, perhaps," said the lady. "Why is he here if -the matter is settled? Believe it or not, his chance of inheriting the -fortune is better than yours to-day." - -"Well, if so, let the best man win," returned Singleton, -philosophically. "I shall certainly not descend to any trickery to get -the better of him. Of course I am anxious for the fortune, but to show -my anxiety would be a very poor way to secure it. I firmly believe that -what makes my uncle lean so to Brian is that he does not appear to care -for anything that he can do for him." - -"And in my opinion that indifference is all appearance," observed Mrs. -Singleton, sharply. "If he cares nothing for what your uncle can do, -why is he in attendance on him? But, however that may be, I shall see -that his extraordinary change of religion becomes known." - -"If you go to my uncle with such information, you will only harm -yourself," said Singleton, warningly. - -"I shall not think of going to him," she answered. "I know very well -that his sentiments toward me are not sufficiently cordial to make that -safe. I shall manage that Brian will give the information himself." - -"If you take my advice, you will let the matter alone," said her -husband. - -But he knew very well that she would not take his advice, and he said -to himself that it was well for her to do as she liked. She would not -be satisfied without doing so; and, after all, if Brian _had_ been so -foolish as to become a Roman Catholic, there was no objection to his -uncle's knowing it. Earle himself certainly did not desire secrecy, or -else he would not have mentioned the fact so openly and carelessly. - -And, indeed, nothing was further from Earle's mind than any desire -for secrecy. Therefore, he fell with the readiest ease into the trap -which Mrs. Singleton soon laid for him. It was one evening, when the -household party was assembled in the drawing room after dinner, that -she led the conversation to foreign politics, and the position of the -Papacy in European affairs. Mr. Singleton, who took much more interest -than the average American usually does in these affairs, was speedily -led to express himself strongly against the Papal claim to temporal -sovereignty. - -Earle looked up. "I think," he observed, in his pleasant but resolute -voice, "that you have, perhaps, never considered that question in its -true bearings." - -"_I_ have never considered it in its true bearings!" said Mr. -Singleton, astonished beyond measure by this bold challenge; for he -regarded himself, and was regarded by his friends, as an authority on -the subject of European politics. "In that case will you be kind enough -to inform me what are its true bearings?" - -The request was sarcastic, but Earle answered it with the utmost -seriousness. "Certainly," he said, "to the best of my ability." And, -before Mr. Singleton could disclaim any desire to be taken in earnest -he proceeded to state with great clearness the historical proofs and -arguments in favor of the Pope's sovereignty. - -His little audience listened with a surprise which yielded, in spite of -themselves, to interest. The ideas and facts presented were all new to -them, and to one, at least, seemed unanswerable. - -It has been already said that Marion had a mind free from prejudice; -she had also a mind quick and keen in its power of apprehension. She -caught the drift and force of Earle's statements before any one else -did, and said to herself, "That must be true!" Yet, even while she -listened with attention, it was characteristic of her that she also -observed with amusement the scene which the group before her presented. -Mr. Singleton, leaning back in his chair, was frowning with impatience, -and the air of one who through courtesy only lends an unwilling ear. -Tom Singleton was watching his cousin with an expression compounded -of surprise, curiosity, and an involuntary admiration; while Mrs. -Singleton looked down demurely at a fan which she opened and shut, her -lips wearing a smile of mingled amusement and gratification. - -In the midst of this group Earle, with an air of the most quiet -composure, was laying down his propositions one after another, -unobservant of and indifferent to the expressions on the different -faces around him. "He is very brave," thought Marion; "but surely he -is also very foolish. Why should he unnecessarily contradict and vex -the old man, who can do so much for him?" A sense of irritation mingled -with the admiration which she could not withhold from him. "It would -have been easy to say nothing," she thought again; "and yet how well he -speaks!" - -He did indeed speak well--so well that the attention of Mr. Singleton -was gradually drawn from the matter to the manner of his speech. He -turned and looked keenly at the young man from under his bent brows. - -"You speak," he said, "like an advocate of the cause. How is that?" - -"I hope that I should be an advocate of any cause which I believed to -be just," answered Brian, quietly; "but I am in a special manner the -advocate of this, because I am a Catholic." - -"A Catholic!" Mr. Singleton looked as if he could hardly believe the -evidence of his ears. "It is not possible that you mean a _Romanist_?" - -Earle bent his head, smiling a little. "I mean just that," he said; "or -at least what _you_ mean by that. The term is neither very correct nor -very courteous, but it expresses the fact clearly enough." - -This coolness had the usual effect of provoking Mr. Singleton, yet of -making him feel the uselessness of expressing vexation. It was evident -that his disgust was as great as his surprise, but he waited a moment -before giving expression to either. Then he said, curtly:-- - -"It is no affair of mine what you choose to call yourself, but I should -have more respect for your sense if you told me you were a Buddhist." - -"Very likely," returned Earle, with composure; "for in that case I -should be following the last whim of fashionable intellectual folly. -But, you see, I thought it more sensible to go back to the old faith of -our fathers." - -"You might have gone back to paganism, then," sneered the other. "That -was the faith of our fathers also." - -"Very true," assented the young man; "and in that also I should have -been following a large train. But I was not in search of a faith simply -because it had been that of my fathers. I was in search of a faith -which bore the marks of truth, and I found it to be that which some of -my fathers unfortunately discarded." - -"And you have absolutely joined the Church of Rome?" demanded Mr. -Singleton, with ominous calmness. - -"Yes," Earle replied, as calmly; "some months ago." - -The elder man took up a newspaper. "In that case," he observed, in a -tone of icy coldness, "I have nothing more to say. The step is one with -which I have no sympathy and very little tolerance; but, fortunately, -it does not concern me at all." - -Mrs. Singleton shot a glance at her husband, which Marion saw was -one of triumph. She knew instantly that the conversation which led -to Earle's avowal had not been a matter of accident. "What a pretty -trick!" she said, mentally, and, with a sudden impulse to show her -sympathy with courage, she addressed the young man:-- - -"You have at least the pleasure of knowing, Mr. Earle, that you belong -to the same faith as most of the best and many of the greatest people -of the world." - -Earle looked at her with surprise. Such a speech, under the -circumstances, was the last he could have expected from her; for, -notwithstanding the glamour of her beauty, he had read her accurately -enough to perceive her worldliness, and her desire for all that the -world could give. He knew that she was a favorite of his uncle's, -and could not have imagined that she would brave the displeasure of -the latter in a manner so unnecessary. Perhaps Mr. Singleton was -also surprised--at least he glanced up at her quickly, while Earle -answered:-- - -"It is a deeper satisfaction still to believe that it is a faith which -has made the best of those people what they are, and which can derive -no lustre from the greatest." - -"I have always observed that Roman Catholics are very enthusiastic -about their religion," said Mrs. Singleton; "but I did not know before, -Marion, that you inclined that way." - -"What way?" asked Marion, coolly. "To enthusiasm or to Catholicity? As -a matter of fact, I do not incline to either. But I have seen a great -deal of Catholics, and admire many things about them. Indeed, all of my -best friends belong to that religion." - -"Then we may expect you to follow in Brian's footsteps before long," -said the lady, with malicious sweetness. - -"There is nothing that I am aware of more improbable," replied Marion. - -She rose then, conscious that the conversation, if carried farther, -might develop more unpleasantness, and moved toward the piano. Earle -followed her, in order to lift the lid of the instrument, and as he did -so said, smilingly:-- - -"I think you are quite right to endeavor to restore harmony by sweet -sounds. Is it not extraordinary that there should be no such potent -cause of discord in the world as a question of religion?" - -"I suppose it is because people feel more strongly on that subject -than on any other," she answered, looking up at him, and wondering a -little that a man so young, with all the world before him, and all its -ambitions to tempt him, should think of religion at all. - -The next day she found an opportunity to say this frankly. During -the morning she strolled into the garden with a book, and there -encountered Earle, leaning on a stone-wall that skirted the lower -boundaries of the grounds, sketching a pretty meadow and group of trees -beyond. She came upon him unobserved--for he was standing with his back -to the path along which she advanced,--and the sound of her clear, -musical voice was the first intimation he had of her presence. - -"How rapidly you sketch, Mr. Earle, and how well!" she said. - -He started and turned, to find her standing so near that she overlooked -his work. She smiled as his astonished eyes met her own. "Do I disturb -you?" she asked. "If so I will go away." - -"You have certainly not disturbed me up to the present moment," he -answered. "Have you been here long?" - -"Only a few minutes. You were so absorbed that you did not observe me, -and I was so interested in watching you that I did not care to speak. -But if I disturb you--" - -"Why should you disturb me if you care to stay? You will not obstruct -my view of the meadow or trees. It is a pretty little scene, is it not?" - -"Very," she answered, moving to the wall, at which she paused, a few -feet distant from him, and laid her book down on the ledge which it -conveniently presented. Then she stood silent for a minute, looking -at the shadow-dappled landscape, and conscious of a sense of pique, -provoked by the cool indifference of his reply. She knew that to many -men her presence _would_ obstruct their view of the fairest scene -nature might present, and she could perceive no reason why this man -should be different from them,--why her beauty, which his artist-glance -had evidently appreciated, seemed to have so little effect upon him. -Her vanity had become more insistent in its demands, from the homage -which had been offered her; and the withholding this homage had already -become a thing insufferable. But she was far too proud to show this, as -many weaker women do; and, after a short interval, she said, lightly -enough:-- - -"What a very great pleasure it must be when one is able to set down -beauty as you are doing--to preserve and make it one's own! I have a -friend who loves art devotedly--in fact, she is a true artist,--and I -have always the same feeling when I watch her at work." - -"The power is certainly a great delight," said Earle, going on with -his rapid strokes; "but you must not imagine that it is all delight. -There is a great deal of drudgery in this as in all other arts; and, -worse still, there are times of infinite disgust as well as profound -discouragement." - -"So Claire used to say--at least, she spoke of discouragement, but I -never heard her speak of disgust." - -"Claire!" Earle looked at her now with his quick, bright glance. "I -wonder if I do not know of whom you speak. There can hardly be more -than one Claire who is a true artist." - -"There may be a hundred, for aught I know," replied Marion, carelessly; -"but I mean Claire Alford. Her father was a distinguished artist, I -believe. You may have heard of him." - -"Everyone has heard of him, I imagine," returned Earle, a little -dryly; "but I knew him well in my boyhood, and he did more than any one -else to fan whatever artistic flame I possess. I was, therefore, very -glad when I chanced to meet his daughter about a month ago." - -"You met Claire? That can hardly be! She is abroad." - -"I met her a few days before she sailed. The lady with whom she has -gone, and with whom she was then staying, is the widow of an artist -whom I knew, and is herself a great friend of mine." - -"And so you have met Claire! I really don't know why it should surprise -me, yet it does. What did you think of her? I ask the question without -hesitation, because I know it is impossible for any one to think ill of -her, and the well is only in proportion as you know or divine her." - -"I am sure of that," said Earle, with a kindly smile for the speaker. -"She charmed me at first sight: she is so simple, so candid, so -unconscious of herself, so evidently intent upon high aims." - -"Yes, she is all of that," replied Marion. Involuntarily her voice fell -as she thought of how little any word of this commendation could be -applied to herself. "Did you find out that you had something in common -beside your love of art?" she asked, after an instant. "Claire is a -fervent Catholic." - -"Is she?" he said, with interest. "No, I did not discover it. Nothing -brought up the subject of religion. But I am not surprised. There is an -air about her that made me call her in my own mind a vestal of art. I -can easily realize that she is something more and better than that." - -"It is a pretty name, and suits her well--a vestal of art," said -Marion. She was silent then for a minute or two, and stood looking with -level gaze from under the broad brim of her sun-hat at the pastoral -meadow-scene, unconscious for once what a picture she herself made, as -she leaned on the stone-wall, with a spreading mulberry-tree throwing -its chequered shade down upon her graceful figure. Artist instinct drew -Earle's eyes upon her, and he was saying to himself, "How much I should -like to sketch her! Shall I ask her permission to do so?" when she -suddenly turned her face toward him and spoke. - -"Do you know, Mr. Earle," she said, "that you astonished me very -much last night? For the matter of that"--with a slight laugh,--"I -suppose you astonished everyone. But I am bold enough to express my -astonishment, because I should really like to know what you meant." - -"I shall be very happy to tell you," Earle answered, "if you will give -me an idea what _you_ mean." - -"I mean this. Why did you vex Mr. Singleton by unnecessary -contradiction, and an unnecessary avowal of what you knew would annoy -if it did not seriously alienate him?" - -The young man regarded her with surprise. "Simply because I had no -alternative," he replied. "Nothing was further from my desire than to -vex him. But why, in the name of all that is reasonable, should people -be vexed by hearing the truth? Is not that what we all wish, ostensibly -at least--to learn and to believe _the truth_ about a thing, not mere -fancies or ideas?" - -"Ye--s," said Marion, hesitatingly. "I suppose no one would acknowledge -that he did not wish to know the truth; but you are aware that nothing -is more offensive than the truth to people who have strong convictions -against it." - -"So much the worse for such people, then." - -"And so much the worse sometimes for those who persist in enforcing -enlightenment upon them." - -"I really do not think that is my character," he said. "I have never, -to my knowledge, attempted to force enlightenment upon any one. But -sometimes--as was the case last night--one must speak (even when -speaking will serve no end of conviction), or be guilty of cowardice -and tacit deception." - -Marion shook her head, in protest, apparently, against these views; but -probably she felt the uselessness of combating them. At least when she -spoke again it was to say, abruptly:-- - -"But how on earth do you chance to take that particular view of truth?" - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -Earle smiled. "The answer to that is contained in what I remarked a -moment ago," he said. "I wanted _truth itself_, not my own or anybody's -else views or fancies concerning it." - -Marion looked at him with a gravity on her face which gave it a new -character altogether. "And do you really think that you found this -absolute truth in the Catholic faith?" she asked. - -"I do not think so--I _know_ it," he answered. "It is there or nowhere. -I satisfied myself of that." - -"But how did you come to care enough about it to think of satisfying -yourself?" she persisted. "That is what puzzles me most. The Catholic -faith may be true--I can readily believe it is,--but how did you, a -young man with the world all before you, ever come to care whether it -were true or not?" - -He regarded her silently for a moment before replying. It seemed as if -he found it difficult to answer such words as these. At length he said: -"Is there any special reason why a young man, even if it were true that -he had all the world before him--and it is true in a very limited sense -of me,--should not think occasionally of the most important subject in -the world, and should not desire to think rightly?" - -"Of course there is no reason why he should not," she replied. "Only -it seems unnatural. One fancies him thinking of other things. In his -place, _I_ should think of other things." - -"May I ask what they would be?" - -"I am sure you can hardly need to ask. Even if you have no ambition -yourself, you must realize its existence; you must know how it makes -men desire fame and power and wealth for the sake of the great -advantages they bring. In your place, I should think of making a name, -of conquering fortune, of enjoying all that the world offers." - -"Well," he said, after a short pause--during which he had gone on with -the rapid, practiced strokes of his pencil,--"all that is natural -enough, and there is no harm in it unless one wished to enjoy some of -the unlawful things which the world offers. But why should one not do -all this--make a name and conquer fortune--and still give some thought -to the great question of one's final end and destiny?" - -She made a slight gesture of impatience. "You know very well," she -said, "that, as a matter of fact, an ambitious man has no time for -considering such questions." - -"That depends entirely upon the man. You should not make your -assertions so sweeping. In these days, at least, no man of thought--no -man who is at all interested in intellectual questions--can ignore the -subject of religion. Let me illustrate my meaning. Would you have been -surprised to learn that I were an Agnostic or a Positivist?" - -"No," she replied, somewhat reluctantly. "That would have been -different." - -"Only different because they are fashionable creeds of the hour, and it -is considered a proof of intellectual strength to stultify reason, and, -in the face of the accumulated proofs of ages, to declare that man can -know nothing of his origin or his end. But when, on the contrary, one -accepts a logical and luminous system of thought, a revelation which -offers an explanation of the mystery of being entirely consistent with -reason, you think that very remarkable! Forgive me, Miss Lynde, if I -say that I find your opinion quite as remarkable as you can find my -faith." - -She blushed, but answered haughtily: "That may be. It was no doubt -presumptuous of me to express any opinion on the subject. I really -don't know why I did it, except that I was so much surprised, in the -first place by the fact that you had thought of the matter, and in the -second place by the avowal which vexed your uncle." - -"I am sorry to have vexed him," said Earle, quietly; "but he is too -much of a philosopher to allow it to trouble him long--indeed I have no -idea that it has troubled him at all." - -She did not answer, but the expression in her eyes was one of so much -wonder that he smiled. "What is it now?" he asked. "What are you still -surprised at?" - -"I hardly like to tell you," she replied. "I feel as if I had already -said too much--" - -"By no means. I like frankness, of all things; especially if I may be -allowed to imitate it." - -She smiled in spite of herself. "That," she said, "is certainly -as little as one could allow. Well, then, I confess that I do not -understand why you should refuse to accept the fortune which Mr. -Singleton evidently wishes so much to give you. Have you conscientious -scruples against holding wealth?" - -"Not the faintest. I would accept a million, if it came to me -unfettered by conditions which would make even a million too dearly -bought." - -"Such as--?" - -"What my uncle asks--that I give up everything which interests me in -life, and devote myself to him as long as he lives." - -"But he cannot live long. And then--" - -"Then I should be a rich man. But, as it chances, I do not care about -being a rich man. Money can not buy anything which I desire. It cannot -give me the proficiency in art which must be won by long and hard -study." - -"It would make that study unnecessary." - -"Unnecessary!" He glanced at her with something of her own wonder, -dashed by faint scorn. "Do you think that I consider _making money_ the -end of my art? So far from that, I would starve in a garret sooner than -lower my standard for such an object. And, insensibly perhaps, I should -lower it if I had a great deal of money. No man can answer for himself. -Therefore, I have no desire to be tempted. And I repeat that money can -buy nothing which I value most." - -"Do you not value power? It can buy that." - -"In a very poor form. I am not sure that I should care for it in its -best form, but certainly not in that which money buys." - -"Money is the lever which moves the world," she said; "and it is only -because you have never known the real want of it that you hold it so -lightly." - -"I have sometimes thought that myself," he replied. "It is true that -only a starving man properly appreciates bread. I have never starved, -and it may be that I am not properly grateful for mine; but, at least, -I try neither to undervalue nor overvalue it." - -"Some day," she said, "you may find an object which money would have -helped you to gain, and then you will regret the folly--forgive me if I -speak plainly--which threw away such a great power." - -"I should have to change very much," he replied, "before I could care -for any object which money would help me to gain." - -"There is nothing more likely than that you will change on that point. -If there is anything that life teaches, it is that there is scarcely a -single object which money will not help us to gain." - -He looked at her with a curious surprise, which he did not attempt to -conceal. "Forgive _me_," he said, "if I speak too plainly; but there -is a remarkable want of harmony between your appearance and your -utterances. If one listened with closed eyes, one might fancy that a -man of fifty spoke in behalf of the god to whom he had devoted his -life. But when one looks at you--" - -"You are surprised that such sentiments should come from one who ought -to be ignorant of every reality of life," she observed, coolly, as he -paused. "But I learned something about those realities at a very early -age. I know how the want of money has embittered my life; I know how it -lays on me now fetters under which I chafe; and therefore, by right of -the experience which you lack, I tell you that you will live to regret -the loss of the fortune you are throwing away." - -"No man can speak with absolute certainty of the future; but, if I know -myself at all, I do not think I shall ever regret it." - -She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "In that case you will be an -extraordinary man," she said. "But I feel as if I should beg your -pardon for having fallen into such a personal vein of discussion." - -"I do not think that the responsibility rests with you," he answered. -"But if you consider that you owe me an apology, I can point out an -immediate way to make amends. Ever since you have been standing there, -I have been longing to make a sketch of you. Will you allow me to do -so?" - -"Certainly," she said, smiling; for the request flattered her vanity. - -So, while she stood in the sunshine and shadow, a charming picture of -youth and grace, he sketched her, feeling with every stroke the true -artist appreciation of her beauty; and more and more surprised at -her intelligence as they talked of art and literature, of people and -events, while time flew by unheeded. - -Meanwhile Mr. Singleton was certainly wroth with his favorite. The -latter's change of religion--or, to be more correct, his choice of -religion--was the last of many offenses; and the old man said to -himself that, so far as he was concerned, it should indeed be the -last. "The boy is a fool, besides being obstinate and ungrateful!" -he thought, with what he felt to be righteous indignation, and which -(knowing his own weakness in regard to Earle) he strove to encourage -and fan into enduring anger. "But I am glad I have discovered this in -time--very glad! Though he has refused so positively to do anything -that I wish, there is no telling what weakness I might have been guilty -of when it came to the point of making my will. But now I am safe. My -money shall never go into the hands of the Jesuits--that I am resolved -upon. And, of course, they would soon obtain it from Brian, who has no -appreciation whatever of its value. Yes, my mind is settled at last on -that score. He shall never inherit anything from me; but where on earth -am I to find a satisfactory legatee to take his place?" - -The consideration of this question, and the difficulty of answering -it, produced in old Mr. Singleton a state of temper which made life a -burden, for the time being, to all his personal attendants. While Earle -was philosophically setting forth his views to Marion at the bottom -of the garden, the valet and the nurse were having a very hard time -in getting the fractious invalid ready for the day; and when he was -finally established in his sitting-room, he probably remembered the -soothing power of music, and asked for Miss Lynde. - -Diligent search having revealed the fact that Miss Lynde was not in the -house, Mr. Singleton wanted to know if any one could tell him where -she had gone. Mrs. Singleton, being interrogated, professed utter -ignorance; but one of the maids volunteered the information that from -an upper window she had seen Miss Lynde in the garden with Mr. Earle. -That had been an hour before. "Go to the same window and see if she is -there yet," ordered Mr. Singleton when this was communicated to him. -Observation duly made, and a report brought to him that she was still -there, "Shall I send for her, sir?" inquired his servant. - -"No," snapped the irate old gentleman. "What do you mean by such a -question? Why should I wish to disturb Miss Lynde? I simply desired to -satisfy myself where she was. When she comes in, let her know that I -would like to see her." - -Left alone then, he opened his newspapers with a softening of the lines -about his mouth. After all, a way might be found of managing Brian. The -influence of a beautiful woman might accomplish what his own influence -had failed to do. Marion would make a capital wife for the young man. -"Just the wife he needs," thought Mr. Singleton. "A woman of ambition, -of cleverness, and of worldly knowledge quite remarkable in one so -young. No danger of _her_ under-valuing money, and the Jesuit would -be very sharp who could get it from her. Why did I not think of this -before? Of course he will fall in love with her--what man could avoid -doing so?--and, in that event, everything can be arranged. _She_ will -bring him to my terms soon enough." - -These reflections had so soothing an effect upon his temper that -when Marion came in, and was told by Mrs. Singleton that _he_ (with -a significant gesture toward the apartment of the person indicated) -was in the mood of a tiger, and demanding her presence, she was most -agreeably surprised at being received with extreme kindness. - -"I am told you have been asking for me. I am sorry to have been out of -the way," she said. - -"I wanted to ask you to sing for me," he replied. "My nerves are in an -irritated state this morning, and I felt as if your voice might soothe -them. But I am not unreasonable enough to expect you to be always on -hand to gratify my fancies. It was well that you were out enjoying this -beautiful morning." - -"I was only in the garden. You might have sent for me. I should have -been delighted to come and sing for you. Shall I do so now?" - -"After a little. Sit down and let me talk to you for a few minutes. -I suppose you can imagine what it is that gave me a particularly bad -night, and has set my nerves on edge this morning?" - -"I am afraid that it is worry," said Marion, sitting down near him. -"You did not like what Mr. Earle said last night." - -"I certainly did not like it. The announcement he made was a great -surprise to me and a great shock. Under any circumstances, I should be -sorry for any one in whom I felt an interest to take such a step; but -you are probably aware that I have felt a peculiar interest in Brian." - -"I have heard that your intentions toward him have been most kind." - -"I have desired that he shall take with me the place of a son. I have -asked him to accept the duties of such a position--duties that would -not be very heavy,--and I have promised that, in return, he shall -inherit everything that is mine. Do you think that an unreasonable -proposal?" - -"Very far from it," answered Marion. "I think it most reasonable and -most kind. I can not understand how he can hesitate over it." - -"He does not hesitate," said Mr. Singleton, bitterly: "he refuses it. -After that I ought to be willing to let him go; but the truth of the -matter is, I have no one to take his place. He is not only my nearest -relative, but there is something about him that attaches one to him -despite one's self. My dear"--he looked wistfully, yet keenly, into the -beautiful face,--"it has occurred to me that perhaps _you_ might have -some influence over him." - -"I!" exclaimed Marion. For a moment her surprise was so great that she -could say nothing more. Then, with the realization of his meaning, a -wave of color came into her face. "I have no reason to suppose that I -have the least influence with Mr. Earle," she said. "If I had, I would -gladly use it for the ends about which you are so anxious." - -"I am sure of that," observed Mr. Singleton, significantly. "Well, all -I can say is that nothing would please me more than for you to acquire -such influence. If you should acquire it, and if you should consent to -use it always, I would be a very delighted old man. You understand me, -I see, so I need say no more. Now go and sing for me." - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -Mr. Singleton was wise enough to remain satisfied with having expressed -his wishes to Marion. He said nothing to Earle, having a general -conviction that "in vain is the snare spread in sight of any bird," and -a knowledge of this particular bird which warned him to be cautious. -But the idea which had occurred to him seemed so likely to produce the -desired result, that he was greatly encouraged by it, and his manner to -his nephew was so different from what Mrs. Singleton had anticipated, -that she said to herself with much chagrin that Tom was right after -all, and she had gained nothing by the disclosure she had brought about. - -Earle himself was pleased that his uncle showed no coldness of feeling -toward him. He had fully expected this; and, while the anticipation had -not troubled him in any serious manner, he was relieved to find that he -was to be spared that sense of alienation which is always a trial to a -person of sensitive feelings. - -What he would have thought had his uncle at this time frankly avowed to -him the plan he had conceived, it is not difficult to imagine. What he -would have done is no less easy to conjecture. But, left in ignorance, -and exposed to an association which would have had attractions for -any one, he unconsciously drifted toward a position destined to lead -to serious results. For while Marion repelled she also attracted him, -through the interest he felt in a character so strongly marked for -good or for evil, and by the very frankness with which she displayed -traits and expressed sentiments with which he had little sympathy. "It -is a fine character warped and distorted," he said to himself. "Good -influences might do much with it. What a pity if she drifts deeper -into the worldliness that now attracts her so greatly! For there is -nothing frivolous about her, and she will find in the end that none but -frivolous people can be contented with the things for which she longs." - -Now, there are a few people who, brought into contact with a character -of which they think in this manner, do not feel inclined to exert the -influence that they believe would be beneficial. And how much more -when the person on whom it is to be exerted is a young, a beautiful -and a clever woman! Whether he approved of her or not, Earle could not -fail to find Marion a stimulating and agreeable companion. The absence -of effort to attract--for she was far too proud to make this--lulled -to rest any fear of the result of such an association to himself; -and their morning conversation in the garden was the beginning of an -intercourse which grew daily more pleasant on both sides. - -Mr. Singleton had been the first to see the probable end, but it was -not long before others foresaw it also. "I told you that girl would -betray us," said Mrs. Singleton to her husband. "She means to marry -Brian Earle and take our place. That is clear." - -"But there may be two words to that," said the gentleman addressed. -"Brian may not intend to marry _her_. He was talking of his plans to me -while we were smoking last night, and there was not a word of marrying -in them." - -"That much for his plans!" said Mrs. Singleton, with a slight, -contemptuous gesture. "They will soon be whatever Marion Lynde chooses. -When a woman like her makes up her mind to marry a man, she will -succeed. You may be sure of that." - -"Rather a bad lookout for men, in such a case," returned Mr. Singleton. -"Only if the power is limited to women like Miss Lynde, one might bear -it with philosophy." - -His wife gave him a look compounded of scorn and irritation. "There -is not much doubt what you would do in Brian Earle's place. That girl -seems to turn the head of every man she comes in contact with. I am -sure I wish I had never heard of her!" - -"I fancy Rathborne wishes the same thing," observed Mr. Singleton. "I -never saw a man so changed as he is of late; I met him yesterday, and I -was struck by his moody looks." - -Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. "I have no compassion to spare -for him. A man who has been such a fool as he has, deserves to suffer. -But we have done nothing to deserve to be supplanted in this way." - -"Well," said the more reasonable husband, "it is hardly just to talk -of being 'supplanted.' The old fellow has always been very frank with -me, and insisted there should be no room for misconception. We have an -agreeable home without any expense to ourselves, but he has always -told me that he did not bind himself to leave me anything at all." - -"Of course he would not bind himself; but if Brian refuses to be his -heir--and that is what his conduct heretofore amounts to,--whose chance -should be better than yours?" - -"Really it is hard to say. Who can account for the whims of rich old -men? He may cut us all off, and leave his fortune to Miss Lynde." - -"If I thought so," said Mrs. Singleton, fiercely, "I would murder her--" - -"Come, Anna, that is beyond a joke!" - -"Or myself, for having brought her to his notice." - -"Defer both murders until you find out whether there is any need for -them," said her provoking husband. And then he beat a hasty retreat. - -But even he, now that his eyes were opened, began to perceive the -extreme probability of all that his wife suggested. There was no doubt -of the fact that Marion and Earle were constantly together, that they -seemed to find much gratification in each other's society, and that Mr. -Singleton (this was patent to the most careless observation) looked on -approvingly at their growing intimacy. "The old fellow wants to see -the thing brought about," said Tom Singleton to himself. "He thinks it -would tie Brian down, and that a wife with such ideas would soon cure -him of his contempt for riches. Well, he's right enough; and since it -is most likely to come about, Anna and I may make up our minds that our -day is nearly over. We shall soon have to step down to make room for -Mrs. Brian Earle." - -The young lady designated in advance by this title was herself -entirely of his opinion. At this time a rosy vista opened before her. -She felt that all which she most desired was within her grasp. And yet -not exactly in the manner she had anticipated. For, much as she had -always longed for the power which wealth gives, it had not been her -dream to obtain wealth by marriage. That seemed to her a means too -commonplace, and also too degrading. It was to be won through her own -effort, her own cleverness, in some manner as vaguely outlined as a -fairy-tale. But she was too shrewd not to perceive, after a very brief -acquaintance with life, that for a young girl, without some special and -brilliant talent, to hope to _make_ a fortune was as reasonable as if -she had thought of building a tower with her own hands. She realized, -then, that it was a wonderful prospect which opened before her, as if -by the stroke of an enchantress' wand, in the fancy of Mr. Singleton -for herself, and in the fact that Earle excited her regard in a degree -she had hardly imagined possible. Once, with mocking cynicism, she had -asked of Helen, "Do you think such good fortune ever befalls one, as -that the man one could love is also the man it is expedient for one -to marry?" And now that good fortune, so utterly disbelieved in, had -befallen herself! - -For the very things in which Earle was least like herself attracted her -most. He was an embodiment of ideas which, abstractly, were too exalted -for her to reach. His faith, his unworldliness, his devotion to noble -ends,--all touched the higher side of her own nature, like strains of -heroic poetry. Under his immediate influence, she began to change in -a manner as strange as it was significant. Keen eyes noted this, and -Mrs. Singleton said to herself that the girl was capable of playing -any part, even of pretending to be quixotic and unworldly. But in this -she did her injustice. With all its great faults, Marion's character -possessed the saving salt of sincerity, and she was absolutely -incapable of playing a part for any purpose whatever. The change in -her just now was real; there only remained a question whether or not -it were deep,--whether human love alone were great enough to work the -miracle of regenerating a nature into which worldliness had struck such -strong roots. - -The test was not long delayed. As the time for Earle's visit drew to -a close, he began to realize how decidedly he had suffered himself -to be drawn toward this girl, whom his judgment at first so greatly -disapproved, and whom it could not even yet altogether approve; -although he was not blind to the change in her wrought by his -influence,--a change which unconsciously flattered him, as any proof -of power flatters this poor human nature of ours. He found, somewhat -to his dismay, that he was more attached to her than he had been aware -of, but he had no intention of declaring his feeling. Judgment was -still too much arrayed against it. And this being so, he resisted the -temptation to prolong his visit, and adhered to the original date set -for his departure. Now, since this departure was not only to be from -Scarborough, but from America, Mr. Singleton was very anxious that it -should be prevented, and he watched with growing anxiety the intimacy -with Marion, from which he hoped so much. - -"My dear," he said to her one day when they were alone together, and -she had been singing for him, "I wish you would exert your influence -with Brian to keep him from going abroad. It would be much better that -he should remain here." - -"There can be no doubt of that," she replied. "But you mistake in -thinking that I have any influence with him. If I had, I would use it -as you desire." - -"I am afraid," he observed, "that you underrate your influence. I think -you have more than you suppose." - -"No," she said. "I have always been accustomed to influencing those -around me, and therefore I know very well when I fail to do so. I fail -with Mr. Earle. He has no respect for my opinion, as indeed"--with -unwonted humility--"why should he have?" - -The man of the world uttered a contemptuous laugh. "Do you really, with -all your cleverness, know so little of men as to fancy that respect for -a woman's opinion is a necessary part of her influence?" he asked. - -"With most men I suppose it is not," she answered; "but with Mr. Earle -it is. I am sure of that, and also sure that I should not care to -influence a man who had no respect for my opinion." - -"_That_ opinion is not worthy of your good sense," said Mr. Singleton. -"It does not matter at all _how_ one influences people, so that one -actually does manage to influence them. The important point is to -succeed." - -"Have you found it an easy thing to succeed with Mr. Earle?" asked -Marion, a little maliciously. - -"Very far from it," replied Mr. Singleton. "There is only one way to -influence him, and that is through his affections. For one to whom he -is attached, he will do much." - -The last words were so significant that Marion colored and said no -more. But she determined that she would test whether or not they were -true, since she had by this time little doubt of Earle's sentiments -toward her. - -She had not long to wait for an opportunity. The next morning Earle -asked if she would not go with him to complete a sketch that he was -making of a bit of woodland scenery near the house. "A morning's -work will finish it," he said. "And since I shall not have many more -mornings, if you care to come, I shall be very glad." - -"You know I always like to come," she answered. "It is interesting to -me to watch your work. I feel as if I were witnessing the process of -creation." - -"You are witnessing _a_ process of creation," he said. "Art is a ray -of the divine genius which created nature, and, in its degree, it is -creative also. That is the secret of its great fascination." - -"It certainly seems to possess a great fascination for you," she said, -as he slung his color-box over his shoulder and they set forth. - -"Do you wonder at it?" he asked, with a quick glance. - -"No; I do not wonder at the fascination," she replied. "I only wonder -that you think it right to sacrifice everything else to it." - -"What do I sacrifice to it?" he asked. "A little money for which I have -no use. Is not that all?" - -She shook her head. "By no means all. You sacrifice the dearest wish -of your uncle, who is devoted to you--the power of giving him great -pleasure, and the power also of doing much good with the money you -despise. Have you ever thought of that?" - -"Yes," he answered, "I have thought of it all. I have seriously asked -myself if there is any duty demanding that I should comply with his -wishes, and I have decided that there is none. He is certainly attached -to me, but I think that his attachment rests very much on the fact that -he can not control me as he is accustomed to control most people. There -is no real congeniality of sentiment between us. He is a man of the -world; I am a man to whom the world counts very little. I can not feign -interest in the things which interest him, and he scorns all that most -deeply interests me. Under these circumstances, what pleasure to either -of us would be gained by closer association? And you know it is out of -my power to do him any real service." - -"I am not sure of that," said Marion. "I think you scarcely appreciate -either his strong attachment to you or his strong desire that you -should remain with him." - -"Has he been asking you to be his advocate?" said Earle, with a smile. -"It sounds very much as if he had." - -"He has been talking to me of the matter," she answered. "You know it -is very near his heart, and he speaks to me more freely than to you; -for, naturally, he is wounded by your refusal, and is too proud to -acknowledge to you how much he cares." - -"And he thinks, no doubt, that what you say will have a weight which -his words lack." - -"There is no reason why he should think so," said Marion, rather -proudly. - -They had by this time reached the place of their destination; and, -as he put down the portable easel which he carried, she turned away, -saying to herself that it was indeed true--there was no reason why -any one should think that her words had the least weight with this -immovable man. Some hot tears of mortification gathered in her eyes. -She had hoped for a different result, and the disappointment, from the -proof of her own lack of power, was greater than she had anticipated. -She bent down to gather some ferns on the bank of a little stream which -flowed through the glen, and when she rose Earle was standing beside -her. - -"I fear that perhaps you misunderstood my last words," he said, with -grave gentleness. "I did not mean to imply that my uncle was mistaken -in thinking that what you say would have great weight with me. He is -too shrewd not to be sure of that. I only gave him credit for choosing -his advocate well. For you must know that what you wish has great -influence with me." - -"Why should I know it?" said Marion, in a low tone. - -"Because," he answered, "you must know that I love you." - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -A very gratified man was Mr. Singleton when he heard how matters stood -between Marion and his nephew. Indeed, with regard to the latter, his -feeling was chiefly one of exultation. "Now I have you!" he said to -himself; and it was with difficulty that he refrained from uttering -this sentiment when Earle announced the fact of his engagement. What he -did say was:-- - -"I am delighted, my dear boy--delighted! You could not have pleased me -better. Miss Lynde is a girl to do credit to any man's taste, and to -any position to which she may be raised. Her family is unexceptionable; -and as for fortune--well, you have no need to think of that." - -Brian smiled. "I have not thought of it," he said; "but I fear she may -think a little of the fact that I have not much to offer her. To become -the wife of a struggling artist is not a very brilliant prospect for -one of her ambition." - -Mr. Singleton frowned. So, after all, the thing had not settled itself, -but was to be fought over again! "You must surely be jesting when you -speak of such a prospect for her," he observed. "You must feel that -marriage brings responsibility with it; and that, since the future of -this charming girl is bound up with your own, you can no longer afford -to indulge in caprices." - -"I do not think that I have ever indulged in caprices," replied Earle. -"In settling my plan of life, I have followed what I believe to be -right, as well as what I believed to be best. And I have no intention -of changing it now. Marion understands that in accepting me, she also -accepts my life. I am sure of that." - -"_I_ am by no means sure of it," thought Mr. Singleton; but he was wise -enough to say no more, and bide his time to speak to Marion. - -"My dear," he said to her, as soon as they were alone together, "you -know that the arrangement between Brian and yourself meets with my -warmest approval. But it will be of very little good to me personally, -unless you mean to use your influence--for you can no longer say that -you possess none--to induce him to yield to my wishes. Unless he does -so, he can expect nothing from me in the future. And that I should -regret for your sake now as well as his." - -"You are very kind," said Marion, who understood all that was implied -in this. "Be certain that if he does not yield to your wishes, it will -not be my fault. I shall use all the influence I possess to induce him -to do so." - -"In that case I have no fear," said the old man, gallantly. "Who could -resist you?" - -A little while before Marion would have echoed this with a profound -conviction of her own irresistible power; but now, though she did not -dissent from it, she had a lurking fear that Brian Earle might not -prove so elastic in her hands as his uncle hoped. As yet, by tacit -consent, the subject of their future life had been avoided; but she -knew that the time would come when it must be discussed, and she said -to herself with passionate resolution that he should not throw away the -fortune which was offered him, if it were in her power to prevent it. - -Had this resolution needed a spur, Mrs. Singleton's congratulations -would have given it. "I hope that you will be very happy," she said; -"and I think it is very good for me to hope it, for you step into my -place. Brian will not go abroad _now_." - -"We have not settled that as yet," replied Marion, who detected a -questioning tone in the last assertion. - -"I think that, in your place, I should settle it as soon as possible," -said Mrs. Singleton. "It will be pleasanter for all parties. Although, -of course, Brian's decision is a foregone conclusion." - -"You not only hope, you believe the contrary," thought Marion; "but I -will show you that you are mistaken." - -Meanwhile Earle, unconscious of the struggle before him, was thinking -how much he had misjudged Marion in believing her so worldly, since, -knowing his definite decision with regard to his life, she was yet -willing to share that life. The declaration which he had made was -entirely unpremeditated; but, once made, he did not regret it. How -indeed was it possible to regret that which brought immediately so much -happiness to himself and to Marion? And it was too much to expect, -perhaps, that he should ask whether or not this happiness rested on a -very substantial basis--whether there were not elements in it certain -to produce discord as time went on. All that was hard, haughty and -worldly in Marion seemed, for the time being, to have disappeared. -Helen herself could hardly have seemed more gentle and tender to the -man she loved. - -On the Sunday following their betrothal, he asked her if she would -go with him to church, and she readily assented. "I always liked -Catholicity," she said, as they took their way thither; "and I always -felt that if there was truth in any religion, it was in that. All the -others are but poor shams and imitations of it, and I have had an -instinctive scorn of them ever since I knew anything of the old faith. -I am glad, therefore, that you are a Catholic." - -"Since I am not an Agnostic," he said, laughing. "You would have had a -higher opinion of my intellectual strength if I had avowed myself that, -you know." - -She laughed too. "That was before I understood you," she said; "and -before I understood the grounds you had for your faith. But now I know -that you could be only what you are." - -"And when," he asked, in a tone suddenly grown grave and earnest, "will -you also be that?" - -"How can I tell?" she replied. "Should not faith be something more than -a mere matter of intellectual conviction?" - -"Faith is a gift of God," he said. "If you are willing to receive it, -it will not be denied to you." - -"I am willing now," she observed. "Always, heretofore, I have shrunk -from it. I have felt the fascination of Catholicity, but I have dreaded -what it would demand from me. But now I dread no longer. I am willing -to be what you are." - -He smiled slightly, and, as they had reached the church by this time, -extended his hand to lead her over the threshold. Then withdrawing it, -"There!" he said; "I have done my part--I have brought you within the -door. God must do the rest." - -It seemed to Marion, as she knelt by him during Mass, as if God were -doing this. Her heart opened to the influences around her as it had -never opened before. The Holy Sacrifice had a meaning for her which it -had never, up to this time, possessed; she forgot the plainness and -bareness of the chapel, the unfashionable appearance of the people, in -her consciousness of the Divine Reality before her on the altar. And -when the priest, addressing the people at the end of Mass, spoke in -plain and forcible language of the truths of faith, her mind replied by -an assenting _Credo_. - -But as he turned to preach, Father Byrne received a shock of unpleasant -surprise in perceiving Marion's face by Brian Earle's side. He had -not seen or heard of her since the occurrences which had ended -Helen's engagement. He had not been aware that she still remained in -Scarborough after her aunt's departure; but he had met Earle, and -liked the young man so much that this unexpected appearance beside him -of the girl who had destroyed her cousin's happiness, seemed to him -a conjunction that boded no good. The sight distracted him so much -that he hesitated over the opening words of his sermon. The hesitation -was only momentary: he took a firm grasp of his subject, and began; -but whenever his glance fell on those two faces in one of the front -pews, he said to himself, "Poor young man!" and asked himself if, -knowing what he did, he should offer a warning to the object of his -commiseration. - -After Mass, giving the question some thought, he decided that if the -opportunity for it arose, he would speak to Earle on the subject; but -that he would take no steps to make an opportunity, since it might -have been an accidental association, meaning little or nothing. And so -the matter might have passed without result, had not Earle presented -himself that afternoon at the pastoral residence. He had two motives -for the visit--one was to see Father Byrne, with whom he had been most -pleasantly impressed; the other, to ask for some book of instruction -to put into Marion's hands. The good Father was a little disturbed by -the appearance of his visitor: it seemed he was to be forced to deliver -his warning--for he had no intention of receding from his agreement -with his conscience. Therefore, after they had talked for some time on -various subjects, and a slight pause occurred, he was on the point of -beginning, when Earle anticipated him by speaking:-- - -"I must not weary you by a long visit, Father," he said, "knowing that -Sunday is a day which makes many demands upon you. I have come not only -for the pleasure of seeing you this afternoon, but to ask your advice -on a matter of importance. I want a book which sets forth Catholic -doctrine in a clear and attractive manner, for one disposed toward the -Church. What work will best answer my purpose?" - -Father Byrne named a work familiar to most Catholics, and of wide -circulation; but Earle shook his head. "That will not do at all. I -want something of an intellectual character, and with the charm of -literary excellence. Else it would have no effect on the person for -whom I intend it." - -"Perhaps if you told me something about the person," suggested the -priest, "I could judge better what would be suitable." - -"I want the book," Earle answered, "for a young lady of much more than -ordinary intelligence, who has no Protestant prejudices to overcome, -and who, I think, only needs to be instructed to induce her to embrace -the Catholic faith." - -Father Byrne's face changed at the words "a young lady." "Surely," he -said, after an instant's hesitation, "you do not mean the young lady -who was with you in church this morning?" - -"Yes," replied Earle, surprised by the tone even more than by the -question. "I mean Miss Lynde. Do you know her?" - -"I know her slightly, but I know _of_ her very well," answered the -priest, gravely. "And I regret to say that I cannot imagine a more -unpromising subject for conversion. My dear Mr. Earle, I think that -you will waste your efforts in that direction. I hope I am not -uncharitable, but I have little confidence in the sincerity of Miss -Lynde's desire to know the truth." - -"Why have you no confidence?" asked Earle, shortly, almost sternly. - -The other looked distressed. It was a more unpleasant task than he had -anticipated which he had set himself, but he felt bound in conscience -to go through with it. - -"Because," he replied, "I know that the young lady has had ample -opportunity to learn all about the Faith if she had desired to do so. -She had been at school in a convent for some time, and she came here -with her cousin, Miss Morley, who is a devoted Catholic." He paused a -moment, then with an effort went on: "But it is not for this reason -alone that I distrust her sincerity. I chance to know that she acted -badly toward her cousin, that she was the cause of her engagement being -broken, and she behaved with great duplicity in the whole matter." - -"This is a very serious charge," said Earle. He held himself well under -control, but the priest perceived that he was much moved. "Do you speak -with positive knowledge of what you assert?" - -"As positive as possible, with regard to the facts," Father Byrne -answered. "Miss Morley broke her engagement because she heard the man -to whom she was engaged making love to her cousin. She generously -refrained from blaming the latter, but Mrs. Morley told me that Miss -Lynde had undoubtedly made deliberate efforts to attract her daughter's -lover. You will understand that I tell you this in confidence, and -nothing but my sincere interest in you would induce me to tell it at -all. You might readily hear it from others, however. It is, I believe, -a notorious fact in Scarborough." - -Earle was silent for a minute, looking down as if in thought, with his -dark brows knitted, and his pleasant countenance overcast. The last -words made him recall various hints and allusions of Mrs. Singleton's. -They had produced little impression upon him at the time--not enough -to cause him to inquire what they meant,--but now they came back with -a force derived from what he had just heard. With sudden clearness he -recalled that Marion seemed to shrink from any mention of her cousin, -and that he had seen her change color once or twice when some man was -alluded to by Mrs. Singleton in very significant tones. Even if it -had been possible to doubt the priest, who spoke with such evident -reluctance, these things recalled by memory gave added weight to all -that he said. Presently the young man looked up, and spoke with an -effort:-- - -"I have no doubt you have meant kindly, Father, in speaking of this -matter; but, if you please, we will not discuss it further. To return -to the book--I see that I had better decide for myself what will be -suitable. Something of Newman's might answer, only he deals chiefly -with Anglican difficulties; or perhaps Lacordaire's great Conferences -on the Church might be best." - -"That is rather a--formidable work," said the Father, hesitatingly. - -"Yes," answered Earle; "but so splendid in its logic, so luminous in -its style, that whoever reads it understandingly will need no other. -But I must not detain you longer." - -He rose as he spoke, shook hands with the priest--who was uncertain -whether or not to regret what he had done,--and took his departure. - -Once outside he said to himself that the thing to do now was to go -directly to Marion, and learn from her the true meaning of the story -which had so deeply disturbed him. He felt loyally certain that, as he -heard it, it could not be true,--that she could never willfully have -drawn her cousin's lover from his allegiance. At least he repeated -this to himself more than once. But in his heart was a lurking doubt -which he would not acknowledge,--a lurking recollection of the distrust -he had felt toward her at first, and which lately had faded from his -mind. Well, it would depend upon what she told him now whether this -distrust were to be revived or finally banished. - -It was late in the afternoon when he entered the grounds of the house -in which Mr. Singleton dwelt; and the long, golden sunshine streamed so -invitingly across emerald turf and bright flower-beds toward the green -depths of shrubbery in the old garden, that he turned his steps in that -direction, thinking it barely possible he might find Marion there, -since she was partial to a seat under an arbor covered with climbing -roses. - -Some instinct must have guided his steps; for Marion _was_ there, -seated in the green shade, and so absorbed in reading that she did not -perceive his approach. He paused for a minute to admire the beautiful -picture which she made--a picture to delight an artist's eye,--asking -himself the while if what looked so fair could possibly be capable -of deceiving. It was a question that must be answered in one way or -another, and, tightening his lips a little, he came forward. - -She looked up with a slight start as he drew near, and the light of -pleasure that came into her eyes was very eloquent. "So you have found -me!" she said. "I thought that you might. I looked for you when I came -out, but did not see you anywhere." - -"I had gone into Scarborough," he answered. "I went to see"--he stopped -before saying "Father Byrne," with a sudden thought that it might not -be well for her to connect the priest with the information of which he -must presently speak--"to see a friend," he continued. "I wanted to -borrow a book. What have you there?" - -She held it out, smiling. "Helen gave it to me long ago," she said, -"but I never looked at it until to-day." - -Earle found that it was a translation of the admirable French -"Catechism of Perseverance," which is one of the best compendiums of -Catholic doctrine. "After all," he said, "I do not know that I can do -better than this, although I was thinking of a book of another kind for -you,--a book that would rouse your interest as well as instruct you." - -"I think I should prefer your choice," she said. "Helen had the best -intentions, but she forgot that what suited her would not be likely to -suit me." - -This repetition of Helen's name brought his attention back from the -book to the subject it had replaced in his mind. "Helen!" he repeated. -"You mean your cousin, Miss Morley?" - -"Yes. You have heard me speak of her. She is a Catholic. It was with -her that I came to Scarborough." - -"And why has she gone away and left you?" - -Something in the tone rather than in the words caused Marion to color -with a quick sense of apprehension. "My aunt took her away for change -of air and scene. They are wealthy, and can go where they like. I could -not go with them, and so Mrs. Singleton kindly asked me to stay with -her. That is very simple, is it not?" - -"Very," he answered. He looked down, and turned absently the leaves of -the Catechism. "But, since you were your cousin's guest, it seems to me -it would have been simpler if she had asked you to go with her." - -"There were reasons why she did not," said Marion. She hesitated a -moment, and then an impulse of candor came to her,--a quick instinct -that Earle must hear from herself the story which he had perhaps -already heard from others. "I will tell you what they were," she -continued. "It is a matter which it is disagreeable to me to recall, -but I should like to tell you about it." - -Then she told him. There is everything, as we know, in the point -of view from which a picture is regarded, or a story is told; so -it was not surprising that, as he listened, Earle felt a sense of -infinite relief. If this were all, she was not indeed altogether -free from blame--for she acknowledged that she had taken pleasure in -the perception of Rathborne's admiration,--but certainly she did not -deserve that charge of duplicity which the priest had made. It was an -unfortunate affair; but, feeling the power which she exercised over -himself, how could he wonder that another man had felt and yielded to -it? - -So, for the time at least, all his doubt was dissipated, and Marion, -satisfied with this result, deferred the decisive struggle yet to come. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -But it was not to be long deferred--that decisive struggle which -Marion clearly foresaw, and from which she shrank, notwithstanding Mr. -Singleton's confident assurance of her victory. It was a day or two -later that Earle said to her:-- - -"Since I am going away soon, Marion, it will be well that we shall -settle all details of our future. Can you not make an effort and go -with me? What need is there, in our case, for long waiting, or for -submitting to a separation which would be very painful?" - -The confident assurance of his tone--as if dealing with a point settled -beyond all need of argument--made Marion's heart sink a little, but she -nerved herself to the necessary degree of resolution, and answered, -quietly:-- - -"There will be no need for long waiting or for separation either, if -you will only consent to do what your uncle asks--to remain with him, -and fulfil the duty which most plainly lies before you." She paused a -moment, then added, in a softer tone, "You have refused to yield to his -request, will you not yield to _mine_?" - -Earle looked at her with eyes full of pained surprise. "_Et tu Brute!_" -he said, with a faint smile. "I thought you, at least, understood how -firmly my mind is made up on that subject--how impossible it is for me -to resign all my cherished plans of life for the sake of inheriting my -uncle's fortune." - -"But what is to prevent your painting as many pictures as you like and -still gratifying him?" she asked. - -"Because no man can serve two masters, in temporal any more than in -spiritual things. If I am to serve Art, I must do so with all my -strength, not in a half-hearted _dilettante_ manner--but I am weary -of saying these things. I hoped that by this time everyone understood -them." - -"I understand them perfectly," replied Marion; "but I do not think you -are right. I think that, because you have never known the need or want -of money, you are throwing away a fortune for a mere caprice, and you -are condemning others as well as yourself to lifelong poverty." - -"Not to poverty," he observed; "though certainly to narrower means than -those my uncle possesses. It is for you to say whether or not you care -to accept the life which I offer. I can not change it--I do not believe -that even for you it would be best that I should." - -"You are very kind to settle what would be best for me so entirely in -accordance with your own tastes and will," she said, with her old tone -of mockery. "May I ask why you are led to such a belief?" - -"It is easily told," he answered, "and I will be perfectly frank in -the telling. We all have some one point where temptation assails us -with more force than at any other. With you, Marion, that point is an -undue value of wealth and of all the things of the world that wealth -commands,--things, for the most part, of great danger to one who -does value them unduly. The possession of wealth, therefore, would be -dangerous to you--more dangerous from the very strength of the passion -with which you desire it. Forgive me if this sounds odiously like -preaching, but it is true. I can not, then, change the whole intention -and meaning of my life--give up my study of art and sink into a mere -idle amateur--when by so doing I should gain nothing of value to -myself, while working harm rather than good to you. Tell me that you -believe I follow my conscience in this, and that you will be content -with what I offer you?" - -He held out his hand with a pleading gesture, but Marion would not -see it. What he had said angered her more deeply than if he had let -his refusal remain based solely on his own wishes. That he should -recognize _hers_, yet coolly put them aside, reading her the while a -moral lecture on their dangerous nature, filled her with a sense of -passionate resentment. - -"I might be content with what you offer," she said, "if it were not -that you could so easily offer more--you could so easily gratify me, -whom you profess to love, as well as the old man who loves you so well. -But you will not yield in the least degree to either of us. You follow -your own wishes, and declare mine to be mercenary and dangerous. The -difference between us is that I have known something of the poverty -you regard so lightly; and, while I might risk enduring it with a man -who had no alternative of escape from it, I do not think my prospect -of happiness would be great with a man who condemned me to it for the -gratification of his own selfishness." - -"Is that how the matter appears to you?" asked Earle. He paused for a -minute and seemed to consider. "You may be right," he said, presently; -"I may be acting selfishly--what man can be absolutely certain of -his own motives?--but, to the best of my judgment, I am doing what I -believe to be right. I can not yield to my uncle in this matter--not -even though he has secured you as his advocate. I am sure that if I -did yield, it would be worse for all of us. No, Marion; forgive me if -I seem hard, but you must take me as I am, or not at all. You must -consent to share my life as I have ordered it, or it is best that you -should not share it at all." - -She bent her head with the air of one who accepts a final decision. "It -is very good of you to put it so plainly," she said. "Your candor makes -my decision very easy. The matter to me stands simply thus: you decline -absolutely to make the least concession to my wishes, you sacrifice -my happiness relentlessly to your own caprice, and yet you expect me -to believe in the sincerity of your regard. I do not believe in it. I -believe, indeed, that you have some kind of a fancy for me; but you -think that, because I bring you nothing beside myself, you can make -your own terms and order my life as it pleases you--" - -"Marion!" cried Earle, shocked and startled. But she went steadily on:-- - -"That, however, is a mistake. If I bring nothing, I have in myself -the power to win all things. I might give up all things for a man who -truly loved me, and who was poor by no fault of his own. But for a man -who loves me so little that he would condemn me uselessly to a sordid, -narrow life--for that man I have only one word: go!" - -She rose with a gesture, as if putting him from her; but Earle caught -her extended hand. - -"Marion!" he said, earnestly, "stop and think! You accuse me of -selfishness, but is there no selfishness in your own conduct? In asking -you to share my life as it is settled, I do not ask you to share -poverty: I only do not promise you wealth. Do you care nothing for me -without that wealth? Consider that I can only think you weigh me in the -scale with my uncle's fortune and without that fortune hold me of no -account." - -"You must think what you please," returned Marion. "I have told you -how the matter appears to me. If you care for me, you will accept your -uncle's generous offer. That is my last word." - -"Then we can only part," said Earle, dropping her hand. "It is evident -that the love of money is more deeply rooted in you than love of -me. God forgive you, Marion, and God bring you to some sense of the -relative value of things! I have the presumption to think that what -I give you is worth a little more than the fortune which you rate so -highly. Some day you may learn how little money can really buy of what -is best worth having in human life. In that day you may remember this -choice." - -"I shall never regret it," she answered, proudly. - -"I hope from my heart that you may not, but _I_ shall long regret it. -For I believe that you have a noble nature, to which you are doing -violence. And I hoped that in the life to which I would have taken you, -that nobler nature would have conquered the one which finds so much -attraction in mercenary things." - -The nobler nature of which he spoke struggled a little to assert -itself, but was overborne by the lower and stronger nature--by anger, -disappointment, and wounded pride. What! she, who had expected to -sway and dominate all with whom she came in contact, to yield to -this man--to give up the strongest wish, the most earnest resolve of -her life? From her early youth embittered by adversity and galled by -poverty, she had said to herself, "Some day I will be rich!" And now -the opportunity to possess riches, and with riches the power for which -she longed, was placed within her reach, and yet was held back by the -selfish obstinacy of a man, who made his refusal worse by condemning -her wishes. At this moment she felt that anything was more possible -than to yield to him. - -"You are wasting words," she observed, coldly. "My attraction for -mercenary things concerns you no longer. Our folly is at an end. It -_was_ folly I see, for you have no trust in me, nor any inclination to -please me; and where these things do not exist, love does not exist -either." - -She gave him no opportunity to reply had he intended to do so, for she -left the room abruptly with the last words. - -And there was no deliberation about her next step. She went at once -to Mr. Singleton. "I have come to tell you that your confidence in my -power over your nephew is misplaced," she said. "I have failed entirely -to influence him. He is going away." - -The old man, who was leaning back in his deep velvet chair, his -face against its soft richness, looking more than ever like a piece -of fine ivory carving, did not appear very much surprised by this -intelligence. He remained for a minute without speaking, regarding -intently the girl before him. Her beauty was truly imperial; for -excitement gave it a brilliance--a light to her eyes, a color to her -cheeks--which was almost dazzling. - -"What a splendid creature!" he said to himself; then he remarked aloud, -very quietly:-- - -"And you are going with him?" - -"No," she answered. "Since he has no regard for my wishes in a matter -so important to me as well as to himself, I have declined to have -anything further to do with him." - -"Good!" said Mr. Singleton. His tone expressed not only approval, but -intense satisfaction. "I am glad that some way to punish him has been -found. But what is he made of that he can look at you and refuse to do -what you ask! Has he gone mad with obstinacy, or is he a man of ice?" - -"I do not know," she replied. "He cares only for himself and the -gratification of his own whims, I suppose. He does not deserve that -either you or I should think of him any more. And I," she added, more -sternly, "am determined that I will _not_ think of him again. He has -gone out of my life forever. There only remains for me now to go out of -this house, with the most grateful memory, dear Mr. Singleton, of your -kindness." - -"No," said Mr. Singleton. He extended his hand and laid it on her arm, -as if he would detain her by force. "It is not for you to go, but for -him. And he shall go at once." - -"Not on my account." she said, haughtily. "_He_ has a right here, I -have none." - -"You have the right that I ask you to stay," observed Mr. Singleton. -"He has no other than my invitation, and that will be withdrawn as -soon as I see him. Like yourself, I am done with him now forever. I -have borne much from him and hoped much from him; but I see that the -first was useless, and the last without any rational ground. This -offense--his conduct to you--I will never forgive. But I hope, my dear, -that you will suffer me to make what atonement for it I can. I consider -you as much my adopted daughter as if this marriage on which I set my -heart had taken place." - -"You are very good," replied Marion. A vision passed before her as she -spoke of all that this might mean; but she felt strangely dead toward -it, as if already the fortune she coveted had been robbed of half its -lustre. - -"Stay with me, then," said Mr. Singleton. "I can not part with you, if -Brian can. I want your society while I live, and I will provide for you -liberally when I die. Will you stay?--is that agreed upon?" - -"Yes," she answered. "If you care for me I will stay. Nobody else does -care." - -Then suddenly her proud composure gave way. She burst into tears, and -made her escape from the room. - -Perhaps those tears hardened Mr. Singleton's resolve, or perhaps it -needed no hardening. After a few minutes he rang his bell, and sent the -servant who answered it to summon Brian Earle to him. - -The latter was on the point of leaving the house when he received the -message, but he immediately obeyed it, saying to himself as he laid -down his hat, "As well now as later." For he knew perfectly what was -before him; and Mr. Singleton's icy manner was no surprise to him when -he entered the room where Marion had brought her story so short a time -before. - -"I am informed by Miss Lynde," said Mr. Singleton, severely, "that your -engagement to her is at an end, for the reason that you refuse to yield -your wishes to hers as well as to mine, and she very wisely declines to -countenance your folly and selfishness by sacrificing her life to it. -Is this true?" - -"Perfectly true," replied the young man, calmly. "Miss Lynde thinks me -not worth accepting without your fortune. I regret to say that this, to -my mind, betrays a nature so mercenary that I am not sorry a conclusive -test should have arisen, and ended an arrangement which certainly would -not be for the happiness of either of us." - -"That is how it appears to you, is it?" said Mr. Singleton. "Well, let -me tell you that, to me, your conduct is so utterly without reason or -excuse, so shameful in its selfish disregard of everyone's wishes but -your own, that I finally cast off all regard for you. Go your way, -study the art to which you have sacrificed not only me but the woman to -whom you pledged your faith; but remember that you have lost your last -chance with me. Not a sixpence of my money will ever go to you." - -"I have never wanted it," said Brian, proudly. - -"No," answered his uncle. "But in the days to come, when your need for -money increases, and you find that fame and fortune are not so easily -won as you imagine now, you _will_ want it; you will curse your folly -then when it is too late; and you will think, perhaps, of the old man -who offered you so much for so little, and to whom you refused that -little." - -Angry as the speaker was, something in the tone of his last words -almost shook Brian's resolution. For a moment he asked himself if, -after all, he might not be the victim of a self-willed delusion; if his -uncle might not be right, and if it might not be his duty to yield. But -this was only for a moment. He had the faculty of seeing clearly and -deciding firmly once for all. He had long before this weighed every -aspect of a question which so importantly concerned his life, and his -final decision was based on many strong grounds. Those grounds he saw -no reason to reconsider now. - -"I am very sorry," he said, gravely, "for all that has happened,--most -sorry for any disappointment or pain I have caused you or another. -But there are many reasons why I cannot comply with your wishes; and, -since further discussion of the subject is useless, I will beg your -permission to leave you." - -"Leave me and leave my house!" said Mr. Singleton, emphatically. "It is -my duty to guard Miss Lynde from any possible annoyance, and to meet -you could only be an annoyance to her now. You will, therefore, be good -enough to go at once." - -"I will do so," replied Brian, rising. "God bless you, sir, and believe -that I am very grateful for all your kindness to me. I wish that I -could have repaid you better." - -Then, before his uncle could answer, he went away. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - - -Brian Earle had not been gone more than two or three weeks when the -report suddenly spread through Scarborough that Mr. Singleton was very -ill. And for once report was true. One among the many chronic maladies -from which he suffered took a turn for the worse, and the doctors shook -their heads, saying the case was very critical. - -Indeed it was more than critical. Those about the sick man knew that -his recovery--even his partial recovery--was impossible. Close to him -now was the dread Presence which care and skill had kept at bay so -long, and no one was more thoroughly aware of the fact than himself. He -met it with a grim philosophy, which is the only possible substitute -for Christian resignation. Of religious belief he had very little, -never having troubled himself to formulate the vague ideas which he had -received from a much attenuated Protestantism. But, such as they were, -they did not inspire him with terror. God would, no doubt, be merciful -to a man who was conscious of never having done anything dishonorable -in his life. This consciousness helped to support his philosophy, but -it is not likely that he gave it much thought. A subject which has not -occupied a place of importance in a man's consideration during life -will hardly do so even in the face of death. - -Mr. Singleton was more interested in arranging his worldly affairs than -in preparing for the great change from time to eternity. His lawyer -was summoned, and a final and complete revision made of the important -document which would fulfill or blast the hopes of many people. -Concerning this document Mrs. Singleton was wild with curiosity; but -she could learn nothing, and her husband declined even to speculate -concerning their chances. "We shall know soon enough--perhaps too -soon," he said, with his usual philosophy, a little tinged by -despondency. - -Another person who felt some curiosity, mingled with an indifference -which surprised herself, was Marion Lynde. Who would take in the will -that place which Brian Earle had forfeited? And what would the latter -think now of the fact that he had thrown away a fortune rather than -give a promise, the fulfillment of which, as it now chanced, would -never have been exacted? "He would have had the money and his freedom -besides," she thought. "Does he recognize his folly now? Will he -recognize it when he hears the news that soon must be told him?" - -Of her own interest in this crisis, Marion did not take a great deal -of thought. She had no doubt that some legacy for herself would find a -place in Mr. Singleton's will, and no doubt also that in the time to -come she would be grateful for it. But she regarded the probability -just now with a dull indifference, which was the reaction from a -great disappointment. She had not only lost the only man who had ever -touched her heart, but also the fortune that might have been hers in -the entirety. And, after that great loss, could she rejoice over the -prospect of obtaining a small share of this fortune? - -No: to rejoice was impossible; but she felt that whatever the old man's -generosity gave would be welcome, since it would mean emancipation from -absolute dependence on relations for whom she had no cordiality of -feeling. No doubt the time would come when she would be very glad of -this, but just now it was difficult--in fact, impossible--to be glad of -anything. - -In this way the days, weighted with much pain for one and much -uncertainty of hope and fear for others, dragged their slow hours -away and the end came at last. Marion was still in the house--Mrs. -Singleton, who felt that her presence could no longer do any harm, had -begged her not to leave,--and she felt a thrill of awe and regret when -the words came from the sick chamber, "He is dying." - -So the old man who had showed nothing but kindness to her was passing -away--and how? Without a single heart near him that throbbed with -affection, without a Sacrament or a word of prayer! Marion had -associated too much with Catholics not to feel the horror of this, but -she also knew too much of Protestants to expect anything different. Yet -she could not help saying to Mrs. Singleton, "Has no clergyman been -sent for?" - -That lady looked surprised. "No," she answered. "Why should one be sent -for? No one would take the liberty of doing such a thing while Mr. -Singleton was conscious, and after unconsciousness had set in where -would be the good? Mr. Eustace would come and read prayers, no doubt, -if we asked him to do so; but what would be gained by it?" - -"Nothing, I suppose," said Marion. She had heard those prayers--which -are all that Protestantism offers,--and shuddered at the recollection. -Yet for the dying man to go forth into eternity without a word of -appeal in his behalf, seemed to her so terrible that she stole away -to her own room, opened a prayer-book which had been given her at the -convent, and, kneeling down, said for the first time in her life the -prayers for the dying which she found therein. - -And while she was saying them--those tender and infinitely touching -petitions, which call upon the Most High in solemn supplication for the -soul in its agony,--the soul for which she prayed passed away, and was -done with the things of earth forever. - -A day or two followed, of that strange, hushed quietness, yet of much -coming and going,--of the sense of a suspension of ordinary life, which -prevails in a house where Death has for the time taken possession. The -living are generally impatient of this time, and shorten it as far as -possible, especially where no deep sense of real grief is felt. But -Mr. Singleton, in death as in life, was too important a person for -every due propriety not to be observed. There were arrangements to be -made, friends to be summoned, and details of funeral and burial to be -settled. These things required time; and when it was finally settled -that the funeral would take place in Scarborough, but the body would be -carried for burial to the home of the dead man, there was a sense of -relief in the minds of all concerned. - -Marion accompanied Mrs. Singleton to the funeral in the Episcopal -church, which had so much pleased her taste on her first arrival -in Scarborough. It was as pretty as ever; but how little correct -architecture, stained glass or rich organ tones could give life to the -mockery of death which is called a burial-service, and which contains -no reference to the individual dead person whose body lies--one wonders -why--before a so-called "altar," where no sacrifice is offered, from -which no blessing is given! Even the glorious promises of St. Paul, -which the preacher reads with studied effect, fall upon the ear like -something infinitely distant; the heart instinctively longs for one -word of personal application, one cry for mercy and pardon on behalf of -the poor soul that, in mute helplessness, can no longer cry for itself. -But one listens in vain. There is not even an allusion to that soul. -The general hope of immortality--which can be applied in any way that -suits the listener--having been set forth, a hymn is sung, and, save -for a few formal prayers at the grave, all is over. - -Perhaps it was because she had so little religious sentiment to supply -for herself what was lacking that, as Marion listened, she felt her -heart grow sick with pity and disgust. "What is the possible good of -this!" she exclaimed mentally, with indignation. "If no prayer is to -be said for the soul, no blessing given to the body, why is it brought -here? What meaning is there in such empty formalism? It is a mockery, -nothing less; and if one cannot have what the Catholics give, I, like -the materialists, who are the only logical Protestants, would have -nothing." - -After the service, which impressed at least one observer in this -manner, the body was at once taken away. Mr. Singleton, of course, -accompanied it, but his wife remained behind; and it was understood -that immediately on his return the will would be read. - -Eagerness on this score no doubt kept Mr. Singleton from the delay -with regard to his return in which he might else have indulged, being -a man who had a constitutional objection to haste. But for once he -accomplished a very quick journey. On the third day after the funeral -he returned, and the will was opened by the lawyer who had drawn it up -according to the dead man's last instructions. - -There was a strain of intense curiosity and anxiety regarding this will -in the minds of all concerned. It was by this time generally known -that, toward the last, Brian Earle had fallen hopelessly out of his -uncle's favor; but no one felt able to conjecture with any certainty -who would take his place in the will, although every one cherished -a secret hope that it might be himself. There were several of these -would-be heirs--cousins more or less removed--of the dead man; but Tom -Singleton was, in the absence of Earle, the nearest relative, being -the son of a half-brother, while Earle was the son of Mr. Singleton's -only sister. The former, with all his easy-going quietness, felt that -it would be an outrage if he were not the heir; although, knowing his -uncle better than any one else, he knew also that he should not be -surprised by whatever grim caprice the will revealed. - -And such a caprice it did reveal, to the amazement and rage of everyone -concerned. Mr. Singleton remembered with a legacy everyone whom it was -proper that he should remember--the largest of these legacies being -fifty thousand dollars to Tom Singleton,--and then he bequeathed the -remainder of his fortune to his "adopted daughter," Marion Lynde. - -The disappointed heirs looked at one another with expressions that -baffle description. What! half a million to a girl who had no claim -upon it whatever, whose relationship to the old man was of the most -vague and distant description! They could hardly believe that he had -really been guilty of anything so infamous. They would have felt it -less an injury if he had endowed a college or a hospital. - -But one reflection seemed to occur to all; for, after the expressive -pause which said more than any words, almost every voice spoke -simultaneously, "The will won't stand! His mind was weak when he made -it. It's evidently a case of undue influence." - -The lawyer shook his head. "No, gentlemen," he said; "don't make a -mistake. This will can not be broken. My client took care of that, and -I took care also. As for his mind being weak, Mr. Singleton here knows -that up to the day of his death his mind was as clear and vigorous as -it ever had been." - -Tom Singleton, thus directly appealed to, bent his head. He had not -been one of the speakers, and, but for the fact that he had grown very -pale, showed little sign of emotion. - -"And, foreseeing of course that this disposition of his fortune would -cause disappointment," the lawyer went on, "Mr. Singleton was careful -to explain to me why he selected Miss Lynde for his heir. It seems that -she was for a time engaged to Mr. Brian Earle, whose name occupied in a -preceding will exactly the place which hers does here. The engagement -was broken in a manner which caused Mr. Singleton to blame his nephew -exceedingly, and the young lady not at all. So, as he told me, he -determined that she should lose nothing. The fortune which would have -been hers had she married Earle--should be hers in any event. This was -what he intended; and your disappointment, gentlemen, may be less if -you will remember that Mr. Brian Earle is the only person whom this -bequest to Miss Lynde deprives of anything." - -But, naturally, this was not much comfort to the disappointed heirs. -Each one felt that _he_ should by right have taken Brian Earle's place, -and that a broken engagement hardly gave Marion Lynde a claim to the -fortune which had been bequeathed to her. There were many more angry -murmurs, and numerous threats of contesting the will; but the smile -with which the lawyer heard these was not very encouraging, nor yet his -calm assurance that they could find no better means of throwing away -the money which had been left to them. - -Finally they all dispersed, and Tom Singleton slowly took his way to -the house, where his wife and the fortunate heiress were awaiting -him. Never had he been called upon before to perform a duty from -which he shrank so greatly. He dreaded the violence of his wife's -disappointment, and he felt a repugnance to the task of informing Miss -Lynde of her inheritance. The lawyer had asked him to do so, and as one -of the executors of the will he could not refuse; but it was a task -which did not please him. If this girl, this stranger, had not come -into their lives, would not he be in Earle's vacated place? He could -not but feel that it was most probable. - -It would require a volume to do justice to the feelings which Mrs. -Singleton expressed when she heard the terrible news. She had not -only lost the fortune--_that_ might have been borne,--but it had -gone to Marion Lynde, the girl whom she had discovered and brought -to the notice of the infatuated old man who was dead! This was the -insupportable sting, and its effect was all that her husband had -feared. He had prepared himself for the storm, however; and he bore its -outburst with what philosophy he could until Mrs. Singleton declared -her intention of going to upbraid Marion with her great iniquity. Here -he firmly interposed. - -"You will do nothing of the kind," he said. "Miss Lynde is not to blame -at all, and you will only make yourself ridiculous by charging her -with offenses of which she is not guilty. If she has schemed for this, -she concealed the scheming so successfully that it is too late now to -attempt to prove it. There is nothing to be done but to make the best -of a bad matter, and bear ourselves with dignity. I beg that you will -not see her until you feel able to do this. As for me, I must see her -at once." - -And, in spite of his wife's protest, he did so. When a servant came -to Marion with the announcement that Mr. Singleton desired to see her -in the drawing-room, she went down without any thrill of excitement -whatever. It was as she had imagined, then: the old man had left her a -legacy. This was what she said to herself. And vaguely, half-formed in -her mind, were the words, "Perhaps ten thousand dollars." She had never -dreamed of more than this, and would not have thought of so much had -not Mr. Singleton been of a princely habit of giving. - -Was it wonderful, then, that the shock of hearing what she had -inherited stunned her for a time? She could only gaze at the speaker -with eyes dilated by an amazement that proved her innocence of any -schemes for or expectations of this end. "Mr. Singleton," she gasped, -"it is impossible! There must be some great mistake." - -Mr. Singleton faintly smiled. "There is no room for mistake, Miss -Lynde," he said. "My uncle has left his fortune to you." - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - - -It was at first almost impossible for Marion to realize that the desire -of her life was gratified in a manner so strange and so unexpected. -She seemed to be existing in a dream, which would presently dissolve -away after the manner of all dreams, and leave her in her old state of -poverty and longing. That Brian Earle had lost his fortune, and that -the old man now dead had not cared sufficiently for any of his other -heirs to leave it to them,--that this fortune was hers--hers absolutely -and alone,--was something that struck her as too wonderful, and, in a -certain sense, too awful, to be true. There flashed across her mind a -recollection of "being crushed beneath the weight of a granted prayer." -Was she to be crushed beneath the weight of this prayer of hers so -singularly granted? - -Certainly she felt herself in an isolation which was chilling to the -heart. The man she loved was gone--had parted from her in contempt; -and she felt sharply how much that contempt would be increased when he -heard that she possessed his inheritance. As for friends, where would -she turn to find them? For her uncle and his family she had never -cared; Helen was estranged--if not in heart, at least in fact; for -intercourse between them could not now be pleasant to either; and it -seemed a desecration of the name of friend to apply the term to Mrs. -Singleton. Yet it was to Mrs. Singleton, after all, that she had to -turn for social support and countenance at this crisis of her fortunes. -And it was the good sense and philosophy of Mr. Singleton which induced -his wife to see that she would gain nothing by following her declared -intention of having nothing more to do with the heiress. - -"People will only think that you are disappointed and envious," he -said; "and since the world never, under any circumstances, turns its -back on a rising sun, you will merely put yourself in a foolish and -awkward position. The thing to do is, as I have said before, to make -the best of a bad matter. And for us it might be a great deal worse. -Of course we have missed the fortune, but I don't realty think we ever -had a chance of it; and we are not paupers, you know. Now, it will be -a graceful thing for you to take up this girl. She will appreciate it, -I think, and it will prevent any undesirable gossip about her or about -us." - -"All that may be very true, Tom," Mrs. Singleton replied. "But I do not -see how I _can_ force myself to have anything more to do with her. I so -despise her duplicity!" - -"Duplicity is a thing to be despised," observed Mr. Singleton, quietly; -"but I am not sure that Miss Lynde has been guilty of it. Let us give -her the benefit of a doubt. If, as you believe, she schemed for this -result, she most certainly did not expect it. I never saw any one show -greater surprise than she did when she heard the news." - -"She is a consummate actress. She might have affected that." - -"Not even the most consummate actress could have affected what she -exhibited. Her surprise amounted to incredulity. But, whether you -believe this or not, believe that it will be best for you not to throw -her off. There is nothing to be gained by that, and there may be a good -deal to lose." - -This view of the matter, together with her husband's unusual -seriousness, impressed Mrs. Singleton so much that she finally -consented to form an alliance, for purposes of mutual convenience, -with Marion. The latter received her overtures with a certain sense -of gratitude. She knew that they were interested, but she also knew -that without Mrs. Singleton she would be placed in a very difficult -position--would, in fact, appear in the eyes of the world as an -adventuress who had secured a fortune at the expense of the rightful -heirs. The countenance of those heirs was, therefore, very essential to -her. - -But this hollow compact for mutual convenience--how different was -it from associations in which affection or sympathy forms the tie! -Marion had fancied herself made in a mould strong enough to disregard -such feelings, but she now found her mistake. Her heart ached for the -affections she had lost--for Brian's strong love, and Helen's gentle -tenderness. She had sacrificed both, and by sacrificing them won the -fortune for which she had longed; but already she began to realize that -she had lost in the exchange more than she had gained. Already the -shining gold which had dazzled her was transforming itself into the dry -and withered leaves of the fairy legend. - -Her plans were formed to leave Scarborough. The associations of the -place were hateful to her, and it was decided that she should go with -Mrs. Singleton to the home of the latter, and then form arrangements -for her mode of life. But, since she was still a minor, these -plans were subjected to her uncle's modifications, and his consent -was necessary for them. This caused a delay which detained her in -Scarborough for some time, and brought to her knowledge a fact which -was destined to influence her future. - -This was the fact that Rathborne in his threat of enmity had uttered -no idle words. A few days after the contents of the will had become -known, while public interest respecting it was at its height, he met -Tom Singleton and said a few significant words:-- - -"So Miss Lynde has won the fortune from you all! That is rather hard, -isn't it?" - -Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone knew that my uncle was -a man of caprices. His will was certain to be a surprise, in one way or -another; and for myself, I have no right to complain. He remembered me -handsomely." - -"And is there no intention of contesting the will on the part of the -heirs?" - -"I hardly think so. Brian Earle and myself are the people most nearly -concerned, and we do not think of it." - -"You are sure about Earle?" - -"Perfectly sure," said Mr. Singleton. "Why should a man go into a -lawsuit to gain what he might have had for a word?" - -"There might be several reasons," returned Rathborne. "I can imagine -one of great strength. But if you do not think of contesting the will, -another heir may come forward to do it." - -"No other heir would have a chance. If the will were set aside, Earle -and myself would inherit." - -"Not if the man's son should chance to be living." - -Singleton opened his eyes. "But the son is dead," he replied. - -"Is he?" said Rathborne, dryly. "Who knows it?--who can prove it? But, -of course, I spoke only of a probability." - -He moved away then, while his companion looked after him with rather a -blank and puzzled expression. "Now, what on earth can be known about -it?" he thought. "And what does he mean? Of course there never has been -any proof of George's death, that I know of; and if he _should_ be -living--Miss Lynde might look out for storms then. But nothing could -be more improbable. My uncle evidently did not think it a matter to be -even considered. _He_ must have had some certainty about it." - -Nevertheless, he mentioned to his wife what Rathborne had said, and -she with malicious intent repeated it to Marion. "It is the first -suggestion that has been made about George," she observed. "But if he -should chance to be living, I am afraid you would lose everything." - -"How could that be," said the young girl, "when he is not mentioned in -the will?" - -"Because, of course, he would contest it on the ground that his father -believed him dead when he made it, and also that a man has no right to -disinherit his son in favor of a stranger. I hope it may never come to -such a contest, for many disagreeable things would be said about you." - -"It would certainly never come to it, as far as I am concerned," -replied Marion, haughtily. "For if Mr. George Singleton appeared, I -should yield his inheritance to him without any contest at all." - -"Would you indeed?" asked Mrs. Singleton. She looked at her for a -moment with her head on one side, as if contemplating the possibility -of what it might mean for herself. "I don't think there is the least -danger that he will appear," she said presently; "and I had really -rather you had it than he. I always detested George." - -"Thanks for the implied compliment," said Marion, smiling faintly. - -She said no more on the subject, but, naturally enough, she thought -much. It was a new and startling suggestion, and seemed to derive added -force from the fact that Rathborne had made it. For she had never lost -the sense of his hostile influence--of the realization that she had -made an enemy of one who had the strength as well as the will to be -dangerous. And now she felt sure that if George Singleton were on the -earth this man would find him. "That is what he intends to do," she -said to herself; "and this is his way of letting me know it--of making -me understand that I hold my fortune on an uncertain tenure. Well, let -him do his worst. If I lose the fortune, nothing will be left me at -all; and that, no doubt, is what I deserve." - -This was a new conclusion for Marion, and showed how far she had -already traveled on the road of self-knowledge. Even now she began to -ask herself what there was which the money she had so eagerly desired -could purchase for her of enduring interest? Now that everything -was within her reach, she felt that she hardly cared to stretch out -her hands to grasp any object of which she had dreamed. Admiration, -pleasure, power,--all seemed to her like the toys which a sick child -regards with eyes of indifference. Was it the weakening of her heart or -the rousing of her soul which made them seem of so small account? She -did not ask herself; she only felt that Brian Earle's influence had for -a time lifted her into a region where she had breathed a higher air, -and gained a knowledge of ideals which made her own now seem false, -petty and unsatisfying. - -Would these ideals have attracted Marion had they been presented by -another person? That is difficult to say. Her nature had in it much -essential nobleness--Earle had been right in thinking it more warped -than really wrong,--and it might have responded in some degree to any -influence of the kind. But surely it is not without grave reason that -we are bidden to keep the heart with all diligence, since "out of it -are the issues of life." It had been necessary that Marion's heart -should be roused out of its cold indifference to all affection, before -she could grasp the meaning of the higher things of life--those things -which have their root and their end in eternity. - -It was one evening about this time that she chanced to be driving -late through the streets of Scarborough, and saw the Catholic church -open and several persons entering. A sudden impulse made her bid the -coachman stop. She was alone, having just left Mrs. Singleton at the -house of a friend; and she felt that before leaving Scarborough -finally--as it was her intention to do in a few days--she would like -to enter once more the sanctuary where she had felt herself drawn very -near to God. Since then the world had rushed in and overwhelmed her, -and she had no longer any intention of embracing the true faith. But -an attraction which could not be resisted drew her just now within the -threshold of the door to which Earle had last led her. - -She descended from her carriage, to the astonishment of a few loiterers -around the church gate, and in the rich twilight walked up the path -which led to the door. Music came from within, and as she pushed it -open a vision of celestial yet familiar brightness burst on her. The -altar was a mass of lights and flowers, and in the midst rose the -ostensorium on its golden throne. The priest, with his attendants, -knelt motionless before it, while from the organ-loft came the strains -of the "_O Salutaris Hostia_." Marion had been at the convent too long -not to know all that it meant. She knelt at once, as a Catholic might -have done; and indeed in her mind at that moment there was no sense of -doubt. From the uplifted Presence on the altar faith seemed suddenly -infused into her soul. Not only did all thought of questioning leave -her, but all memory of ever having questioned. She knelt like a child, -simply, humbly, involuntarily; and, with the same confidence as those -around her, breathed a petition for the things of which she had begun -to feel herself in need--for light on a path which was by no means -clear, and for some better guide than her own erring will. - -After Benediction she was one of the first to leave the church, with -a sense of peace which astonished her. "Why do I feel differently now -from what I did when I entered?" she said to herself as she drove -home in the soft dusk. "What power has touched me, and given me the -first repose of spirit that I have known in a long time? It is surely -strange, and impossible not to believe." - -But there it ended. Not yet had come the time when she would feel the -necessity of taking some practical step toward making this all-powerful -help her own; not yet had the proud spirit bent itself to acknowledging -its own inability to order its life. The very reason which not long -before had drawn her toward the Church--the fact that Earle belonged -to it--now repelled as strongly as it had attracted. The hour had not -yet struck when such earthly considerations would fall away before the -urgent demand of the soul, the need of the weak and the human for the -strong and the eternal. - - "The cedars must fall round us ere we see the light behind;" - -and not all of Marion's cedars had fallen yet. - -The next day a surprise, which was yet not altogether a surprise, -awaited her. She was quietly sitting in the room which had been -Mr. Singleton's--that small, pretty apartment behind the large -drawing-room, which still seemed full of the suggestion of his -presence,--when she heard a visitor ushered into the adjoining room, -and a minute later a servant appeared bringing her a card. She took it -and read the name of Paul Rathborne. - -It was a shock rather than an astonishment. She said to herself that -she had looked for this: she had known that he would come as the -bearer of ill news, if ill news were to be brought to her. For a moment -she remained silent looking at the bit of pasteboard which said so -much. Should she refuse to see him, should she deny him the pleasure -of triumphing over her, and force him to send through another channel -whatever news he brought? She was strongly tempted to this, but pride -in the first place--the pride of not wishing to let him imagine that -he had any power to move her--rejected the idea; and in the second -place she felt that she must know at once whatever he had to tell. -If she refused to see him, he would be capable of making her suffer -suspense for an indefinite length of time. Steadying her voice to quiet -indifference, therefore, she said to the servant: "Show Mr. Rathborne -in here." - -A minute later the curtains between the two rooms were drawn back, -and Rathborne entered. She rose and bowed slightly, looking more -princess-like than ever in her beauty and stateliness, and in the midst -of the luxury which surrounded her. No detail of her appearance or -her manner was lost upon the man who had come with his heart full of -bitterness toward her. And if an additional touch to this bitterness -had been needed, her haughtiness, and her air of calmly possessing a -place where she belonged, would have given it. The recollection of some -words of his was fresh in the minds of both as they looked at each -other. "I promise you that in the hour when your schemes are nearest -success, you will find them defeated by me." These had been his last -words to her. Was he come now to tell her that they were fulfilled? -This was the thought in her mind, but there was no sign of it in her -manner or her glance. She stood, composedly waiting for him to explain -the object of his visit; and it was he who had to speak first. - -"I have ventured to ask the honor of this interview, Miss Lynde," he -said--and, under its outward respect, she keenly felt the mockery of -his tone,--"in order to make a communication of importance to you. It -is true, I might have made it to your lawyer, but I thought it best -that I should be myself the bearer of such news to you." - -"I fully appreciate your motives," she replied, in her clear, -flute-like tones. "Pray spare yourself and me any apologies, and let me -know what possible news of importance can have fallen to you to bring -me." - -As she understood the underlying mockery in his voice, so he heard and -felt the scorn of hers. Her clear, brilliant glance said to him: "I -know that you have come here because you hope to humble me, but I shall -only show you how despicable I consider you." It stung him as she had -always had the faculty of stinging him, and roused his determination to -make his tidings as bitter to her as possible. - -"The news which I bring you," he said, "is most important to your -interest, since it is the intelligence that I am directed to bring suit -at once to set aside Mr. Singleton's will made in your favor, in order -that the estate may devolve to the natural heir." - -"Indeed!" she said, quietly, with admirable self-control. "And may I -beg to know who is the natural heir who proposes to enter into this -contest?" - -"An heir against whose claim you will find it impossible to fight," -he answered, with a ring of triumph in his voice;--"one who has been -supposed to be dead, but who has been roused, by the news that his -inheritance has been alienated from him, to prove that he is living. In -other words, my client is Mr. Singleton's only son, George Singleton." - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - - -It does not always follow that a thing is not a shock because one has -in a manner expected it. Marion suffered a severe shock when she found -her worst anticipations realized; for, although she had in a degree -anticipated it, knowing that Rathborne was not likely to have spoken -without some ground when he alluded to such a possibility, there had -still been the contrary assurance that Mr. Singleton had evidently -believed in his son's death, since there was not even an allusion to -him in the will. The intelligence just conveyed was, therefore, a -hard blow mercilessly struck; but she preserved her self-possession, -notwithstanding, in a remarkable manner. - -"This is a very extraordinary piece of news," she said. "I have been -under the impression that Mr. George Singleton was dead." - -Rathborne smiled. "Most people have been under that impression, -especially those who had very good reason for desiring that it should -be so," he answered. "But, so far from being dead, he has been living -in South America, and prospering fairly." - -"Living in South America, and yet he has already heard of his father's -death and the disposition of his father's property!--how has that -happened?" - -Despite himself, Paul Rathborne colored slightly, but his glance -met hers fully as he answered, "It has not happened by chance. Some -time ago a friend of mine who had been in South America mentioned -meeting a man there who, from his description, I felt sure must be Mr. -Singleton's missing son. The matter was then no interest or concern -of mine; for it was to be supposed that the father and son knew their -own affairs best. So I paid no attention to it. But a short time ago -it began to occur to me that it was rather hard that, while the son -was still living, strangers should be fighting for his inheritance. -Therefore I wrote to my friend (who had returned to South America) to -let Singleton know the state of affairs here. The latter immediately -wrote to me, saying that he would return to his father as soon as -possible, and meanwhile asking me to inform Mr. Singleton of his (the -son's) existence and well-being. This letter reached me just at the -time of Mr. Singleton's death. I immediately communicated this fact to -Mr. George Singleton, as also the facts with regard to the estate; and -I have just heard from him, authorizing me to contest the will at once." - -There was a brief pause, during which Marion asked herself what was her -best course of action; and out of the confusion into which her mind was -thrown, she could grasp only one clear idea--that she must be careful -how she committed herself to this man, who had come with the desire to -injure and triumph over her. Consequently, when she spoke it was to -say, quite calmly:-- - -"I think that you have made a mistake in coming to me with this story -instead of going to my lawyer. I understand very well _why_ you have -come; but now that you have accomplished the end you had in view, I beg -to refer you to him. For, of course, in a matter so important as this I -shall not think of acting without advice." - -"I am acquainted with your prudence," he said, with the mockery of his -tone somewhat more pronounced; "and am not, therefore, surprised to -find you so cautious. But I think it only right to warn you that your -caution will avail very little. No will which ignores a son in favor of -an absolute stranger can possibly stand." - -"That is a point which I do not care to discuss with you," she replied. -"But you will allow me to inquire if Mr. Singleton is in this country -or on his way here?" - -"Not yet. He will come if it is necessary; but I am at present -authorized to act for him." - -"You seem to have inspired him with a remarkable degree of confidence, -considering that you are an entire stranger to him." - -It was merely a chance shot, but something in the expression of -Rathborne's face gave her an idea like a flash of lightning. - -"It is to be supposed," she went on before he could speak, "that you -are convinced of the identity of this stranger with Mr. Singleton's -son?" - -"Do you imagine that if I were not--" - -"I imagine nothing," she interposed; "and as a lawyer you can not need -a reminder from me that it will be necessary for this person whom you -represent, fully to prove his identity with the son whom Mr. Singleton -believed to be dead." - -It was perfectly true, and Rathborne knew it; but he was none the less -astonished that she should have so clearly and immediately perceived it. - -"I always knew that she was shrewd as the devil," he said to himself, -while he observed aloud:-- - -"Do not flatter yourself with any hope that it is an impostor who is -about to claim the fortune you have inherited. Nothing can be more -certain than that it is Mr. Singleton himself. To attempt to deny his -identity will only be to make yourself ridiculous, and to damage your -cause more than the plain facts have damaged it already. Your lawyer, I -am sure, will advise you better." - -"Let me again refer you to that lawyer, if this is all you have to say -to me," she answered, rising from her seat. - -He rose also; and as they stood for a moment face to face, it proved -impossible for him to restrain some words which rose to his lips, -brought there in double bitterness by the sight of her proud, calm -countenance. - -"I shall go to your lawyer," he said, "and I shall not rest until my -client has all his rights--the rights of which he would not have heard -for many a day but for me. When he is in full possession of them, I -will ask you to be good enough to remember a pledge that I gave you -once, and which I shall then have fully redeemed. I always endeavor to -pay my debts; and, as you are well aware, I owe you a very heavy debt -at present. I hope to repay it very soon--with interest." - -"I am well aware that you are a malicious and a dishonorable man," she -replied, calmly. "Because your treachery with regard to Helen recoiled -on yourself, you have determined to injure me. Do your worst. Nothing -that you could do would make you more despicable in my eyes than you -are at present. This is all that need be said between us. Will you go -now, or shall I be forced to leave you?" - -"I shall go at once," he answered; "but you will permit me to offer you -a little parting advice. Enjoy as much as possible the fortune which -you hold now, for your possession of it will be very short." - -With this last sting he went out from her presence; and she, -sinking into Mr. Singleton's deep chair, clasped her hands over her -painfully-beating heart, and looked with troubled eyes over the soft -landscape before her, of which she hardly perceived a feature. - -And so she was, after all, to lose the fortune for which she had -sacrificed everything else! It had by no means brought her the -satisfaction or happiness she had imagined, but it was all that -remained to her--the one good which she still grasped out of the wreck -she had already made of her life, and her life's best hopes. To lose -it now, to sink back again into poverty and dependence after one brief -taste of power and independence, that would be a bitter retribution -for the choice she had made when she sent Brian Earle away,--a bitter -retribution for the selfish vanity which had made Rathborne her enemy. -She shuddered a little at the recollection of that enmity. Bravely -as she had borne herself before him, it was a dismaying thought that -such a power and such a will to injure menaced her. She thought of -her proud self-confidence when from the quiet convent she had stepped -into the world: her belief in her own ability to mould life, events, -and people to her wishes. And now with what absolute failure she was -threatened!--with what complete and hopeless loss of all that she -desired! - -The next day her lawyer came with a grave face, and greeted her with an -air which was not lost upon her. "He thinks that it is all over with -me!" she said to herself; but, though her heart sank a little lower at -this proof of the weakness of her cause, she smiled on him brightly and -bravely enough. - -"I suppose," she began, "that you have seen Mr. Rathborne, who was -so kind as to pay me a visit yesterday in order to give me some -interesting intelligence?" - -"Yes, I have seen Mr. Rathborne," he answered; "and the news he brought -me was very unexpected and very serious." - -"What do you think of it?" she asked. - -The lawyer looked at her with surprise. The coolness of her tone and -the composure of her manner seemed to indicate that she by no means -appreciated the gravity of the danger which threatened her. - -"I think," he replied, "that such a contest will be ruinous to you. No -court will be likely to sustain a will which entirely disinherits a -man's own son. Candidly, my advice to you is to compromise at once." - -Marion did not say, "Advice should be asked before it is offered," but -her curling lip said so for her, and so did the manner in which she -ignored his suggestion. - -"Before taking up a contest over the will," she said, "would it not be -well to be quite sure that the person who proposes to contest it is -indeed Mr. Singleton's son?" - -Again the lawyer stared at her. Was it possible that he had not thought -of this? - -"Of course," he replied, "that is most essential; but it is very easily -done. Mr. George Singleton has but to show himself. There are numbers -of people who will recognize him." - -"Why does he not show himself, then? Why is he content with merely -writing to Mr. Rathborne instead of coming to look after his -inheritance himself?" - -"Because it is all that is essential at present--to give us warning and -take the necessary legal steps. He will, of course, appear later." - -"Let us demand that he appear at once," she said, with a decision of -tone and manner which more than astonished the lawyer. "I, for one, -distrust Mr. Rathborne utterly, and refuse most positively to transact -any business with him. If you can get the address of this reputed Mr. -Singleton, I beg that you will write to him, and say that we decline -to recognize his claim in any manner whatever until he shows himself -and establishes his identity. Then there will be time enough to talk of -contest or compromise. Am I not right in this?" - -"Perfectly right," responded the stupefied man of business. Never (as -he afterward affirmed) had he been so surprised as by these energetic -instructions. He had come himself prepared to instruct; to find perhaps -unreasoning opposition, or hysterical complaining, which it would be -necessary to quiet and bring to some practical view of the case. But to -be met instead with this cool self-possession, these clear ideas and -precise directions, was little less than a shock to him. His own ideas -seemed to desert him as he sat and stared at the beautiful, resolved -face which confronted him. - -"Certainly you are right," he said again, after a moment. "The identity -of the claimant is the first thing to be established; but--I confess -that I am a little surprised by your thinking of this point. Why should -it occur to you to doubt whether the person claiming to be Mr. George -Singleton is really himself?" - -"Because," she answered, "in the first place I am sure (and you, no -doubt, are sure also) that his father believed him dead, else certainly -he would not have omitted his name entirely from his will. And he must -have had some reason for this belief. Again, as I have already told -you, I distrust Mr. Rathborne entirety. He would be perfectly capable -of bringing forth a false claimant." - -"My dear young lady, that is a very serious, a very shocking charge. -Mr. Rathborne is a--well, a sharp practitioner, perhaps; but I have no -reason to suspect that he would be guilty of a criminal act. Indeed I -have every reason to believe that he would _not_." - -"Your knowledge of Mr. Rathborne differs from mine, then," said Marion, -coldly. "I am certain that he would be guilty of any act which would -serve his purposes. And he has a motive for this which renders distrust -necessary. Therefore, I insist upon the appearance of Mr. Singleton and -the establishment of his identity before I will take any step whatever -toward noticing his claim." - -"It is only a measure of precaution," said the lawyer, "and very well -thought of. You have an uncommonly clear head for business for a young -lady. I will, then, write at once to George Singleton; but I do not -advise you to build any hope on the probability of his proving a false -claimant. This conduct is altogether characteristic of him; and I, for -one, had always a suspicion that he was not dead." - -"His father, however, must have had reason for believing him so." - -"Perhaps--and perhaps not. Mr. Singleton was a man of the strongest -passions, and his son had outraged him in every particular. When, after -a long course of disregarding and defying his father's wishes, the -young man left home with the avowed intention of never returning, I -know that Mr. Singleton declared that he should be as one dead to him. -He only kept his word when he made his will." - -"But do you not think that in such a case as that he would have -mentioned him, if only to declare that he disinherited him for good -cause?" - -"It was not necessary, and he might not have desired to do so. He was a -singular man and a very reticent one. Even I, who knew him so long and -so well, have no idea whether he had any knowledge of his son's fate or -not. And this fact makes me believe that it is more than likely that -George Singleton is alive and ready to claim his inheritance." - -"Let him come and do it, then," said Marion. "That is all." - -And in this decision she was sustained by those who as well as herself -were interested in upholding the will. Mr. Tom Singleton shook his -head, and agreed with the lawyer that such a course of conduct was -very characteristic of George Singleton; but he also declared that it -would be folly to run any risk of playing into the hands of a false -claimant. "And when a man has disappeared for ten or fifteen years from -the sight and knowledge of everyone who knew him, there is reason to -fear that, with a fortune at stake, he might be personated by some -one else," he said. "Such things have happened time and again. You -are quite right to insist that he shall show himself. If he is George -Singleton I shall know him in half a minute, and then we can decide -what to do." - -"It will prove to be George Singleton, I am sure," said his wife. "He -was always a malicious wretch, don't you know? And this is just like -him. But the puzzle to me is, how did he find out how things were in so -short a time?" - -"He had a self-constituted informant here," said Marion. "Mr. Rathborne -took pains to discover his whereabouts, and to let him know the news of -his father's death and the contents of his father's will, as soon as -possible." - -"Mr. Rathborne--oh, I understand!" said the lady. "Dear me, how many -malicious people there are in the world! And this is how he revenges -himself for your little flirtation with him, and for the loss of your -cousin's fortune! Well, my dear, I must say that you are likely to pay -heavily for what could not have been a _very_ great amusement." - -Hot tears of mortification suddenly gathered in Marion's eyes. Surely -this was humiliation, to see her conduct as it looked in the eyes -of this shallow woman, and to be pitied (conscious that in the pity -there was a strain of exultation) for the downfall that awaited her -from Rathborne's revenge. If Helen knew, she might hold herself well -avenged; but, then, in Helen's gentle soul there was no room for any -revengeful sentiment. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - - -It was soon apparent that no one except Marion herself had any doubt -but that George Singleton was alive, and that it was himself and no -impostor, who was claiming his inheritance. "The whole thing is so -exactly like him!" said Mrs. Singleton. "If it were not malicious, it -would not be characteristic of George. He wants to give as much trouble -and disappoint as many people as possible." - -"He must possess an amiable and attractive character," said Marion, -faintly smiling. But as she smiled she said to herself that it was very -evident the arrangement she had entered into with Mrs. Singleton could -not stand. If the latter believed that it was only a question of time -till Mr. Singleton's son should appear, what further need was there for -her to conciliate and endure the girl who would soon have no power to -return her good offices? Instinctively Marion knew that she was asking -herself this question, and that it was best it should be answered at -once. - -"I have been thinking," she observed, aloud, "that since there seems so -much doubt about the result of this matter, it will not be well for me -to make any change in my life at present. Our arrangements had better -be deferred indefinitely; and meanwhile I will stay here until Mr. -Singleton arrives." - -Although Mrs. Singleton possessed considerable power of self-control, -she could not prevent her face from showing the relief she felt at -these words. - -"I suppose it will really be best," she said. "It would be very awkward -for us, as well as for you, if we took up your cause, and, as it were, -identified ourselves with it, and then--" - -"And then I relapsed back into my original insignificance," said -Marion. "Yes, I perceive. And, believe me, I have no desire to sail for -a time under false colors, or receive any attention which would be paid -only to Mr. Singleton's heiress. Moreover, if the business ends as you -evidently expect, I should have no power to return the obligation under -which you would have placed me. We will, therefore, say no more about -our plans, and I will quietly remain here." - -"But you can not remain alone, and I _must_ get back home--" - -"Do not let me detain you a day," said Marion, haughtily. "I am not -rich in friends, but I can find some one to stay with me, so long as I -need a companion; and it is only a question of money." - -"Oh! yes, mere companions can be found in sufficient number--people -who will be delighted to come. But you ought to have some social -protection, some proper chaperon--" - -"If all were settled as we thought, that would be necessary," Marion -interposed; "but since I may, very likely, soon be deprived of the -consequence that Mr. Singleton's money gives me, and since social -protection and proper chaperonage are altogether superfluous for a girl -without fortune, I need not trouble myself about them in this short -interval of waiting." - -Mrs. Singleton said no more, but she confided to her husband her -opinion that Marion had given up all hope of being able to retain the -fortune. "And it has made her dreadfully bitter," she added. "You know -she always had a very cynical way of talking for such a young girl, but -now that is more pronounced than ever. Disappointment is going very -hard with her. I am almost sorry for her, although, of course, she has -no right to the money at all." - -"She has the right that its owner chose to give it to her," said -philosophical Mr. Singleton. - -But, although Marion put a bold front on the matter to Mrs. Singleton, -her heart really sank at the desolateness of her position. So long as -the fortune was still hers, she could buy a companion, as she could -buy anything else; but she saw in the eyes of everyone around her the -settled conviction that the fortune would be no longer hers. And then? - -Meantime, however, it was necessary to make some arrangement, since -Mrs. Singleton was eager to be gone; and, turning over in her mind -the list of her few acquaintances in Scarborough--for friends she had -none,--Marion was asking herself rather blankly to which one she could -appeal for advice and assistance in her dilemma, when a servant entered -with the announcement that a lady desired to see her. - -"A lady!" she repeated. "Who is she? Did she give no name or card?" - -The servant replied that the lady had given neither, but that, in his -opinion, she was a genuine visitor--not an agent for patent soap or -anything else of the kind. - -"I suppose I had better see her," said Marion, reluctantly; "but she -can not be a person of any importance, or she would have sent her name." - -She went down stairs, slowly, indifferently, with a sense of mental -lassitude altogether new to her, entered the drawing-room, and found -herself face to face with Helen. She uttered a cry as the sweet, -affectionate face she knew so well turned toward her, and the next -moment they were in each other's arms. - -"O Marion! I am so glad that you are glad to see me!" were Helen's -first words. "I was afraid that you might not be." - -"Afraid that I might not be glad to see _you_!" said Marion. "How could -that be?--what reason could I have? But, O Helen, dear Helen! how good -it is of you to be glad to see _me_!" - -"I know no reason why I should not be," replied Helen. "But I feared -that there might be some disagreeable recollection--something to -make you shrink from seeing me; so I thought I would spare you the -shrinking--I would let you have the shock at once. But it is no shock, -after all. The moment I saw your eyes, I knew you were glad." - -"Oh! my dear, how kind you are!" cried Marion. "Glad! What should I be -made of if I were not glad to see you--the most generous heart in all -the world! But when did you come back to Scarborough?" - -"Last night; and I would not write or let you know, because I wanted to -see you myself, without any warning. And so, Marion, your great desire -is accomplished--you have become rich since I went away!" - -"And am on the point of becoming poor again," said Marion, with a -smile. "Have you not heard that?" - -"No: I have heard nothing--but how can that be?--how can you become -poor again, unless you lose Mr. Singleton's fortune?" - -"That is just what is going to occur--at least everyone thinks so. It -is said that Mr. Singleton's son is alive, and that if he chooses to -contest the will, it can not stand." - -"O Marion! how sorry I am!"--the eloquent eyes said so indeed.--"To -think that you should have obtained what you wanted so much, only to -lose it at once! That is worse than if you had never possessed it." - -"And do you see no retribution in it, Helen?" asked Marion, very -gravely. "Did not you, too, want something very much--the happiness -that had been promised you all your life,--and did you not lose it -through my fault? Believe me, I have thought of this; and, thinking of -it, I can make no complaint." - -"I am sorry," said Helen, while a shade fell over her face, "that you -should speak again of _that_. I do not look at it quite as you do. -Happiness ought not to be our end in life.--I am not very wise, but I -know that, because I have faith to tell me so. No doubt I thought of it -too much; but even when I felt most about losing it, I was sure that -God must know best, and I did not really desire anything which was not -according to His will. How could one be so foolish as to do that? For -it certainly would not be happiness if it did not have God's blessing -on it." - -"O Helen! Helen!" exclaimed Marion. It was a cry of mingled wonder and -self-scorn. Somehow the simple words touched her more than the most -eloquent appeal of any preacher could have done. For it was Helen who -spoke,--Helen, who had just learned her wisdom in the hard school of -practical experience, and who spoke thus to the person against whom -her heart might have been most bitter. "My dear," she went on after -a minute, "you are so good that you make me ashamed. I have learned -lately--yes, even I--what you lost, and how much you must have suffered -in the loss. It was through my own fault and by my own choice that I -lost my happiness; but you were blameless as an angel, and yet you talk -like an angel about it--" - -"No, no," said Helen, quickly; "only like the most ordinary Catholic. -And that not without a struggle, Marion. Don't fancy me better than I -am." - -"I don't fancy: I know you to be like something angelic compared to -me," returned Marion, with a sigh. "Do you think that I ever asked -myself anything about the will of God? I never even thought of Him in -connection with my desires." - -"O Marion!" - -"It is true. Don't expect me to say anything else; for, with all my -faults, I was never a hypocrite, you know. I thought nothing of Him, -I asked nothing of Him, and now I have nothing to fall back upon. My -happiness, like yours, is gone--with the difference that _I_ was not -worthy of it, whereas you were saved from a man who was not worthy -of _you_. And now the money for which I was ready to do anything and -sacrifice anything is in jeopardy, and no doubt will soon be gone." - -"Has it brought you satisfaction since you have had it, Marion?" - -"Do not ask me!" she said, sharply. "What is there in the world that -does bring satisfaction? But when I give it up, I shall have nothing, -absolutely nothing, left." - -"You will have God's providence," answered Helen, gently. "Trust -a little to that; and tell me something--all if you will--about -yourself,--about what has happened since we parted, and what your plans -for the future are." - -In past time, though Marion had always loved Helen, she had rather -despised her as a counselor; but now she felt it a relief beyond the -power of words to express, to open her heart, to tell her difficulties, -even to ask advice from one of whose affection and interest she was so -secure. For had she not lately learned how weary life can be when it -holds not a single friend, not one heart on which it is possible to -rely for disinterested aid or counsel? She told the story of her brief -engagement to Brian Earle, and did not resent the condemnation which -she read in Helen's eyes. Then a harder task was before her--to speak -of Rathborne's part in the appearance of George Singleton. She touched -on this as lightly as possible, but Helen quickly seized the fact. - -"And so it was Paul who found him!" she said. "I am sorry for -that,--sorry, I mean, that he should have taken such a part in what did -not concern him, from the motive which I fear actuated him." - -"He took pains to leave me in no doubt whatever about his motive," -observed Marion. "I have seen him only once, and then I bade him do his -worst--produce his client without loss of time. When he is produced, -if he is properly identified, my dream of riches will be over; for I -shall give up the estate without a contest. But I will not give it -up until I am certain that I shall not be resigning it to a false -claimant." - -"You do not think that Paul Rathborne would be guilty of fraud?" said -Helen quickly, in a pained tone; for the loyal heart was slow to resign -any one for whom it had ever cherished an affection or a trust. - -"You forget," said Marion, waiving the question whether or not she -believed Rathborne capable of fraud, "that this man is in South -America, and no one here has seen him. Mr. Rathborne has only -communicated with him by letters. Now, what would be easier than for -some unscrupulous man to write in George Singleton's name, if the -latter were dead? Such things are of common occurrence. But it would be -difficult to personate him so as to deceive the many people who have -known him; and that is why I will take no step, nor even consider the -matter, until _he has been produced_." - -"I suppose that is best," answered Helen. "And meanwhile what are you -going to do?" - -"I am going to stay here, with what patience I may. How I am to live -alone, I do not exactly see--for Mrs. Singleton is going away; but now -that I have you again, I have taken heart. You will recommend some one -to stay with me." - -"I will do better than that: I will take you home with me." - -"Oh, no!" said Marion, shrinking a little; "that can not be. It is -like you, dear Helen, to propose it; but I do not think my aunt would -like--stop! I know she would be kind, and try not to show what she -felt; but I should be aware of it--aware that she has no respect for me -in her heart, and I should be more ill at ease there than here. This -is my home for the present; it may not be so long, and I may never -have another. So let me keep it while I may. Find me some good, quiet -woman--you know everyone in Scarborough--to stay with me; and come -yourself whenever you can, and I shall be content." - -"There will be no difficulty in finding such a person as you want," -said Helen. "But I think my plan is best." - -Marion shook her head. "No," she insisted. "I abused your hospitality -once. I can never forget that; and I do not think that, kind and good -as she is, my aunt will ever forget it; so do not let us talk of my -going to you. Some day, perhaps, if I have no other refuge in the -world, I may come and ask you for a shelter, but not now." - -She was immovable in this, even when Mrs. Dalton seconded Helen's -invitation; and so they did what she asked--found a pleasant, quiet, -elderly lady to stay with her; and let her have her own way. - -It was a strange time, the period of waiting which followed--a kind of -interlude, a breathing space, as it were, between the rush of events -which had reached this conclusion, and other events which were to -follow and change life yet again, in what degree no one could say. It -seemed to Marion that she could hardly be said to live during these -weeks. She merely existed--in a state partly of expectation, partly -of that lassitude which follows a high degree of mental as well as -physical tension. She had passed rapidly through many experiences, many -intense emotions; and now, menaced by others of which she could not see -the end, she suddenly sank down to rest, like a soldier on the field of -battle. - -She had but two sources of pleasure during this time: one was Helen's -companionship, which she had never before valued or appreciated; the -other, the services of the Catholic church. The plain little chapel, -which had at first repelled her, began to seem to her like a true home -of the soul; religious influences sank more and more deeply into her -heart; and dimly, as new ideas shape and present themselves, there -began to dawn on her the meaning of Helen's simple words. "It certainly -would not be happiness if it did not have God's blessing on it," Helen -had said. Was it because no blessing of God had been on _her_ happiness -that, in every form, it had so quickly eluded her grasp? She asked -herself this question, and when a soul has once asked it the answer is -not long in coming. But whether or not it will be heeded when it comes, -is too often a matter of doubt. Impressions pass quickly, the sway of -the world is hard to break, and who can tell how far the poor soul may -be swept into storm and darkness before it is brought safe into port at -last? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - - -The period of waiting ended very abruptly one day. It was by this time -soft, Indian-summer weather; and Marion was seated in the garden with -Helen one afternoon, mellow sunshine and brilliant masses of flowers -all around them, when a servant appeared with the intelligence that Mr. -Singleton was in the house and wished to see her. - -"Mr. Singleton!" she repeated, a little startled. "What Mr. Singleton?" - -"Mr. Tom, ma'am," repeated the servant, who had been accustomed to -distinguish him in this manner during the life of the elder Mr. -Singleton. - -"Oh!" she said. And then she turned to Helen with a faint smile. "I -don't know whether I am relieved or disappointed," she observed. "I -thought it was the other." - -"But the other would hardly be likely to come without warning--and -alone," returned Helen. - -"That is very true. But I wonder what this Mr. Singleton can want--if -he has any news?" - -"You can only find out by going to see," said Helen. - -"Yes," assented Marion. She rose as she spoke, and made a few steps -toward the house, then paused and looked back like one who is taking a -farewell. "The crisis must be at hand," she said. "I feel as if I were -on the verge of a great change. When I see you again, Helen, I may be -dispossessed of all my riches." - -"Don't talk nonsense!" said Helen, in a matter-of-fact way. "How can -you be dispossessed in so short a time?" - -The other laughed. "'If 'twere done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it -were done quickly,'" she said, and so went on toward the house. - -Mr. Singleton, who was awaiting her in the drawing-room, came forward -and shook hands very cordially. They had always been good friends, -and he had a very kind feeling toward the beautiful and comparatively -friendless girl. This kindness had now an emphasis, which she -perceived, together with something of compassion. She looked at him and -smiled. - -"Has the true heir appeared?" she asked; "and have you come to warn me -to prepare for abdication?" - -"How shrewd you are!" he said. But, in truth, he was much relieved -that she was shrewd enough to divine the object of his visit,--a visit -which it had required a considerable effort on his part to undertake. -"The true heir--if you consider him so--_has_ appeared; but there is no -question of abdication for you. He will be very glad if you consent to -compromise, and so save him a contest over the will." - -She sat down in a chair conveniently near, looking a little pale. -Notwithstanding her question, she had not really anticipated such -positive assurance at once; and recognizing this, Mr. Singleton -regretted having been so abrupt. - -"I thought you expected it," he said; "but I see that you were not -quite prepared. I am sorry--" - -She put up her hand with a gesture which stopped his words. "There is -nothing for which to be sorry," she said. "Of course I expected it, -but perhaps not so immediately or so positively. But I don't mean to -be foolish: I intend to be quite cool and business-like. Mr. George -Singleton has arrived, then. Have _you_ recognized him?" - -"Perfectly. He has changed very little, considering all things, and -there can be no question of his identity." - -"Are the other members of the family, and friends of the family, as -positive as yourself?" - -"Yes: no one has a doubt but that it is George. In fact, no one could -have a doubt who had ever known him. He was twenty years old when he -went away, and of a very marked personal appearance. The change of -sixteen years is by no means so great as might be imagined. Appearance, -manner, habits--all prove that he is George himself. Indeed I must be -quite frank and tell you that there is not even a peg on which to hang -a doubt of his identity." - -She looked at him for a moment in silence, her brow drawn together -by the earnestness with which she seemed trying to read his face. At -length she said, slowly: "I must trust your opinion; I have no one else -to trust. And I do not think you would deceive me." - -"I certainly would not," he answered, gravely. "Why should I? Putting -honor aside, I have nothing to gain by espousing George Singleton's -cause. As a matter of fact, I do not espouse it at all. I merely come -to you as a friend, and tell you that he is certainly the man he -claims to be. And, under these circumstances, I think your best plan -will be to compromise with him as speedily as possible." - -"Of that there is no question in my mind," she said, with her old air -of pride. "If I could, I would not retain the fortune of a man whose -son is living. Tell Mr. George Singleton that I will turn over his -father's estate to him as soon as may be." - -"But that," said Mr. Singleton, with energy, "can not be allowed. As -one of the executors of the will, I should protest against it. Whether -my uncle believed in the death of his son or not, we can not know, -neither can we know how he would have acted if he had certainly been -aware of his existence. All that we have to deal with is the simple -fact that he left his fortune to you without even mentioning his son's -name; and this being so, it is not demanded of you--it is neither just -nor right--that you should turn it all over to him." - -"But he is the natural and rightful heir to it, and no one shall ever -say of me that I grasped or held what rightfully belonged to another." - -"My dear young lady, you said a moment ago that you intended to be -quite cool and business-like in discussing this matter. Allow me, -then, to put it before you in its business-like aspect. You are at the -present time the lawful possessor of my uncle's fortune by his direct -bequest, and unless the courts set aside his will you must remain so. -The issue of an attempt to set aside the will is, of course, uncertain; -and the contest would be long, troublesome and costly to all concerned. -Recognizing these facts, George Singleton says that he is willing to -agree on a liberal basis of compromise. And, since my uncle certainly -wished you to have _all_ his fortune why should you refuse to retain a -part of it?" - -"I have already told you, because in justice it belongs to his son; and -why should I keep a part any more than the whole of what is not justly -mine?" - -Mr. Singleton had an air of saying to himself, "Heaven grant me -patience!" but, possessing a good deal of that quality, he said aloud: -"How in the name of common-sense can that be held to belong to George -Singleton which has been given to you? Honestly, if you divide with him -it is as much as you can be expected to do." - -"It is something I should despise myself for doing," she said, with a -sudden flush of color in her face. "You are very kind, Mr. Singleton, -and I really believe that you are considering my interest in this -matter. But you forget the position I occupy--that of an interloper who -has come in to take a fortune away from its natural heirs, and who, -no doubt, is held to have schemed to that end. _You_ know better than -that, I am sure; but the world does not know better, and Mr. George -Singleton does not know better. Now, I shall be glad to prove that, -although I value wealth and desire wealth--why should I deny it?--I -would not acquire it at the cost of my self-respect. Since you say Mr. -Singleton's son is certainly living, I do not feel that I have any -right to keep his fortune any longer than I can put it out of my hands. -Pray be good enough to tell him so." - -"My dear Miss Lynde, I can not agree to tell him anything of the kind. -You must positively take time for consideration and advice." - -She shook her head. "I do not need time, and I shall certainly not seek -advice. I have already made up my mind what to do. Can you imagine -that I have not considered this in the weeks that I have been waiting? -If you decline to give my message to Mr. Singleton, I shall have to -communicate with him directly myself." - -"It would be best that you should communicate with him directly, if you -could by that means be brought to look at the matter in a reasonable -light, and see that there is no possible cause why it should not be -arranged on the basis of a liberal compromise. Half a million is surely -enough to divide." - -She put out her hands, as if to push the proposal from her. "I will not -hear of it," she said. "I will not seem to grasp money which is not -mine. Do not argue the point further, Mr. Singleton. I appreciate your -kindness, but I can not yield." - -"Well," he said reluctantly, "I am sorry for it. Believe me you are -making a great mistake, and one which, in the nature of things, you -must regret as time goes on. We are not young and impulsive forever, -and some day you will say, 'I had a right to my share of that fortune, -and I was wrong to give it up.'" - -"It may be," she answered; "but I can not keep it now--I can not! Where -is Mr. George Singleton?--where can I address him, if you will not take -my message to him? It is impossible for me to address him through his -lawyer." - -"He will have no use for a lawyer if you persevere in your intention," -said Mr. Singleton, shrugging his shoulders. "As for his address, he -is here in Scarborough, and quite ready to wait upon you at your -convenience, if you will receive him." - -She started. This was coming a little closer than she anticipated. And -yet, she asked herself, why not? "'Twere well it were done quickly," -and it seemed likely now to be done quickly enough. After a moment -she said, steadily: "There is no reason why I should not receive him -whenever he likes to come, since you assure me that he is really the -man he claims to be." - -"Of that there can be no doubt." - -"Then let him come--the sooner the better. But do not let him bring Mr. -Rathborne with him. That person I cannot receive." - -"I will come with him myself," said Mr. Singleton. "I should not have -thought of doing otherwise." - -She held out her hand to him with a grateful gesture. "You are very -good to me--very kind," she said. "I shall never forget it." - -"I wish you would let me be of some use to you, by taking my advice," -he answered. - -But when he went away it was with the reflection that women are surely -obstinate creatures; and, however charming they may be, they are, as -a rule, quite devoid of reason. Marion had proved immovable in her -resolution, as also in her determination not to take advice on it. -Once fully assured that the man purporting to be Mr. Singleton's son -was really so, her mind was made up what to do. She went back into the -garden like one moving in a dream, and told Helen the news. - -"The fairy tale is over," she said; "my fairy fortune is about to slip -away from me. Am I sorry? I think I am more apathetic just now than -either glad or sorry. It has not brought me one day of happiness, but -I know the world well enough to be aware that it is better to be rich -and unhappy than poor and unhappy. Poverty aggravates every other evil; -and yet I am not grieved to have the opportunity to prove that I am not -so mercenary as--some people doubtless believe me. Brian Earle will not -think that I have schemed for his inheritance when he learns that I -have voluntarily given it up to his cousin." - -Helen looked up with a keenness of perception which was rather -unusual in her soft eyes. "I think," she said, "that _that_ is the -consideration which moves you chiefly. But is it altogether a right -consideration? Mr. Earle does not injure you by believing what is -untrue of you, but you will injure yourself by giving up everything, -and surely you are not bound to do so. If Mr. Singleton had not desired -you to have part at least of his fortune, he would never have left you -all of it." - -"One would think you had heard the arguments of the gentleman who has -just gone away," said Marion, smiling. "Dear Helen, don't make me go -over it all again. I fear that it is more pride than conscience which -makes me feel that I must resign the fortune. But I can never recover -my own self-respect until I have done so. And my own self-respect is -not another name for the respect of Brian Earle. If I were conscious -of being right I might not care that he thought ill of me; but my own -judgment echoes his. I have been willing to barter everything of value -in life for money, and now it is right enough that the money should -be taken from me. I feel as if by giving it up altogether I might -recover, not what I have lost--I do not dream of that,--but the right -to hope for some form of happiness again." - -Helen gravely shook her head. "You talk like a pagan," she said. "All -this sounds like propitiating gods, and sacrificing to fate, and things -of that kind. The fact is, you are trusting entirely to your own -judgment in the matter, and that is strange; for there seems to me a -point of conscience involved. Either you have a right to a part of this -fortune, or you have not. If you have, why should you give it away to -a man who does not ask it and does not need it? While if you have not -a right, there would be no more to be said about it; you would have -the consciousness of some firm ground under your feet, and no reason -hereafter for regret." - -"Helen, you astonish me!" said Marion, who certainly looked astonished -at this unexpected view of the case. "How on earth did you contrive to -get at the kernel of the thing in that manner?" - -"Why, there is nothing surprising in that," remarked Helen. "It is the -way any Catholic would look at it. Things like that never trouble us. -There is always a plain right or a plain wrong." - -"And where do you find the law or rule by means of which to tell what -is right and what is wrong?" - -"There is no difficulty in that," was the reply. "We have certain -very clear rules given us, and if there is any difficulty in their -application we know where to go to have the difficulty solved." - -"To a priest, I suppose?" - -"Yes, to a priest. You can not think that strange if you remember that -the priest is trained in the most special and careful manner, as -well as enlightened by God, in order to enable him to deal with such -difficulties." - -There was silence for a minute or two, while Marion, leaning back in -her chair, looked up at the deep-blue sky, and some golden boughs that -crossed it. Presently she said, in a meditative tone:-- - -"There do not seem to be any difficulties to speak of in this case, -but I should not mind putting it before some one altogether outside of -it, and without any interest in it. Still, I could not go to a priest, -because I am no Catholic." - -"You are more of a Catholic than anything else," said Helen. "You know -that. And I think if you went to Father Byrne, and put the abstract -question to him, he would tell you what is right." - -"You forget that I have no right to go to him. It would be presumption -on my part. Why should I, who do not belong to his people, trouble him -with my personal affairs?" - -Helen smiled. "You don't know Father Byrne," she answered. "He is -always glad to serve any one. I know that, even as a friend, he would -gladly advise you. I will ask him, if you consent." - -"Ask him what?" - -"To see you and tell you what he thinks." - -"Helen, you should not tempt me to make myself a nuisance. Besides, -Father Byrne does not like me, and that renders me more reluctant to -trouble him." - -"What has put such an absurd idea into your head? Why should he not -like you?" - -"Why? Ah! who can answer such questions? But realty in this case there -is an easy answer. He thinks me an objectionable sort of girl; I used -to see it in his face when we met at your mother's house. He would look -at me sometimes with a mild but quite decided disapproval when I had -been saying something particularly frivolous or satirical; and I did -not blame him in the least. How could he approve of me? _You_ are the -type of girl that he approves, and he is quite right." - -"Marion, I wish you would not say such things." - -"But they are true things. And, then, of course he knows the story of -how your engagement ended, and very likely thinks me worse than I am -in regard to that. Then I am worldly to the tips of my fingers; I have -inherited a fortune to which I have no right, and--well, there is no -good in going on. These are quite sufficient reasons why Father Byrne -does not like me, and why I should not trouble him." - -"All this is absolute nonsense; and I will prove that it is, if you do -not positively object. I will go to him and ask him to see you, and you -will find how quickly he will say yes." - -Marion laughed a little--a laugh without any merriment, only a kind -of sad self-scorn. "Upon my word," she said, "I am in so weak a frame -of mind that a straw might influence me; and this being so, it is a -comfort to trust to you, who will never lead any one wrong. Go to -Father Byrne, if you will; but don't be surprised if he declines to -have anything to do with me." - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - - -It was without the least fear of Father Byrne's declining to have -anything to do with Marion that Helen went to him--and it was something -of a shock to her to find that Marion had been right in her opinion, -and that he very much disapproved of and distrusted that fascinating -young lady. He looked troubled at her request, and put out his lip in a -way he had when anything perplexed him. - -"My dear child," he said, hesitatingly, "I really don't see what I can -do for your cousin. She is not a Catholic, she does not come to me for -religious advice; and if she wants a worldly opinion, there are many -people who could give it much better and with much more propriety than -I." - -"She does not think so, Father, and neither do I. It is not merely a -worldly opinion, though it regards worldly matters; but a point where -conscience comes in, and she wants to know what is right." - -"But why come to me?" he asked. "Has she not her own spiritual guides?" - -"Marion!" said Helen. She laughed a little. "I cannot fancy Marion -regarding any Protestant as a spiritual guide; and since, as you say, -she is not a Catholic, she has none at all. But I believe that her -becoming a Catholic is only a question of time, and therefore she will -have confidence in your opinion." - -Father Byrne put out his lip still farther and shook his head. "I do -not know very much of the young lady," he replied; "but from what I -do know I should say that her ever becoming a Catholic is more than -doubtful." - -"I am afraid that you are prejudiced against her, Father," said Helen. - -"I think not," he answered, gravely. "Why should I be prejudiced -against any one? But I should profit very little by my experience -of the world if I did not learn to judge character from some -manifestations. I do not wish to say anything severe of your cousin, my -child, but she has not impressed me favorably." - -"Poor Marion!" said Helen. "She is and always has been her own worst -enemy. Nobody knows her as well as I do, Father--that is, nobody except -Claire;--and know how much good there really is in her. All that is -worse is on the surface; and she shows it so recklessly that people -think there is nothing else. But I see a great change in her of late, -and I think it would be well to encourage her in anything that draws -her nearer to religious influences. Therefore, if it is not asking too -much of you to see her and give her a little advice on this matter, -which is so important to her, I should be very glad." - -"Should you?" asked the good priest, smiling. "Well, to make you glad -in such an unselfish way I would do a good deal. There is really no -reason why I should not give Miss Lynde the counsel she asks, though it -is rather curious that she should seek it from me. You can bring her -to me whenever it is convenient for you; and, if she does not object, I -should wish you to be present at the interview." - -"She will not object," answered Helen; "and it is very good of you to -consent. I can bring her immediately, for I left her in the church -while I came to you. There is need for haste, because to-morrow -probably she will have to decide finally what she is to do." - -"Bring her, then, at once," said Father Byrne, with an air of -resignation. He felt, though he did not say, that his own people -troubled him quite sufficiently with their personal affairs, without -an outsider finding it expedient to throw upon him the very perplexing -burden of decision in an affair which involved the interests of others. -And Marion Lynde was the last person with whose affairs he would have -wished to be concerned in the least degree. If any one beside Helen had -come to him in her behalf, he would certainly have refused to do so; -but it was impossible for him to refuse Helen. It was not only that he -was attached to her, as, in one degree or another, every one who knew -her was; but he was specially touched by her interest in and kindness -to one who had certainly been the cause of much pain to her, if not of -serious injury. "If she had not the most generous heart in the world, -she would not vex herself about Miss Lynde's affairs," he said to -himself; "but since she does, I should not mind helping her a little." - -So it came to pass that Helen brought Marion from the church to -the pastoral residence adjoining, where they found Father Byrne -awaiting them in the plainly-furnished sitting-room, which had yet a -picturesque, monastic suggestion from the religious objects that were -its only adornments, and its latticed windows opening on depths of -verdure. The priest received them kindly; and then, with some inward -nervousness, though outward composure, Marion opened her subject. - -"I feel that I have no right at all to come to you, Father, and trouble -you with my private matters; but perhaps your kindness will lead you -to excuse me on the ground that there is no one else to whom I can go. -I have not many friends, and among them there is not one person whose -judgment in this case would not have an interested bias. Besides, I -should like to know what is the moral view of it--the really right -thing to do,--and you, if you will, can tell me that." - -"I can give you the view which would be presented to a Catholic," said -Father Byrne; "but you will not recognize anything binding in that." - -"I shall be bound by whatever you tell me is right," she answered, -simply. "I do not seek your advice without meaning to be guided by it, -else there would be no excuse for coming to you. I beg you to speak as -frankly as if you were addressing a Catholic." - -"Tell me, then," he said, "exactly the point on which you are in doubt." - -She told him briefly, but with great clearness; and he listened -attentively to all that she had to say before uttering a word. Then -when she paused he replied, with the air of one who is accustomed to -give prompt decisions:-- - -"From what you tell me I think there can be no question but that you -are clearly entitled to retain a part of the fortune. Since it was the -desire of the testator that, under the circumstances of the supposed -death of his son, you should have all of it, we must believe that even -had he known his son to be living he would not have failed to leave -you a legacy. It would be entirely just and right, therefore, that you -should retain a part, while it is also right that you should resign the -bulk of the estate to its natural heir." - -Helen directed a triumphant glance toward Marion, which said, "You -see how entirely Father Byrne is of my opinion!" but Marion did not -perceive it. She was looking down with rather a disappointed air. - -"I should prefer to give it all up," she said--"to keep nothing." - -Father Byrne spread out his hands with a gesture very familiar to those -who knew him well. "There is nothing to prevent that," he observed. "It -would not be wrong; but, if you will permit me to say so, it would be -foolish. Why should you wish to defeat entirely the kind intentions of -the dead man in your behalf?" - -"I can hardly explain," she answered, "without going into personal -details, which would not interest you. About the manner in which I -received this money, my conscience is clear enough; for I did nothing -to induce Mr. Singleton to make such a will, and no one was more -surprised by it than I. But--before that--" she hesitated, paused, then -with an effort went on: "Everything might have been different if I had -acted differently at an earlier period. I made a very deliberate and -mercenary choice then. It led to this disposition of Mr. Singleton's -fortune; and now I feel that there is retribution, punishment, -whatever you like to call it, in the circumstances that are taking -it away from me. That makes me reluctant to keep any of it. I should -feel as if I were still being paid for--what I lost. I express myself -obscurely, but I hope that you understand me." - -"Yes," he replied, "I think that I do. You feel as if this fortune had -been bought at a certain price, and therefore it has lost value in -your eyes. That is purely a matter of feeling, with which the abstract -question involved has nothing to do--unless there is some point on -which your conscience accuses you of wrong-doing." - -She shook her head. "There is none directly touching the money. But, -indirectly, the money was the root of everything--of a choice which has -brought me no happiness." - -"And you think, perhaps, that by resigning it you may recover what you -have lost?" - -She colored vividly. "No," she said quickly, almost indignantly. "I -have no thought of the kind. That choice is made irrevocably. I can -recover nothing but my own self-respect." - -Father Byrne looked a little puzzled. "I fail to see," he said, "how -your self-respect has been lost by having a fortune left you which you -declare you did nothing to secure. But that is a question for yourself -alone, since it is evidently a matter of feeling. The moral point I -have answered to the best of my ability." - -"You think that I ought to retain part of this fortune?" - -"I cannot go so far as to say that you _ought_. There is no moral -obligation binding you to do so, as far as I am aware of the -circumstances. I can only say that it is clearly right for you to do -so--if you think fit." - -Evidently after this there was no more to be said; and Marion rose to -take leave, saying a few words of sincere thanks for the kindness with -which he had received her. "It has been very good of you to advise me," -she said, gratefully. "I shall never forget it." - -"I only hope that the advice may be of some use to you," answered -Father Byrne. "But it will be better if you ask God to guide and direct -you." - -"Well, are you satisfied?" asked Helen, when they found themselves -outside. "Have you decided what to do?" - -"Not yet," said Marion. "I have only been told what I may do, and I -must take a little time to decide whether or not I will do it." - -"Then you have really gained nothing by going to Father Byrne," Helen -continued, in a disappointed tone. - -"Oh, yes! I have gained a great deal," the other said quickly. "I seem -to feel myself standing on firm ground--to know just what I ought to do -and what I ought not, what is permitted and what is not. The question -still remains, however, whether or not to do what is permitted." - -"I can't see that you have gained much," replied Helen, with a sigh. - -But Marion felt that she had gained much when she faced the question -alone, as all important questions must at last be faced. She had been -assured that there was no reason why she should not retain a part of -the money which had come into her possession; and she said to herself -that even Brian Earle--indeed Brian Earle of all men--would recognize -the authority of the voice which had so assured her. She need not hold -herself grasping and mercenary if she did this--if she kept a little -of the fortune that its possessor had given to her in its entirety. So -much, therefore, was clear. But there could be no doubt that she would -prefer to give it all up--to close forever the passage in her life -which had been so bitter, and in the end so humiliating; to disprove by -a magnificent act of generosity all the charges of scheming which she -felt sure had been made against her, and to know that Brian Earle would -learn that none of his uncle's money remained in her hands. - -But if she gratified herself in this manner what was before her? -Not only the old dependence, but a dependence which would be doubly -embittered by the resentment with which her relatives were sure to -regard the step which she thought of taking. "My uncle will never -forgive me," she thought. "He will say that I had no right to -throw away the means to help myself, and fall back on his already -overburdened hands. That is true. It will be bitter as death to do so. -And yet how can I keep this money? Oh, if I only had been spared the -necessity of such a choice! If it was wrong to desire wealth so much, -surely I am punished for it, since what it has brought on me is worse -than the poverty from which I have escaped. That, at least, was simple; -I had only to endure it. But this is fraught with serious consequences, -that go beyond myself and touch other people. What shall I do--ah! what -shall I do?" - -She was walking up and down her chamber, all alone in the silence of -the night. Suddenly, as she wrung her hands with the silent force of -her inward appeal, Father Byrne's last words recurred to her memory: -"It will be better if you ask God to guide and direct you." She stopped -short. Was there any hope that God would really do this if she ventured -to ask Him? It proved how much of an unconscious pagan she was that -such a question should have occurred to her. But the imperative need at -this moment for some guidance, stronger even than that to which she had -already appealed, seemed to answer the question. She sank on her knees -and lifted her heart to Him who hears all petitions, begging, simply, -earnestly, like a child, to be directed into the course right and best -to pursue. - -The next morning Marion's companion--a quiet, elderly widow--noticed -that she was more than usually restless; that she settled to no -occupation, but wandered from the house to the garden and back again; -from room to room and window to window, as if in expectation of some -event. Mrs. Winter was not a person easily "fidgeted:" she bore this -for some time without remark, but at length she was driven to say, "You -are looking for some one this morning?" - -"Yes," answered Marion, promptly. "I am looking for two people, and I -have very important business to settle when they come. That makes me a -little restless. I wish it were over." Then she laughed a little. "It -is not every day, however, that one has a chance to see a dead man," -she said. "That should prove interesting." - -Mrs. Winter looked startled. "A dead man!" she repeated. "How--what do -you mean?" - -"I mean," replied Marion, calmly, "that it is a case of the dead -alive. You have not heard, then? If you went out into Scarborough, -I fancy you would hear very quickly. Mr. Singleton's son, who was -supposed to be dead, has proved to be very much alive, and I am -expecting a visit from him to-day." - -"My dear Miss Lynde!"--the good woman fairly gasped--"what a piece of -news! And how quietly you take it! Mr. Singleton's son alive! Good -Heavens! In that case, who will have the property?" - -"That is what we are going to settle," said Marion. "It strikes me that -a son should inherit his father's estate; do you not think so?" - -"I don't know," answered Mrs. Winter, more than ever confounded by -this cool inquiry. "Usually--oh! yes, I suppose so," she added after a -minute. "But in this case--the young man was so wild that his father -cast him off, did he not?" - -"I never heard the story clearly from any one who had authority to tell -it," answered Marion. "I do not know what occurred between father and -son, but I am quite sure that Mr. Singleton believed his son to be dead -when he made the will in which he left me his fortune." - -"Then, my dear, if I may ask, what do you mean to do?" - -"What is right and honest," said Marion, with a faint smile. "Wish me -courage, for there is the door-bell!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - - -The first thing of which Marion was conscious when she entered the -drawing-room was that a pair of bold, bright and keen dark eyes were -instantly fastened on her. The owner of these eyes was a tall and -very striking-looking man, whose originally brunette skin was so -deeply bronzed by exposure to a tropical sun that he scarcely had the -appearance of a white man at all; but whose clear-cut features at once -recalled those of old Mr. Singleton, whose whole aspect was so unusual -and so remarkably handsome that it would have been impossible for him -either to personate or be mistaken for any one else. Marion recognized -this even while Mr. Tom Singleton was in the act of stepping forward to -take her hand, and said to herself that no one who had ever seen this -man once could doubt whether or not he was the person he assumed to be. - -"How do you do this morning, Miss Lynde?" said Mr. Singleton, who tried -to conceal a certain awkwardness under more than his usual geniality -of manner. "I hope we have not disturbed you too early, but I had your -permission to present my cousin, Mr. George Singleton." - -"Not my permission only, but my request," observed Marion, looking -at the tall, handsome stranger, who bowed. "I am very glad to see Mr. -George Singleton--at last." - -"You are very good to say so," replied that gentleman, easily. "I -assure you that, so far from expecting you to be glad to see me, I feel -as apologetic as possible about my existence. Pray believe, Miss Lynde, -that I mean to give you as little trouble as possible. I have no doubt -we can soon arrive at an amicable arrangement." - -"I have no doubt of it," said Marion, calmly. "But you will allow me to -say how sorry I am that any arrangement should be necessary,--that your -father was not aware of your existence when he made his will." - -Mr. George Singleton shrugged his shoulders. "I am by no means certain -that my father believed me to be dead," he answered. "At least he had -no special reason for such a belief. He had indeed not heard from or -of me in a long time, because that was thoroughly settled when we -parted. I threw off his control, and he washed his hands of me. But I -hardly thought he would ignore me completely in his will. No doubt he -had a right to do so, for I had ignored every duty of a son; but he -should have remembered that he also had something to answer for in our -estrangement. However, that is neither here nor there. What I mean to -say is that the consciousness of my shortcomings will make me easy to -deal with; for I feel that my father was in great measure justified -when he selected another heir." - -This cool, careless frankness was so unexpected that for a moment -Marion could only look at the speaker with a sense of surprise. He was -so totally unlike what she had imagined! His bold, bright glance met -hers, and, as if divining her thoughts, he smiled. - -"Don't expect me to be like other people, Miss Lynde," he continued. -"Tom here will tell you that I never was. Even as a boy I was always a -law unto myself--a wild creature whom nothing could tame or restrain. -Perhaps it is because I am still something of a wild man that I see no -reason why we should not discuss and settle this business between us in -a friendly manner. I have only the most friendly sentiments for you, -being aware that my coming to life is rather hard lines for you." - -Marion could not but respond to his smile and what seemed to be the -genuine though somewhat blunt friendliness of his manner. Yet when she -spoke her tone was slightly haughty. - -"Pray do not think of me," she said. "The fact that your father left -his fortune to me was the greatest surprise of my life,--a surprise -from which I have hardly yet recovered. Naturally, therefore, it will -be no great hardship to give it up." - -"But I don't ask you to give it up," replied the tall, dark man, -hastily. "There is enough to divide, and I assure you I am not a -grasping fellow. Ask Tom if I am." - -Mr. Tom Singleton smiled. "If so," he observed, "you must have changed -very much." - -"I haven't changed a particle. I did not give a thought to my father's -fortune when I left him: I was thinking only of freedom, of escape -from irksome control. And I hardly gave it a thought during the years -that I have been out yonder, thoroughly satisfied with my own mode of -life. I should not be here now but for the fact that a lawyer--what is -his name?--took the trouble to write and inform me that my father was -dead and I disinherited. Naturally one does not like to be ignored in -that way; so I replied, directing him to contest the will. But since -I have come, heard the circumstances of the case, and--and seen you, -Miss Lynde, I perceive no reason for any such contest. We'll settle the -matter more simply, if you say so." - -"Seen you Miss Lynde!" It sounded simple enough, but the eyes of this -wild man, as he called himself, emphasized the statement so that Marion -could not doubt that her beauty might again secure for her an easy -victory--if she cared for it. But she did not suffer this consciousness -to appear in her manner or her voice as she replied:-- - -"We can settle it very simply, I think. Shall we now put aside the -preliminaries and proceed to business?" - -"Immediately, if you desire," answered Mr. Singleton. He bent forward -slightly, pulling his long, dark moustache with a muscular, sunburned -hand, while his brilliant gaze never wavered from Marion's face. His -cousin also looked at her, apprehensively as it seemed, and gave a -nervous cough. She met his eyes for an instant and smiled gravely, then -turned her glance back to the other man. - -"I am very sure, Mr. Singleton," she said, "that your father must have -left his fortune to me under a wrong impression of your death. If -this were not so he certainly left it under a false impression of my -character. To retain money of which the rightful heir is living, is -something of which I could never be guilty if every court of law in -the land declared that the will should stand. Your father's fortune, -then, is yours, and I will immediately take steps to resign all claim -of mine upon it." - -"But I have not asked you to resign more than a portion of it," -answered Singleton, impetuously. "It is right enough that you should -have half, since my father gave you the whole." - -"You are very generous," she said, with a proud gentleness of tone; -"but it is quite impossible for me to keep the half of your fortune. -Your father would never have left it to me but for circumstances which -need not be entered into--he wished to punish some one else. But he -could never have wished to disinherit his son. I am certain of that. -He liked me, however--I think I may say as much as that; he was very -kind to me, and I believe that even if he had known of your existence -he might have remembered me with a legacy; do you not think so?" She -turned, as she uttered the last words, to Mr. Tom Singleton. - -"I am sure of it," replied that gentleman. - -"Believing this, I am willing to take what he would have been likely to -give. It is rather difficult, of course, to conjecture what the exact -amount would have been, but it seems to me that he would probably have -left me about ten thousand dollars." - -Both men uttered a sharp exclamation. "Absurd! You must certainly take -more than that," said George Singleton. - -"Remember that you are giving up half a million," remarked his cousin. - -But Marion shook her head. "It is with extreme reluctance," she said, -"that I have decided to take anything. Mr. Singleton is aware that my -intention yesterday was to keep nothing, but I have been advised to the -contrary by one whose opinion I respect; and so I have determined to -take what I think your father, under ordinary circumstances, might have -given one with no claim upon him, but in whom he had taken an interest." - -"But why should you fix upon such a paltry sum?" demanded George -Singleton. "There was nothing niggardly about my father. He was cold -and hard as an icicle, but he always gave like a prince." - -"That would have been a very generous bequest to one who had touched -his life as slightly as I had," remarked Marion, "and who had no claim -upon him whatever--" - -"He calls you his adopted daughter in his will." - -"He was very good to me," she replied, simply, while tears came to her -eyes. "But I think he only said that to make such a disposition of his -fortune seem more reasonable. Your cousin here has perhaps told you, or -at least he can tell you, all the circumstances--how your father was -disappointed in some one else on whom he had set his heart." - -"Brian Earle," said George Singleton, carelessly. "Yes, I know." - -"Well, he thought that I had been disappointed too; and so--partly from -a generous impulse to atone for the disappointment, and partly from -a desire to punish one who had greatly angered him--he made _me_ his -heir. But it was all an accident, a caprice, if I may say so; and if he -had lived longer he would have undone it, no doubt." - -"You did not know my father if you think so," said the son, quietly. -"He had caprices perhaps, but they hardened into resolutions that -never changed. Who should know that better than I? No, no, Miss Lynde, -this will never do! I can not take a fortune from your hands without -litigation or any difficulty whatever, and leave you only a paltry ten -thousand dollars. It is simply impossible." - -"It is altogether impossible that I can retain any more," answered -Marion. "As I have already said, I would prefer to retain none at all; -and if I consent to keep anything, it can only be such a moderate -legacy as might have been left me." - -"As would _never_ have been left to you! My father was not a man to do -things in that manner. What was your legacy, Tom?" - -"Fifty thousand dollars," replied Mr. Tom Singleton. - -"Something like that I might agree to, Miss Lynde, if you will insist -on the legacy view of the matter; but I should much prefer to simply -divide the fortune." - -"You are certainly your father's son in generosity, Mr. Singleton," -said Marion. "But believe me you are wasting words. My resolution is -finally taken. I shall make over your fortune to you, retaining only -ten thousand dollars for myself. That is settled." - -It was natural, however, that neither of the two men would accept this -settlement of the case. Both declared it was manifestly unjust, and -each exhausted his powers of argument and persuasion in trying to move -Marion. It was a singular battle; a singular turn in an altogether -singular affair;--and when at last they were forced to go without -having altered her resolution, they looked at each other with a sense -of baffled defeat, which presently made George Singleton burst into a -laugh. - -"By Jove!" he said, "this is a reversal of the usual order of things. -To think of a disinherited man, instead of having to fight for his -rights, being forced to beg and pray that his supplanter will keep a -fair share of the inheritance! What makes the girl so obstinate? Has -she money besides?" - -"I don't believe that she has a sixpence," replied his cousin. - -"Then what on earth, in the name of all that is wonderful, is the -meaning of it? She does not look like a fool." - -Mr. Singleton laughed. "Miss Lynde," he said, "is about as far from -being a fool as it is possible to imagine. We all thought her at first -very shrewd and scheming, and there is no doubt but that she might have -wound your father round her finger without any trouble at all. She is -just the kind of a person he liked best: beautiful, clever--_he_ never -fancied fools, you know,--and she charmed him, without any apparent -effort, from the first. But if she schemed for any share of his fortune -it was in a very subtle way--" - -"In the light of her conduct now, I don't see how it is possible to -believe that she ever schemed at all," interposed the other. - -"I _don't_ believe it," said Tom Singleton; "although the fact remains -that, in choosing between Brian and his uncle, she stood by the latter." - -"There might have been other than mercenary considerations for that. -I can't imagine that this splendid creature ever cared about marrying -Brian." - -Mr. Singleton did not commit himself to an opinion on that point. -He said, diplomatically: "It is hard to tell what a woman does care -to do in such a case, and Miss Lynde by no means wears her heart on -her sleeve. Well, the long and short of the matter was that Brian -obstinately went away, and that your father made this girl his -heir--for the very reasons she has given, I have no doubt. She was most -genuinely astonished when I told her the news, and my belief that she -had ever schemed for such a result was shaken then. But from something -she said to me yesterday I think she is afraid that such a belief -lingers in people's minds, and she is determined to disprove it as -completely as possible. Hence her quixotic conduct. I can explain it in -no other way." - -"She is a queer girl," observed George Singleton, meditatively; "and so -handsome that I don't wonder she knocked over my father--who was always -a worshiper of beauty,--and even that solemn prig, Mr. Brian Earle, -without loss of time." - -"She knocked over another man here in Scarborough, who has a hand -in her affairs at present," said Mr. Singleton, significantly. "Did -it ever occur to you to wonder why that fellow Rathborne should -have interested himself to look you up and notify you of your lost -inheritance?" - -"Why should I wonder over anything so simple? Self-interest prompted -him, of course. If there had been a contest over the will, he might -have pocketed a considerable slice of the fortune." - -"Well, I suppose that influenced him; but his chief reason was a desire -to do Miss Lynde an ill turn, and so revenge himself for her having -trifled with his feelings." - -"You are sure of this?" asked George Singleton, with a quick look out -of his dark, flashing eyes. - -"Perfectly sure. Everyone in Scarborough knows the circumstances. He -considered himself very badly used, I believe--chiefly because he was -engaged to Miss Lynde's cousin; and the latter, who is something of -an heiress, broke the engagement. He fell between two stools, and has -never forgiven her who was the cause of the fall." - -"The wretched cad!" said George Singleton, emphatically. "As if -anything that a woman could do to a man would justify him in such -cowardly retaliation! I am glad you told me this. I will end my -association with him as soon as may be, and let him know at the same -time my opinion of him--and of Miss Lynde." - -"Do be cautious, George. I shall be sorry I told you the story if you -go out of your way to insult the man in consequence. No doubt he _was_ -badly used." - -The other laughed scornfully. "As if that would excuse him! But I -don't believe a word of it. That girl is too proud ever to have taken -the trouble to use _him_ badly. But a man might lose his head just by -looking at her. What a beauty she is!" - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - - -"And now the question is--what am I to do?" It was Marion who asked -herself this, after the departure of the lawyer, who, with some -remonstrance, had taken her instructions for drawing up the necessary -papers to transfer to George Singleton his father's fortune. It was -not with regard to the act itself that the lawyer remonstrated--_that_ -he thought just and wise enough,--but with regard to the sum which the -heiress of the whole announced her intention of retaining. - -"You might just as well keep fifty or a hundred thousand dollars," he -declared. "Mr. Singleton is willing to relinquish even so much as half -of the fortune; and it is absolute folly--if you will excuse me--for -you to throw away a comfortable independence, and retain only a sum -which is paltry in comparison to the amount of the fortune, and to your -needs of life." - -"You must allow me to be the best judge of that," Marion replied, -firmly. - -And, as she held inflexibly to her resolution, the lawyer finally -went away with the same baffled feeling that the Singleton cousins -had experienced. "What fools women are when it comes to the practical -concerns of life!" he said, from the depths of his masculine scorn. -"They are always in one extreme or the other. Here is this girl, who, -from what I hear, must have been willing to do anything to secure the -fortune, now throws it away for a whim without reason!" - -Meanwhile Marion, left face to face, as it were, with her accomplished -resolve, said to herself, "What am I to do now?" - -It was certainly a necessary question. To remain where she was, living -with the state of Mr. Singleton's heiress, was impossible; to go to her -uncle, who would be incensed against her on account of the step she had -taken, was equally impossible; to stay with Helen, however much Helen -in her kindness might desire it, was out of the question. Where, then, -could she go?--where should she turn to find a friend? - -Marion was pacing up and down the long drawing-room as she revolved -these thoughts in her mind, when her attention was attracted by her -own reflection in a mirror which hung at the end of the apartment. She -paused and stood looking at it, while a faint, bitter smile gathered on -her lip. Her beauty was as striking, as indisputable as ever; but what -had it gained for her--this talisman by which she had confidently hoped -to win from the world all that she desired? "I have been a fool!" she -said, with sudden humility. "And now--what remains to me now?" - -It almost seemed as if it was in answer to the question that a servant -at this moment entered, bringing the morning mail. Marion turned over -carelessly two or three papers and letters, and then suddenly felt a -thrill of pleasure when she saw a foreign stamp and Claire's familiar -handwriting. She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter. - -It was dated from Rome. "I am at last in the city of my dreams and -of my heart," wrote Claire; "pleasantly settled in an apartment with -my kind friend Mrs. Kerr, who knows Rome so well that she proves -invaluable as a _cicerone_. Already I, too, feel familiar with this -wonderful, this Eternal City; and its spell grows upon me day by day. -Now that you have gained your fairy fortune, dear Marion, why should -you not come and join me here? I have thought of it so much of late -that it seems to me like an inspiration, and I can perceive no possible -reason why you should not come. Pray do. It would make me so happy to -see you, and I am sure you would enjoy many things which form part of -our life here. Having lived abroad many years with her husband (who -was an artist), Mrs. Kerr has a large cosmopolitan acquaintance, and -her _salon_ is constantly filled with pleasant and interesting people. -Come,--Marion, come! I find every reason why you should, and none -why you should not. Have I not heard you say a thousand times that -you wanted to see this world, and do not I want to see you and hear -all about the magical change that so short a time has made in your -fortunes? Write, then, and tell me that you will come. Helen has had -you for months, and it is my turn now." - -"Ah, how little she knows!" Marion thought with a pang as she read the -last words. The letter dropped from her hand into her lap; she felt -as if she hardly cared to read further. Would Claire desire to see -her if she knew the story of all that had happened since they parted? -There was no one else in the world from whose judgment Marion shrank -so much, and yet this summons seemed to her more of a command than an -invitation. It came as an answer to her doubts and indecision. "What -shall I do?--where shall I go?" she had asked herself. "Come to me," -Claire answered from across the sea; and it seemed to her that she had -no alternative but to obey--to go, even though it were to meet Claire's -condemnation. - -That condemnation would be gentle, she knew, though perhaps unsparing. -Helen's affection had indeed returned to her in a degree she could -never have expected; but it is impossible that the stronger nature can -depend upon the weaker, and she knew it was for Claire's unswerving -standards and Claire's clear judgments her heart most strongly yearned. - -So the way opened before her, and when she saw Helen next she announced -her intention of going abroad to join Claire. "It seems the best--in -fact, it is the only thing I can do," she said. "And Claire is good -enough to want me. She fancies me still in possession of what she calls -my fairy fortune--not knowing how fairy-like indeed it has proved,--and -writes as if expense would be no consideration with me. But a mode -of life which is not too expensive for her surely will not be too -expensive for me with my ten thousand dollars. So I shall go." - -"I suppose it is best," said Helen, wistfully; "and if it were not for -mamma I would go with you." - -The tone was a revelation to Marion of all that the tender, submissive -heart was suffering still. "Why should your mother object?" she asked, -quickly. "Come, Helen--come with me; and when we find Claire, let us -try to forget everything but the pleasure of being together again." - -"I should like it," replied Helen, "but it is not possible. I know how -long mamma has looked forward to the pleasure of having me with her, -and I can not go away now for my own selfish satisfaction, leaving her -alone. Besides, I doubt if running away from painful things does much -good. It is better to face them and grow resigned to them, with the -help of God." - -"I am sure that God must help _you_," cried Marion, "else you could -never learn so many wise and hard things." - -Helen looked at her with a little surprise in her clear blue eyes. "Of -course He helps me," she answered. "When does He not help those who ask -Him?" - -"O Helen! if I only had your faith!" exclaimed Marion, with positive -pain in her voice. "How easy it would make things!" - -"Yes," replied Helen, with her sweet smile, "it does make things easy." - -But before Marion could complete her preparations for departure, she -was obliged to see Mr. George Singleton again and yet again. He came -in the first place to remonstrate forcibly against her intentions with -regard to the fortune, and found her society sufficiently attractive to -induce him to pay inordinately long visits after he had discovered that -his remonstrances were vain. "He is certainly very unconventional," -Marion observed after one of these visits. "He does not strike one -so much as violating social usage, as being ignorant of and holding -it in contempt. In essential things he is a gentleman; but that his -father--one of the most refined and fastidious of men--should have had -a son who is half a savage, strikes me as very strange." - -Young Singleton did not hesitate to speak of himself as altogether -a savage, and to declare that the strain of wild lawlessness in his -nature had brought about the estrangement between his father and -himself. "Of course I am sorry for it all now," he said frankly to -Marion; "but I don't see how it could have been avoided, we were so -radically different in disposition and tastes. My father was a man -to whom the conventionalties of life were of first importance, who -held social laws and usages as more binding than the Decalogue; while -I--well, a gypsy has as much regard for either as I had. I irritated -and outraged _him_ even when I had least intention of doing so; and he, -in turn, roused all the spirit of opposition in _me_. I do not defend -my conduct, but I think I may honestly say that he had something for -which to blame himself. We were miserable together, and it ended as -you know. He said when we parted that he had no longer a son, and I -took him at his word--perhaps too literally. And that being so, Miss -Lynde--his renunciation of me having been complete, and my acceptance -of it complete also,--I really do not think that I have a right to come -and take all his fortune." - -"I am sorry if you have scruples on the subject, Mr. Singleton," Marion -answered, quietly. "They ought to have occurred to you before you moved -in the matter; now they are too late. I can not possibly accept the -odium of holding a man's fortune when his own son is alive and has -claimed it." - -"But you know that I have always said I should be satisfied with part--" - -Marion lifted her hand with a silencing gesture. "I know," she said, -"that the affair is finally settled, and not to be discussed anymore. -I am satisfied, and that ought to satisfy you. Now let us talk of -something else. Are you aware that I am going abroad?" - -"No," he replied, quickly, with a startled look. "Where are you going?" - -"To Rome. I have a friend who is at present living there, and I am -going to join her." - -"But why?" - -The point-blank question was so much in character with the speaker that -Marion smiled. - -"Why?" she repeated. "Well, I have nothing to keep me in this country, -I am fond of my friend, and I wish to see the world--are not those -reasons enough?" - -"Perhaps so," he answered. He was silent for a moment, staring at her -with his large, dark, brilliant eyes in a manner which tried even her -self-possession. Then he asked, abruptly: "When are you going?" - -"As soon as I can arrange my affairs. That sounds like a jest, but it -is not: I really have some affairs to arrange. They will not occupy me -very long, however. I shall probably leave in a week or ten days." - -"Oh--I thought you might be going to-morrow!" said Mr. Singleton, with -an air of relief. - -After that he was a daily visitor,--such an open, persistent, -long-staying visitor, that all Scarborough was soon on tiptoe -of expectation. What did it mean? What would be the end of this -sensational affair? Would the legitimate heir of the fortune marry the -girl who had given it up without a contest? People began to say that -Miss Lynde had been shrewd, and had known very well all the time what -she was about. - -Miss Lynde, on her part, felt as if she would never reach the end of -the difficulties which seemed to evolve out of one another, according -to a process of evolution with which we are all familiar. Had her -passionate desire for wealth created a sort of moral Frankenstein, -which would continue to pursue her? When, after a struggle known only -to herself, she had decided to resign the fortune, she had thought that -she cast away all perplexities arising out of it; but now it appeared -that she had resigned only the money, and that the difficulties -and perplexities remained. For, as clearly as any one else, she -perceived--what indeed George Singleton made no effort to conceal--the -object of his constant and assiduous attentions. The fortune she had -given up was to be offered her again: she would again be forced to make -a difficult choice. - -For all that has been written of Marion Lynde has been written to -little purpose if any one imagines that wealth had lost its glamour -in her eyes, or that her old ambitions were dead within her. They had -been for a time subdued,--for a time she had realized that one might be -crushed by the weight of a granted prayer; but the old desires and the -old attraction still remained strong enough to prove a potent force in -the hour of temptation. - -And she began to feel that it might be a temptation to regain in the -most entire manner the fortune she had resigned; to cast one glance of -triumphant scorn at Rathborne, who had fancied himself scheming for her -downfall; to receive Mrs. Singleton's cousinly congratulations; and, -above all, to prove to Brian Earle how easily she could console herself -for his desertion--how readily another man offered the homage he had -withdrawn. Yes, all these things were temptations; for the sway of the -world, of natural inclinations and passions, was still strong in this -soul, which had leaned toward higher things without embracing them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - - -Marion did not in the least relax her preparations for departure, and -she gave no sign to Mr. Singleton of perceiving the end which he had in -view. They progressed very far toward intimacy in the course of their -long interviews; but it was an intimacy which Marion regulated, and -to which she gave its tone, preserving without difficulty command of -the situation. Yet even while she commanded it, an instinct told her -that the hour would come very soon when this man would assert himself; -when her time of control would be over, and the feeling that betrayed -itself in his eyes and voice would find expression in a manner beyond -her power to regulate. Nevertheless, she was hardly prepared for the -declaration when it came one day, abruptly and without anticipation on -her part. - -"I think, Miss Lynde," said Singleton, "that it is time you and I -understood each other--or, at least, that I understood _you_; for I am -pretty sure that you understand _me_ thoroughly. You know perfectly -well that I am in love with you. Do you intend to marry me?" - -"Mr. Singleton!" exclaimed Marion, startled and considerably -discomposed. "Do I intend--" she repeated. "How could I possibly have -any intention in--in such a matter? That is a very extraordinary way of -speaking." - -"Is it?" said Singleton. "But you do not expect an ordinary way of -speaking from me; for do you not make me understand every day how much -of a savage I am? What can I do except ask your intentions? For you -cannot say that you do not know I am in your hands to be dealt with as -you like." - -"I know nothing of the kind," she answered, hastily. "Why should I know -it? I have been glad that we should be friends, but beyond that--" - -"Do not talk nonsense!" he interrupted, somewhat roughly. "You are too -clever a woman not to have been aware from the first that there was no -friendship about it. As soon as I saw you, I made up my mind that I -would marry you if you would agree to it. And why should you not agree? -It will settle all difficulties about the fortune, and I am not really -a bad fellow at heart. I assure you of that." - -"I think I know very well what kind of fellow you are," said Marion, -smiling in spite of herself. "Certainly not one who is formed on a very -conventional model. I like you very much--I am sure you know that,--but -I have no intention of marrying you." - -It cost her something of an effort to say this--to put away, finally as -it were, the glittering prize that life had cast in her way. But, thus -brought face to face with the necessity for decision, she found that no -other answer was possible to her. Yet the form of words that she chose -did not convey her meaning in an unalterable sense to the man watching -her with such keen, brilliant eyes. - -"You have no intention of marrying me!" he repeated. "Does that mean -that you will not form any such intention--that you will not take the -subject into consideration?" - -"There is no reason why I should," she replied. "It is best that you -should think no more of it." - -"I can not agree to that," he said. "On the contrary, it seems to me -best, from every point of view, that I should continue to think of it, -and endeavor to bring it to pass. I warn you that I am not a man who -is easily daunted. Unless you intend to marry some one else, I shall -continue my efforts to induce you to marry me." - -"Not if I tell you there is no use in such efforts?" said Marion. - -"You can not possibly tell whether there would be use in them or not," -he persisted, "unless you are decided with regard to some other man. If -so, I hope you will tell me." - -"There is no other man in question," she said, coldly. "I may surely be -supposed to know my own mind without being bound to any one." - -"And I know mine," he replied, "so positively that, until you are bound -to some one else, I shall not relinquish the hope of inducing you to -marry me. I give you fair warning of that." - -"Really, Mr. Singleton," said Marion, who hardly knew whether to be -vexed or amused, "you are a very singular person. Are you not aware -that a man must abide by the woman's decision in such a matter as this?" - -"I am not so uncivilized as you imagine," he answered. "Of course I -know it. But everywhere and always he has the right of endeavoring to -change that decision if he can. And I have a double reason for desiring -to change yours. I not only want to marry you, but I also want you to -have your share of my fortune." - -"I have no share in it," she said, haughtily--for surely such a -persistent suitor as this promised to be very troublesome;--"you know -that well, and you know also that I have forbidden you to speak of it -to me." - -"Henceforth I will endeavor to obey you," he answered, with the -courtesy which now and then contrasted oddly with the usual abruptness -of his manner. "But you can not forbid me to think of it--nor of you." - -"I hope," she said, "that when I go away you will very soon cease to -think of me." - -He smiled. "Do you think," he asked, "that I shall not follow you? The -way to Europe is as open to me as to you." - -"But if I forbid it?" she cried, with a sudden sense of dismay. - -"You have no right to forbid it," he answered, quietly. "I have no -intention of accompanying you, and I have surely been guilty of nothing -which could lead you to disown my acquaintance should we meet in Rome -or elsewhere." - -Marion fancied that after his declaration, and the refusal with which -it had been met, George Singleton would leave Scarborough, since he had -certainly no business to detain him there. But that gentleman proved -himself to be of another opinion. He not only remained in Scarborough, -but he continued his visits with the same regularity which had -characterized them before. Partly vexed, partly amused, Marion, -nevertheless, took precautions to guard against any embarrassing -renewal of his suit. She ceased to receive him alone, and whenever it -was possible she turned him over to Helen for entertainment. To this -he apparently did not object in the least. He had hardly met Miss -Morley before, and her soft gentleness charmed him. It was the type of -womanhood best suited to his own passionate, impulsive nature; and he -yielded to its influence with an _abandon_ that surprised himself. - -"You have no idea what an effect you have upon me," he said to her on -one occasion. "When I come into your presence I am like a cat that is -smoothed the right way--you put me into harmony and accord with all the -world." - -It was impossible not to laugh at the frankness of this assertion, as -well as the homeliness of the comparison. "I am very glad to hear that -my presence has a good effect upon you," said Helen; "although I do not -know why it should be so." - -"I suppose some people would call it magnetism," he answered; "but I -think it is simply owing to the fact that your nature is so placid -and gentle that you exercise a calming influence upon the passions of -others." - -"My nature is not so placid and gentle as you imagine, perhaps," she -said, with something of a shadow stealing over her face. "I have -passions too." - -"Have you?" he asked, rather incredulously. "Well, if so they must -be of a very mild order, or else you understand managing them in a -wonderful manner. I wish you would teach me how to manage mine." - -She looked at him with her blue eyes, and shook her head. "I am afraid -you would not care to learn the only thing that I could teach," she -said. - -"Why not? I think that I should like to learn anything that you would -teach." - -"Perhaps, then, if our acquaintance lasts long enough, I may take you -at your word some day," she replied, smiling. - -In saying this she thought herself very safe; for she had little idea -that their association would outlast the day on which Marion left -Scarborough. She knew that the latter had been offered the opportunity -of regaining her lost fortune in the most legitimate and satisfactory -way, and had little doubt but that the matter would end by her -accepting George Singleton. - -"For Marion was never meant to be poor," she said to herself; "and he -really seems to have a great deal of good in him--much more than one -could have fancied. And he takes her treatment of him very nicely. It -is kind of him to seem to like my society, instead of finding me a -dreadful bore." - -She said as much as this to Marion, who laughed. "There is very good -reason for his not finding you a bore," Marion replied. "He enjoys your -society much more than mine--it suits him better. I can see that very -plainly. In fact, the thing is, that he and I are too much alike to -assimilate well. We are both too fiery, too impulsive in our natures -and strong in our passions. You are the counteracting influence that we -need. Instinct tells him so, as experience tells me." - -"Marion, what utter nonsense!" - -"So far from that, the very best sense, my dear. There is only one -person who has a more beneficial influence upon me than you have. That -is Claire, and I am going to her. If Mr. Singleton is wise he will stay -with you." - -"If I thought you were in earnest in saying such a thing as that, you -would really provoke me," said Helen, gravely. - -"Then you may be sure that I am not in earnest," cried Marion; "for I -would do anything sooner than provoke you. No man in the world is worth -a single vexed thought between you and me." - -It was a few days after this that, everything being at last -settled, she finally left the place where she had gained and lost a -fortune,--where she had sounded some depths of experience and learned -some lessons of wisdom that could not soon be forgotten. - -"Marion," said Helen the evening before her departure, "I am going to -have a Mass said for my intention to-morrow morning--and, of course, -that means you. Will you not come to the church?" - -"With pleasure," answered the other, quickly. "Indeed I am not so -absolutely a heathen but that I meant to go, in any event. I am setting -out anew in life, as it were; and I should like to ask God to bless -this second beginning, as I certainly did not ask Him to bless the -first." - -"Then you will be at the church at eight o'clock?" said Helen. "And -afterward breakfast with me, so that you will not need to return here -before meeting your train. I should like the last bread that you break -in Scarborough to be broken with me." - -"It shall be exactly as you wish," observed Marion, touched by the -request, which meant more, she knew, than appeared on the surface. For -it was not only that Helen wished to renew the link of hospitality--not -only that she desired, as she said, that the last bread broken by -Marion in Scarborough should be broken with her in token of their -renewed amity,--but she wished to show to all the world that had so -curiously watched the course of events in which the beautiful stranger -was concerned, that their friendly and cousinly relations were -unchanged. All this Marion understood without words. - -Eight o'clock the next morning found her in the church. As she -acknowledged, she had asked no blessing of God on her former beginning -of life--that life which had come to such utter failure in every -respect; and in the realization of this failure much of her proud -self-confidence had forsaken her. She had asked only that opportunity -should be given, and she had felt within herself the power to win all -that she desired. Opportunity _had_ been given, and she had ended by -losing everything, saving only the remnant of her self-respect and -Helen's generous affection. These thoughts came to her with force as -she knelt in the little chapel, knowing that she was going forth to -a new life with diminished prospects of worldly success, but with a -deeper knowledge of herself, of the responsibilities of existence, and -of the claims of others, than she had possessed before. - -Then she remembered how she had knelt in this same place with Brian -Earle, and felt herself drawn near to the household of faith. It had -been an attraction which had led to nothing, because it had been -founded on human rather than on divine love. Now that the human love -was lost, had the divine no meaning left? The deep need of her soul -answered this; and when she bent her head as the priest at the altar -offered the Holy Sacrifice, it was with a more real act of faith and -worship than she had made on that day when it seemed as if but a step -divided her from the Church of God. - -Mass over, she went to say a few words of farewell to Father Byrne, and -then accompanied Helen home. It had been a long time since she entered -her aunt's house; and the recollections of her first coming into it, -and of the welcome which had then met her, seemed to rush upon her as -she crossed the threshold. "If it were only to do over again!" she -thought, with a pang. When they sat down to breakfast she glanced at -the place which she had so often seen Rathborne occupy, and thought -that but for her Helen might never have been undeceived, might never -have suffered with regard to him. "At least not in the way she has -suffered," she said to herself. "In some way, however, she must have -suffered sooner or later. Therefore perhaps it is best as it is--for -her. But that does not excuse me. If only I might be permitted to make -some atonement!" - -But atonement is difficult to make in this world, either for our -mistakes or our wrong-doing. The logic of life is stern indeed. From -certain acts flow certain consequences as inevitably as conclusions -proceed from premises or night follows day. It is vain to cry out that -we had no such end in view. The end comes despite our protests, and we -are helpless in the face of that which springs from our own deed. - -These reflections had in great measure become familiar to Marion, -especially with regard to the pain she had brought upon Helen. She had -been forced to realize clearly that what it would have been easily -possible for her to avoid, it was absolutely impossible for her to -repair. To Helen's own goodness, generosity and gentleness she owed -the relief that had come to her on the subject. Nevertheless, she -longed greatly for some means of repairing the injury she had done, the -suffering she had caused, and--was it an inspiration which suddenly -seemed to suggest to her such a means? - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - - -Breakfast over, they went into the familiar sitting-room--for there -was still an hour or two before Marion's train was due,--and it was -there that Helen said, with a smile: "Mr. Singleton is coming to see -you off: I met him yesterday evening after I left you, and he announced -his intention of doing so; so I asked him to come here and accompany -us to the train. Of course there is no _need_ of him: the boys will do -all that is necessary; but I thought it would look better. People have -talked so much about you both, that I would like them to have a public -proof that you are really on very good terms." - -"You think of everything, Helen," said Marion. "What a wise little head -you have!" - -"Do you think it is the head?" asked Helen. "I think it is the heart. -One feels things rather than thinks them--at least I do." - -"I know you do," said her cousin. "It is your heart in the first place; -but you must not underrate your head, which certainly has something to -do with it." - -Helen shook the appendage in question. "Not much," she answered. "I -have never fancied that my strong point was in my head." - -"Head or heart, you are seldom wrong," said Marion, "when it comes to -a practical decision. Whereas I--you know I have been very vain of my -cleverness, and yet I am always wrong--no, don't contradict me; I mean -exactly what I say, and I have the best possible reason for meaning -it. But, Helen, let me ask one favor of you. When Mr. Singleton comes, -leave me alone with him for a few minutes. Now mind, _only_ for a few -minutes. I have something to say to him, but it will take only a little -time to say it." - -"That will be easily arranged," said Helen, who would not suffer -herself even to look a question. - -So when Mr. Singleton presently arrived, she spirited herself and her -mother out of the room in the most unobtrusive manner possible, leaving -the young man alone with Marion. - -The latter did not waste one of the minutes for which she had asked. -She plunged without preface into the subject on which she desired -to speak. "Mr. Singleton," she began, abruptly, "I am going to say -something very unconventional; but you who are so unconventional -yourself will pardon me, I am sure. Briefly, I am going to recall to -your mind something that you said when--when we had our last private -conversation. You then declared your intention of following me abroad, -is it not so?" - -"Yes," answered Singleton, with composure; "I did, and I meant what I -said. You will soon see me over there." - -"I think not--I hope not," she said, quickly; "for I am sure that you -have too much self-respect to persecute a woman with attentions which -can lead to nothing. And I tell you in the most positive manner that -they can only bring you disappointment." - -"You can not be sure of that," he observed, with a touch of his former -obstinancy. "Women have sometimes changed their minds." - -She shook her head. "Not women who feel as I do. Listen, and I will -tell you the whole truth about myself, since there is no other way of -convincing you. I will not deny that what you offer is in some degree -a temptation to me--I am worldly enough and unworthy enough for that; -and it has been a temptation, too, to suffer you to follow me, and -keep, as it were, the chance open, in case I should find that it was -the best life offered me. But I know this would be wrong; for I cannot -deceive myself into fancying that there is any doubt whatever about my -feelings. If my heart were empty, you might in time fill it. But it is -not--I will be perfectly frank with you at any cost to myself,--another -man has long since filled it." - -There was a pause after these words--words which it cost Marion very -much to utter. To acknowledge even to herself the fact which they -expressed was hard enough; but to acknowledge it to another, to this -man who sat regarding her steadily with his dark, brilliant eyes, was -harder still. But in courage, at least, she was not deficient, and her -own eyes met his without drooping. - -"You see now why I can not let you follow a false hope in following -me," she continued, when after a moment he had still not spoken. "I may -be mercenary in some degree, but I am not mercenary enough to marry you -for the sake of your fortune, when I love another man. I have tried to -crush this love, and it humiliates me to acknowledge it; but I have -incurred the humiliation in order to be perfectly frank with you, and -to keep you from making a great mistake." - -The last words seemed to touch him suddenly. His whole face--a face -which showed every passing emotion--changed and softened. "Believe me," -he said, "I appreciate your frankness, and I see no humiliation in your -confession. It is good of you, however, to suffer the pain of making it -in order to save me from what you think would be a mistake." - -"I _know_ that it would be a mistake--a mistake in every way," she -said, earnestly. "And I have made so many mistakes already that I -cannot add another to the list. Believe me, if you succeeded in -persuading me to marry you, it would be a mistake which we would both -regret to the end of our lives. For we do not suit each other at all. -When you marry you ought to select a woman different altogether from -what I am: a woman gentler, yet with more moral strength." - -"That may be," he answered, in a meditative tone; "but, then, no other -woman can be the one to whom my father has left his fortune, who has -generously given it back to me, and with whom I should like to share -it." - -"That is a feeling which I can understand, and which does you credit," -she said. "But do you not see that I could hardly accept your suit on -such a ground as that? It would have been better to have kept your -fortune than to do that. No, Mr. Singleton: I beg you to think no more -of this; I beg you not to follow me with any such thought in your mind. -Promise me that you will not." - -She leaned toward him in her earnestness, and held out her hand with a -gesture of entreaty. George Singleton had something chivalrous in his -nature, under all his brusque exterior; and taking the little hand he -raised it to his lips. - -"The confidence that you have placed in me," he said, "makes it -impossible that I can do anything to annoy you. Your request is a -command. I shall not follow you." - -Her eyes thanked him. "Now I can go in peace, because I shall not have -to think that I am misleading any one. However hard or lonely my path -in life may be, I want henceforth to keep my conscience clear. I have -tasted the bitterness of self-reproach, and I know what it is. Yes, you -will stay. You have duties here now, and--and I hope it will not be -long before you will find happiness." - -He had no opportunity to reply, if he had been inclined to do so. -Helen, remembering Marion's urgent request that the minutes allowed for -her "few words" might be short, was heard approaching. Her clear, sweet -voice gave some orders in the hall, and then she entered the room. - -"I grieve to say, Marion, that it is almost time for you to go," she -announced. "Ah, how sad parting is!" - -Half an hour later, when Marion was borne away from Scarborough, her -last backward glance showed her Helen and Singleton standing side by -side on the station platform, waving her an adieu; and if she smiled at -the sight, it cannot be denied that she also sighed. With her own hand -she had closed the door of a possibly brilliant destiny; and, naturally -enough, it had never looked so bright as when she said to herself, -"That is over finally and forever." - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - - -It was with little pause for sight-seeing on the way that Marion made -her journey to Rome. A few days in Paris constituted her only delay; -then, flying swiftly down through Italy--reserving until later the -pleasure of seeing the beautiful historic cities which she passed--she -did not stop again until she found herself within the walls of Rome. - -And not even the fact of entering by means of a prosaic railway could -lessen the thrill with which she realized that she was indeed within -the city of the Cćsars and the Popes--the city that since the beginning -of historic time has been the chief center of the earth, the mistress -of the world, and the seat of the apostolic throne. It was strange -to feel herself in this place of memories, yet to step into a modern -railway station, resounding with noise and bustle; but even Rome was -forgotten when she found herself in Claire's arms, and Claire's sweet -voice bade her welcome. - -What followed seemed like a dream--the swift drive through populous -streets, with glimpses of stately buildings and narrow, picturesque -ways; the passing under a great, sounding arch into a court, where the -soft splash of a fountain was heard as soon as the carriage stopped; -the ascent of an apparently interminable flight of stone steps, and -pausing at length on a landing, where an open door gave access to an -ante-chamber, and thence through parting curtains to a long _salon_, -where a pretty, elderly lady rose to give Marion greeting. This was -Claire's kind friend and chaperon, Mrs. Kerr, who said to herself, as -she took the young stranger's hand, "What a beautiful creature!" - -Marion, on her part, was charmed, not only with Mrs. Kerr, but with -all her surroundings. The foreign aspect of everything enchanted her; -the Italian servants, the Italian dishes of the collation spread for -her, the soft sound of the language,--all entered into and made part -of her pleasure. "O Claire!" she said, when presently she was taken to -the pretty chamber prepared for her. "I think I am going to be so happy -with you--if only you are not disgusted with _me_, when you hear the -story I have to tell you!" - -Claire laughed, as she bent and kissed her. "I have not the least fear -that I shall be disgusted with you," she said. "You might do wrong -things, Marion--things one would blame or censure,--but I am sure that -you will never do a mean thing, and it is mean things which disgust -one." - -"Ah!" said Marion, with a sigh, "do not be too sure. I am not going -to possess your good opinion on false pretenses, so you shall hear -to-morrow all that has happened since we parted. Prepare your charity, -for I shall need it." - -And, indeed, on the next day Claire heard with the utmost fullness -all that had occurred since the two parted at their convent school. -As far as the Rathborne incident was concerned, Marion did not spare -herself; and, although Claire looked grave over her self-accusation, -she was unable to express any regret that, even at the cost of Helen's -suffering, the engagement of the latter to Rathborne should have been -ended. "I saw the man only once," she said, "but that was enough to -make me distrust him thoroughly. He has a bad face--a face which shows -a narrow and cruel nature. I always trembled at the thought of Helen's -uniting her life to his. There seemed no possible prospect of happiness -for her in such a choice. So I am glad that at almost any cost the -engagement--entanglement, or whatever it was--has been ended. And I can -not see that your share in it was so very heinous." - -"That is because I have not made it clear to you, then," answered -Marion. "I, too, always distrusted the man, but I liked his admiration, -his homage; it was my first taste of the power for which, you know, I -always longed. Indeed, Claire, there are no excuses to be made for me; -and if the matter ended well for Helen--as I really believe it did,--I -am still to blame for all her suffering; and you do not think that evil -is less evil because good comes of it?" - -"I certainly do not think that," said Claire. "But you had no evil -intention, I am sure: you never _meant_ to hurt Helen." - -"No, I did not mean to do so, but I was careless whether she suffered -or not. I thought only of myself--my own vanity, my own amusement. -Nothing can change that, and so I have always felt that it was right I -should suffer just as I made her suffer. Retribution came very quickly, -Claire." - -"Did it?" asked Claire. Her soft, gray eyes were full of unspoken -sympathy. "Well, suffering is a great thing, dear; it enables us to -expiate so much! Tell me about yours--if you like." - -"I feel as if I had come here just to tell you," said Marion. And -then followed the story of her engagement to Brian Earle, her anger -because he would not comply with his uncle's wishes, their parting, her -unexpected inheritance of Mr. Singleton's fortune, Rathborne's revenge -in finding the lost heir, her surrender of the fortune to him, and her -rejection of his suit. - -"So here I am," she observed in conclusion, with a faint smile, "like -one who has passed through terrible storms: who has been shipwrecked -and has barely escaped with life--that is, with a fragment of -self-respect. I am so glad I had strength to give up that fortune, -Claire! You know how I always desired wealth." - -"I know so well," said Claire, "that I am proud of you--proud that you -had the courage to do what must have cost you so much. But I always -told you that I knew you better than you knew yourself; and I was sure -that you would never do anything unworthy, not even to gain the end -you had so much at heart. But, Marion"--her face grew grave,--"I have -something to tell you that I fear may prove unpleasant to you. Brian -Earle is here." - -"Brian Earle here!" repeated Marion. She became very pale, and for a -moment was silent. Then she said, proudly, "I hope no one will imagine -that I suspected this. I thought he was in Germany. But it will not be -necessary for me to meet him." - -"That must be for you to decide," said Claire, in a somewhat troubled -tone. "He comes to see us occasionally--he is an old friend of Mrs. -Kerr's--but, if you desire it, I will ask her to let him know that it -will be best for him to discontinue his visits." - -"No," said Marion, with quick, instinctive recoil; "for that would be -to acknowledge that I shrink from seeing him. If I _do_ shrink, he -shall not be made aware of it. Perhaps, when he knows that I am here, -he will desire to keep away. If not, I am--I will be strong enough to -meet him with indifference." - -Claire looked at her steadily, wistfully; it seemed as if she -were trying to know all that might be known. "If you do not feel -indifference," she said, gently, after a moment, "is it well to -simulate it?" - -"How can you ask such a question?" demanded Marion, with a touch of -her old haughtiness. "It is not only well--it is essential to my -self-respect. But I do not acknowledge that it will be simulation. Why -should I be other than indifferent to Brian Earle? As I confessed to -you a few minutes ago, I suffered when we parted, but that is over now." - -"You care for him no longer, then?" - -"Is it possible I could care for a man who has treated me as he has -done? For I still believe that it was his duty to have remained with -his uncle, and if--if he had cared for me at all he would have done so." - -"But perhaps," said Claire, "he perceived that passionate desire of -yours for wealth, and thought that it would not be well for you to have -it gratified. I can imagine that." - -"You imagine, then, exactly what he was good enough to say," replied -Marion, dryly. "But I suppose you know enough of me to be also able -to imagine that I was not very grateful for such a form of regard. He -talked like a moralist, but he certainly did not feel like a lover, and -so I let him go. I am not sorry for that." - -"Then," said Claire, after a short pause of reflection, "I cannot see -any reason why you should avoid meeting him. There may be a little -awkwardness at first; but, if you have really no feeling for him, that -will pass away." - -"I should prefer to avoid such a meeting, if possible," answered -Marion; "but if not possible, I will endure. Only, if you can, give me -warning when it is likely to occur." - -"That, unfortunately, is what I can hardly do," said Claire, in a -tone of regret. "Our friends have established a habit of dropping in, -without formality, almost any evening; and so we never know who is -coming, or when." - -"In that case there is, of course, nothing to be done. I can only -promise that, whenever the occasion occurs, I will try to be equal to -it." - -"I have no doubt of that," answered Claire. - -But she looked concerned as she went away, and it was evident to Mrs. -Kerr that she was more than usually thoughtful that evening. As she had -said, their friends in Rome found it pleasant to drop informally into -their pretty _salon_. Artists predominated among these friends; so it -was not strange that she watched the door, thinking that Brian Earle -might come, and conscious of a wish that he would; for Marion, pleading -fatigue, declined to appear on this first evening after her arrival; -and Claire said to herself that if Earle _did_ come, it would give her -an opportunity to tell him what meeting lay before him, and he could -then avoid it if he chose to do so. When, as the evening passed on, it -became at length clear that he was not coming--and there was no reason -beside her own desire for expecting him,--Claire thought, with a sigh, -that events must take their course, since it was plainly out of her -power to direct them. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - - -And events did take their course, when, a few evenings later, Marion -suddenly saw Earle entering the _salon_, where three or four visitors -were already assembled. She herself was at the farther end of the room, -and somewhat concealed by a large Oriental screen, near which she was -seated. She was very glad of this friendly shelter when she felt her -heart leap in a manner which fairly terrified her, as, glancing up, she -saw Earle's face in the doorway. Her own emotion surprised her far more -than his appearance; she shrank farther back into the shadow to conceal -what she feared might be perceptible to others, and yet she could not -refrain from following him with her eyes. - -What she saw was this--that, even while greeting Mrs. Kerr, his -glance wandered to Claire; that his first eager step was taken in her -direction; and that his face, when he took her hand, was so eloquent of -pleasure and tender admiration that it made Marion recall some words he -had spoken when they first knew each other in Scarborough. "She charmed -me," he had said then of Claire; "she is so simple, so candid, so -intent upon high aims." Every word came back with sudden distinctness, -with sudden, piercing meaning and weight, in the light of the look on -Earle's face. - -"He is in love with Claire!" said Marion to herself. "Nothing could -be more natural, nothing more suitable. There is no struggle _here_ -between his heart and his judgment, as was the case with me. She seems -to be made for him in every respect. Why did I not think of it sooner, -and why did not Claire tell me that he had transferred his affection to -her? Did she want me to see for myself, or did she think that I should -not see? But there is no reason why I should care--none whatever." - -Even while she repeated this assurance to herself, however, the sinking -of her heart, the trembling of her hands, belied it, and frightened her -by the evidence of a feeling she had not suspected. Surely, among the -mysteries of our being, there is none greater than the existence and -growth of feelings which we not only do not encourage, but of which we -are often in absolute ignorance until some flash of illumination comes -to reveal to us their strength. - -Such a flash came now to Marion. She had assured herself that she had -put Brian Earle out of her heart, and instead she suddenly found that, -during the interval in which she had condemned it to darkness and -silence, her feeling for him had increased rather than lessened. And -she was now face to face with the proof that he had forgotten her--that -he had found in Claire the true ideal of his fancy! She felt that it -was natural, she acknowledged that it was just, but the shock was -overpowering. - -Fortunately, she happened at that moment to be alone--a gentleman who -had been talking to her having crossed the room to ask Mrs. Kerr a -question. Seeing him about to retrace his steps, a sudden instinct of -flight--of flight at any cost of personal dignity--seized Marion. She -felt that in another instant Claire would point her out to Earle, that -he would be forced to come and address her. Could she bear that?--was -she able to meet him as indifferently as she desired to do? Her beating -pulses told her no; and, without giving herself time to think, she -rose, lifted a _portičre_ near her, and passed swiftly and silently -from the room. - -Claire, meanwhile, glanced up at Earle; and she, too, met that look of -tender admiration which Marion perceived. It was not the first time -she had met it, but it was the first time that a consciousness of its -possible meaning flashed upon her. She did not color at the thought, -but grew instead suddenly pale, and glanced toward the corner of the -room where Marion at that instant had made her escape; but Claire did -not perceive this, and, with the sense of her presence, said to Earle:-- - -"You have probably not heard that my friend Marion Lynde is here?" - -He started. "Miss Lynde _here_--in Rome!" he asked. "No, I had not -heard it. Why has she come?" - -"To see and to be with me," answered Claire, calmly. "You know, -perhaps, that we are great friends." - -"I have heard Miss Lynde speak of you," he said, regaining -self-possession; "and if the friendship struck me as rather a strange -one, knowing little of you as I did then, you may be sure that it -strikes me now as more than strange. I have never met two people in my -life who seemed to me to have less in common." - -"Pardon me!" returned Claire. "You think so because you do not know -either of us very well. We have really a great deal in common, and I -doubt if any one in the world knows Marion as well as I do." - -He looked at her with a sudden keen glance from under brows somewhat -bent. "Are you not aware that I had at one time reason to fancy that I -knew Miss Lynde quite well?" he asked. - -"Yes," said Claire, with frankness; "I know. She has told me of that. -But in such a relation as the one which existed between you for a time, -people sometimes learn very little of each other. And I think that -perhaps you did not learn very much of her." - -"I learned quite enough," he replied,--"all that was necessary to -convince me that I had made a great mistake. And there can be no doubt -that Miss Lynde reached the same conclusion. That, I believe, is all -that there is to say of the matter." He paused a moment, then added, -"If she is here, I hope it will not be unpleasant to her to meet me; -since I should be sorry to be banished from this _salon_, which Mrs. -Kerr and yourself make so attractive." - -"There is no reason for banishment, unless you desire it," said Claire. -"Marion does not object to meeting you. But I think that there are -one or two things that you ought to know before you meet her. Are you -aware, in the first place, that she has given up your uncle's fortune?" - -"No," he answered, very much startled. "Why has she done so?" - -"Because Mr. Singleton's son appeared, and she thought that he should -in justice possess his father's fortune. Do you not think she was -right?" - -"Right?--I suppose so. But this is very astonishing news. You are -positively certain that George Singleton, my uncle's son, is alive?" - -"I am certain that Marion has told me so, and I do not suppose she is -mistaken, since she has resigned a fortune to him. People are usually -sure before they take such a step as that." - -"Yes," he assented, "but it seems almost incredible. For years George -Singleton has been thought to be dead, and I was under the impression -that my uncle had positive reason for believing him so. This being the -case, there was no reason why he should not leave his fortune as he -liked, and I was glad when I heard that he had left it to Miss Lynde; -for the possession of wealth seemed to be the first desire of her -heart." - -"Poor Marion!" said Claire, gently. "You might be more tolerant of -that desire if you knew all that she has suffered--suffered in a way -peculiarly hard to her--from poverty. And she has surely proved in -the most conclusive manner that, however much she desired wealth, -she was not prepared to keep it at any cost to her conscience or her -self-respect." - -"Did she, then, resign _all_ the fortune?" - -"Very nearly all. She said that she reluctantly retained only a few -thousand dollars." - -"But is it possible that George Singleton did not insist upon -providing for her fitly? Whatever his other faults, he was not -mercenary--formerly." - -"Mr. Singleton must have tried every possible argument to induce her -to keep half the fortune, but she refused to do so. I think she felt -keenly some reflections that had been thrown on her by Mr. Singleton's -relatives, and wished to disprove them." - -Earle was silent for a minute. He seemed trying to adjust his mind to -these new views of Marion's character. "And you tell me that she is -here--with you?" - -"I was about to say that she is in the room," Claire answered; "but I -do not see her just now. She was here a few minutes ago." - -"Probably my appearance sent her away. Perhaps she would rather not -meet me." - -"She assured me that she did not object to meeting you; and, unless -you give up our acquaintance, I do not see how such a meeting can be -avoided; for she has come to stay in Rome some time." - -"Well," said Earle, with an air of determination, "I certainly have -no intention of giving up your acquaintance. Be sure of that. And it -would go hard with me to cease visiting here in the pleasant, familiar -fashion Mrs. Kerr and yourself have allowed me to fall into. So if Miss -Lynde does not object to meeting me, there assuredly is not the least -reason why I should object to meeting her." - -Claire would have liked to ask, in her sincere, straightforward -fashion, if all his feeling for Marion was at an end; and she might -have done so but for the recollection of the look which had startled -her. She did not acknowledge to herself in so many words what that look -might mean; but it made her instinctively avoid any dangerous question, -and she was not sorry when at this point their _tęte-ŕ-tęte_ was -interrupted. - -But Marion did not reappear; and when Claire at length went to seek -her, she found that she had retired. Her room was in partial darkness, -so that her face could not be seen, but her voice sounded altogether as -usual when she accounted for her disappearance. - -"I found that I was more tired than I had imagined by our day of -sight-seeing," she said. "I grew so stupid that flight was the only -resource. Pray make my excuses to Mr. Gardner. I vanished while he went -across the room, and I suppose he was astonished to find an empty chair -when he returned." - -"Do you know that Mr. Earle entered just at the time you left?" asked -Claire, who had her suspicions about this sudden flight. - -"Did he?" said Marion, in a tone of indifference. "Fortunately, it is -not necessary to make my excuses to him. There is no more reason why -he should wish to see me than why I should wish to see him. Another -time will answer as well to exchange some common-places of greeting. -Good-night, dear! Don't let me detain you longer from your friends." - -"I am so sorry you are tired! Hereafter we must be more moderate in -sight-seeing," observed Claire. - -As she went out of the room she said to herself that she must wait -before she could decide anything with regard to the feelings of these -two people. Was their alienation real and complete? One seemed as -cold and indifferent as the other. But did this coldness only mask -the old affection, or was it genuine? Claire had some instincts which -seldom misled her, and one of these instincts made her fear that the -indifference was more genuine with Earle than with Marion. "That would -be terrible," she said to herself: "if _he_ has forgotten and _she_ has -not. If it were only possible that they would tell the simple truth! -But that, I suppose, cannot be expected. If I knew it, I would know how -to act; but as it is I can only wait and observe. I believe, however, -that Marion left the room because he appeared; and if his presence has -such an effect on her, she certainly cares for him yet." - -Marion was already writhing under the thought that this very conclusion -would be drawn--perhaps by Earle himself,--and determining that she -would never again be betrayed into such weakness. "It was the shock of -surprise," she said in self-extenuation. "I was not expecting anything -of _that_ kind, and it naturally startled me. I know it now, and it -will have no such effect a second time. I suppose I might have looked -for it if I had not been so self-absorbed. Certainly it is not only -natural, but very suitable. They seem made for each other; and I--I do -hope they may be happy. But I must go away as soon as I can. That is -necessary." - -It was several days after this that the meeting between herself and -Earle took place. She had been with Claire for some hours in the -galleries of the Vatican, and finally before leaving they entered the -beautiful Raphael Loggia--that lovely spot filled with light and color, -where the most exquisite creations of the king of painters glow with -immortal sunshine from the walls. As they entered and paced slowly down -its length, a figure was advancing from the other end of the luminous -vista toward them. Marion recognized this figure before Claire did, -and so had a moment in which to take firm hold of her self-possession -before the latter, turning to her quickly, said, "Yonder comes Mr. -Earle." - -"So I perceive," replied Marion, quietly. "He has not changed -sufficiently to make an introduction necessary." - -The next moment they had met, were shaking hands, and exchanging -greetings. Of the two Marion preserved her composure best. Earle was -surprised by his own emotion when he saw again the face that once had -power to move him so deeply. He had said to himself that its power was -over, that he was cured in the fullest sense of that which he looked -back upon as brief infatuation; but now that he found himself again in -Marion's presence, a thrill of the old emotion seemed to stir, and for -a moment rendered him hardly able to speak. - -Conventionalities are powerful things, however, and the emotion must be -very strong that is not successfully held in check by them. Claire went -on speaking in her gentle voice, giving the others time to recover any -self-possession which they might have lost. - -"We just came for a turn in this beautiful place before going home," -she said to Earle. "They are my delight, these _loggia_ of the Vatican. -All the sunshine and charm of Italy seem to meet in the divine -loveliness of the frescos within, and the beauty of the classic gardens -without. A Papal audience is never so picturesque, I am sure, as when -it is held in one of these noble galleries." - -Earle assented rather absently; then saying, "If you are about to go -home, I will see you to your carriage," turned and joined them. It was -a singular sensation to find himself walking again by Marion's side; -and the recollection of their last parting returned so vividly to his -mind that when he spoke he could only say, "My poor uncle's life was -much, shorter than I imagined it would be, Miss Lynde." - -"Yes," replied Marion, quietly. "His death was a great surprise to -everyone. I am sure you did not think when you parted from him that his -life would be numbered only by weeks." - -"I certainly did not think so," he answered, with emphasis. Then he -paused and hesitated. Conversation seemed hedged with more difficulties -than he had anticipated. His parting with his uncle had been so closely -connected with his parting from Marion, that he found it a subject -impossible to pursue. He dropped it abruptly, therefore, and remarked: -"I was greatly surprised to learn from Miss Alford that my cousin -George Singleton is alive, and has returned from the wild regions in -which he buried himself." - -This was a better opening. Marion replied that Mr. Singleton's -appearance had astonished everyone concerned, but that his identity was -fully established. "Indeed," she added, "I do not think there was a -doubt in the mind of any one after he made his personal appearance." - -"And you gave up your fortune to him?" said Earle, with a sudden keen -glance at her. - -She colored. "I did not feel that it was _my_ fortune," she answered, -"but rather his. Surely his father must have believed him dead, else he -would never have made such a disposition of his property." - -"That was my impression--that he believed him dead. But it is difficult -to speak with certainty about a man so peculiar and so reticent as my -uncle. You will, perhaps, pardon me for saying that, since he had left -you his fortune, I do not think you were bound to resign it all." - -"I suppose," said Marion, somewhat coldly, "that I was not bound to -resign any of it: I had, no doubt, a legal right to keep whatever the -law did not take from me. But I am not so mercenary as you believe. I -could not keep what I did not believe to be rightfully mine." - -Despite pride, her voice trembled a little over the last words; and -Earle was immediately filled with self-reproach to think that he had -wounded her. - -"So far from believing you mercenary," he said gravely, "I think that -you have acted with extraordinary generosity,--a generosity carried, -indeed, beyond prudence. Forgive me for alluding to the subject. I only -regret that my uncle's intentions toward you have been so entirely -frustrated." - -"I have the recollection of his great kindness," she said, hurriedly. -"I know that he desired to help me, therefore I felt it right to keep -something. I did not leave myself penniless." - -"You would have been wrong if you had done so," remarked Earle; "but -it would have been better still if you had kept a fair amount of the -fortune." - -"Oh, no!" she replied; "for I had no claim to any of it--no claim, I -mean, of relationship. I was a stranger to your uncle, and I only kept -such an amount as it seemed to me a kind-hearted man might give to a -stranger who had wakened his interest. Mr. George Singleton was very -kind, too. He wished me to keep more, but I would not." - -"I understand how you felt," said Earle; "and I fear I should have -acted in the same manner myself, so I really cannot blame you. I only -think it a pity." - -The gentleness and respect of his tone touched and pleased her. She -felt that it implied more approval and sympathy than he liked to -express. Unconsciously her eyes thanked him; and when they parted a -little later in one of the courts of the Vatican, each felt that the -awkwardness of meeting was over, and that there was no reason why they -should shrink from meeting again. - -"I have wronged her," said Earle to himself as he strolled away. "She -is not the absolutely mercenary and heartless creature I had come to -believe her. I might have known that I was wrong, or Miss Alford would -not make a friend of her. Whoever _she_ likes must be worthy of being -liked." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - - -It was soon apparent to Marion that Claire's talent was as fully -recognized by the artists who made her circle now, as it had been by -the nuns in the quiet convent she had left. They praised her work, they -asked her judgment upon their own, and they prophesied a great future -for her--a future of the highest distinction and the most solid rewards. - -"I knew how it would be, Claire," Marion said one day, as she sat in -the studio of the young artist watching her at work. "I always knew -that _you_ would succeed, whoever else failed. Do you remember our last -conversation together--you and Helen and I--the evening before we left -school, when we told one another what we desired most in life? _I_ said -money; well, I have had it, and was forced to choose between giving it -up or giving up my self-respect. I have found out already that there -are worse things than to be poor. Helen said happiness--poor, dear -Helen! and the happiness of which she was thinking slipped out of her -fingers like a vapor. But you, Claire,--_you_ chose something worthy: -you chose success in art, and God has given it to you." - -"Yes," observed Claire, meditatively, "I have had some success; I feel -within myself the power to do good work, and my power is recognized by -those whose praise is of value. I feel that my future is assured--that -I can make money enough for all my needs, and also the fame which it -is natural for every artist to desire. But, Marion, do you know that -with this realization has come a great sense of its unsatisfactoriness? -There are days in which I lay down my brushes and say to myself '_Cui -bono?_' as wearily as the most world-weary man." - -"Claire, it is impossible!" - -Claire smiled a little sadly as she went on mixing her colors. "It is -very possible and very true," she said. "And I suppose the moral of it -is that there is no real satisfaction in the possession of any earthly -ideal. We desire it, we work for it, and when we get it we find that it -has no power to make us happy. We three, each of us in different ways, -found that out, Marion." - -"But there was no similarity in the ways," replied Marion. "Mine was an -unworthy ideal, and Helen's a foolish one; but yours was all that it -ought to be, and it seems to me that you should be perfectly happy in -the attainment of it." - -"And so I am happy," said Claire. "Do not mistake me. I am happy, -and very grateful to God; but I cannot pretend to a satisfaction in -the attainment of my wishes which I do not find. There is something -lacking. Though I love art, it does not fill the needs of my nature. I -want something more--something which I do not possess--as an object, an -incentive--" - -She broke off abruptly, and Marion was silent for a moment from sheer -astonishment. That Claire should feel in this way--Claire so calm, -so self-contained, so devoted to her art, so ambitious of success in -it--amazed her beyond the power of expression, until suddenly a light -dawned upon her and she seemed to see what it meant. It meant--it -_must_ mean--that Claire in her loneliness felt the need of love, and -the ties that love creates. Friends were all very well, but friends -could not satisfy the heart in the fullest sense; neither could the -pleasure of painting pictures, nor the praise of critics, however warm. -Yes, Claire desired love--that was plain; and love was at hand for her -to take--love that Marion had thrown away. - -"It is just and right," said the latter to herself. "I have nothing to -complain of--nothing! And she must not think that I will regret it. I -must find a way to make her understand this." After a minute she spoke -aloud: "Certainly you have surprised me, Claire; for I did think that -_you_ were happy. But I suppose the moral is, as you say, that the -attainment of no object which we set before ourselves is able to render -us thoroughly satisfied. But your pictures are so beautiful that it -must be a pleasure to paint them." - -"Genius is too great a word to apply to me," remarked Claire, quietly. -"But it _is_ a pleasure to paint; I should be ungrateful beyond measure -if I denied that. I have much happiness in it, and I am more than -content with the success God has granted me. I only meant to say that -it has not the power to satisfy me completely. But that, I suppose, -nothing of a purely earthly nature can have." - -"Do you think not?" asked Marion, rather wistfully. This is "a hard -saying" for youth to believe, even after experience has somewhat taught -its truth. Indeed the belief that there may be lasting good in some -earthly ideal, eagerly sought, eagerly desired, does not end with -youth. Men and women pursue such delusions to the very end of life, -and lie down at last in the arms of death without having ever known -any lasting happiness, or lifted their eyes to the one Ideal which can -alone satisfy the yearning of their poor human hearts. - -This glimpse of Claire's inmost feeling was not forgotten by Marion. It -seemed to her that it made matters plain, and she had now no doubt how -the affair would end as regarded Earle. She said again to herself, "I -must go away;" but she knew that to go immediately would be to betray -herself, and this she passionately desired not to do. Therefore she did -what was the next best thing--she avoided Earle as much as possible, -so markedly indeed that it would have been impossible for him to force -himself upon her even if he had desired to do so. She persevered in -this line of conduct so resolutely that Claire began to think that -some conclusions she had drawn at first were a mistake, and that the -alienation between these two was indeed final. - -But Marion's success cost her dearly. It was a severe discipline -through which she was passing--a discipline which tried every power of -her nature, in which there was a constant struggle to subdue everything -that was most dominant within her. Passion that had grown stronger -with time, selfishness that demanded what it desired, vanity that -smarted under forgetfulness, and pride that longed to assert itself in -power,--all of these struggled against the resolution which kept them -down. But the resolution did not fail. "After having thrown away my -own happiness by my own fault, I will die before I sacrifice Claire's," -she determined. But it was a hard battle to fight alone; and, had she -relied solely upon her own strength, might never have been fought at -all, or at least would have ended very soon. But Rome is still Rome, -in that it offers on every side such spiritual aids and comforts as no -other spot of earth affords. - -If Marion had begun to find mysterious peace in the bare little chapel -of Scarborough, was she less likely to find it here in these ancient -sanctuaries of faith, these great basilicas that in their grandeur -dwarf all other temples of earth,--that in their beauty are like -glimpses of the heavenly courts, and in their solemn holiness lay on -the spirit a spell that language can but faintly express? It was not -long before this spell came upon her like a fascination. When the heavy -curtains swung behind her, and she passed from the sunlight of the -streets into the cool dimness of some vast church; when through lines -of glistening marble columns--columns quarried for pagan temples by the -captives of ancient Rome--she passed to chapels rich with every charm -of art and gift of wealth,--to sculptured altars where for long ages -the Divine Victim had been offered, and the unceasing incense of prayer -ascended,--she felt as if she asked only to remain and steep her weary -heart and soul in the ineffable repose which she found there. - -She expressed something of this one day to Claire, when they passed out -of Santa Maria Maggiore into the light of common day; and Claire looked -at her, with a smile in her deep grey eyes. - -"Yes," she said, in her usual quiet tone, "I know that feeling very -well. But it is not possible to have only the comfort of religion: we -must taste also the struggle and the sacrifice it demands. We must -leave the peace of the sanctuary to fight our appointed battle in the -world, or else we must make one great sacrifice and leave the world -to find our home and work in the sanctuary. I do not think that will -ever be your vocation, Marion, so you must be content with carrying -some of the peace of the sanctuary back with you into the world. Only, -my dear"--her voice sank a little,--"I think if you would take one -decisive step, you would find that peace more real and enduring." - -"I know what you mean," answered Marion, thoughtfully. "I cannot tell -why I have delayed so long. I certainly believe whatever the Catholic -Church teaches, because I am sure that if she has not the truth in -her possession, it is not on earth. I am willing to do whatever she -commands, but I am not devotional, Claire. I cannot pretend to be." - -"There is no need to pretend," returned Claire, gently; "nor yet to -torment yourself about your deficiency in that respect. Yours is not -a devotional nature, Marion; but all the more will your service be of -value, because you will offer it not to please yourself, but to obey -and honor God. Do not fear on that account, but come let me take you to -my good friend, Monsignor R----." - -"Take me where you will," said Marion. "If I can only retain and make -my own the peace that I sometimes feel in your churches, I will do -anything that can be required of me." - -"I do not think you will find that anything hard will be required of -you," observed Claire, with a smile that was almost angelic in its -sweetness and delight. - -And truly Marion found, as myriads have found before her, that no -path was ever made easier, more like the guiding of a mother's hand, -than that which led her into the Church of God. So gentle were the -sacramental steps, and each so full of strange, mysterious sweetness, -that this period ever after seemed like a sanctuary in her life--a spot -set apart and sacred, as hallowed with the presence of the Lord. She -had willingly followed the suggestion of the good priest, and gone into -a convent for a few days before her reception into the Church. This -reception took place in the lovely convent chapel, where, surrounded -by the nuns, with only Claire and Mrs. Kerr present from the outer -world, it seemed to Marion as if time had indeed rolled back, and she -was again at the beginning of life. But what a different beginning! -Looking at the selfish and worldly spirit with which she had faced the -world before, she could only thank God with wondering gratitude for the -lesson He had taught so soon, and the rescue He had inspired. - -When she found herself again in Claire's _salon_, with a strange -sense of having been far away for a great length of time, one of the -first people to congratulate her on the step she had taken was Brian -Earle. He was astonished when Claire told him where Marion had gone, -and he was more astonished now at the look on her face as she turned -it to him. Although he could not define it, there was a withdrawal, -an aloofness in that face which he had never seen there before. Nor -was this an imagination on his part. Marion felt, with a sense of -infinite relief, that she _had_ been withdrawn from the influence he -unconsciously exerted upon her; that it was no longer painful to her -to see him; that the higher feeling in which she had been absorbed -had taken the sting out of the purely natural sentiment that had been -a trouble to her. She felt a resignation to things as they were, -for which she had vainly struggled before; and, even while she was -withdrawn from Earle, felt a quietness so great that it amounted to -pleasure in speaking to him. - -"Yes," she said, in answer to his congratulation, "I have certainly -proved that all roads lead to Rome. No road could have seemed less -likely to lead to Rome than the one I set out on; but here I am--safe -in the spiritual city. It is a wonder to me even yet." - -"It is not so great a wonder to me," he replied. "I thought even in -Scarborough that you were very near it." - -She colored. The allusion to Scarborough made her realize how and why -she had been near it then, but she recovered herself quickly. "In a -certain sense I was always near it," she said, quietly. "I never for a -moment believed that any religion was true except the Catholic. But no -one knows better than I do now what a wide difference there is between -believing intellectually and acting practically. The grace of God is -absolutely necessary for the latter, and why He should have given that -grace to _me_ I do not know." - -"It is difficult to tell why He should have given it to any of us," -observed Earle, touched and surprised more and more. Was this indeed -the girl who had once seemed to him so worldly and so mercenary? He -could hardly credit the transformation that had taken place in her. - -"I have never seen any one so changed as Miss Lynde," he said later to -Claire. "One can believe any change possible after seeing her." - -Claire smiled. "You will perhaps believe now that you only knew her -superficially before," she replied. "There is certainly a change--a -great change--in her. But the possibility of the change was always -there." - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIII. - - -Soon after this Claire said to herself that if these two people were -ever to be brought together again it could only be by her exertions. -Left to themselves, it became more and more evident that such an event -would never occur. And Claire had fully arrived at the conclusion that -it would be the best thing which could occur; for she had no doubt of -the genuineness of Marion's regard for Earle; and, while she recognized -the attraction which she herself possessed for the latter, she believed -that, underlying this, his love for Marion existed still. - -"But, whether it does or not, his fancy for _me_ can come to nothing," -she thought; "and the sooner he knows it, the better. I should be glad -if he could know it at once. If such a thing must be stopped, there -should be no delay in the matter." - -It was certainly no fault of Claire's that there was any delay. Earle's -manner to herself rendered her so nervous, especially when Marion was -present to witness it, that she could hardly control her inclination to -take matters in her own hand, and utter some words which it would be -contrary to all precedent for a woman to utter until she has been asked -for them. But her eagerness to make herself understood at last gave -her the opportunity she so much desired. - -One evening Earle inquired about a picture on which she was engaged, -and of which he had seen the beginning in an open-air Campagna sketch. -She replied that she was not succeeding with it as she had hoped to do; -and when he asked if he might not be permitted to see it, she readily -assented. - -"For, you know, one is not always the best judge of one's own work," -he remarked. "You may be discouraged without reason. I will give you a -candid opinion as to the measure of your success." - -"If you will promise an altogether candid opinion, you may come," she -answered; "for you were present when I made the sketch, and so you can -tell better than any one else if I have succeeded in any measure at -all." - -"To-morrow, then," he said,--"may I come to-morrow, and at what hour?" - -Claire hesitated for a moment, and then named an hour late in the -afternoon. "I shall not be at leisure before then," she said. - -She did not add what was in her thoughts--that at this hour she might -see him alone, since Mrs. Kerr and Marion generally went out at that -time to drive. It was, she knew, contrary to foreign custom for her to -receive him in such a manner; but, strong in the integrity of her own -purpose, she felt that foreign customs concerned her very little. - -The next day, therefore, when Earle arrived, he was informed that the -ladies were out, except Miss Alford, who was in her studio, and would -receive him there. A little surprised but very much pleased by this, -he followed the servant to the room which Claire used as a studio when -she was not studying in the galleries or in the studio of the artist -who was her master. - -It was a small apartment, altogether devoted to work, and without any -of the decorations which make many studios show-rooms for bric-a-brac -rather than places for labor. Here the easel was the chief article of -furniture, and there was little else beside tables for paints and a -few chairs. All was scrupulously clean, fresh and airy, however; and, -with Claire's graceful figure in the midst, it seemed to Earle, as he -entered, a very shrine of art--art in the noble simplicity which suits -it best. - -Claire, with her palette on her hand, was standing before the easel. -She greeted him with a smile, and bade him come where he could command -a good view of the painting. "Now be quite candid," she said; "for you -know I do not care for compliments." - -"And I hope you know that I never pay them--to you," he answered, as he -obeyed her and stepped in front of the canvas. - -It was a charming picture, a typical Campagna scene--a ruined medićval -fortress, in the lower story of which peasants had made their home, -and round the door of which children were playing; a group of cattle -drinking at a flag-grown pool; and, stretching far and wide, the solemn -beauty of the great plain. The details were treated with great artistic -skill, and the sentiment of the picture expressed admirably the wild, -poetic desolation of this earth, "_fatiguée de gloire, qui semble -dédaigner de produire_." - -"You have succeeded wonderfully," said Earle, after a pause of some -length. "How can you doubt it? Honestly, I did not expect to see -anything half so beautiful. How admirably you have expressed the spirit -of the Campagna!" - -"Do you really think so?" asked Claire, coloring with pleasure. "Or, -rather, I know that you would not say so if you did not think so, and -therefore I am delighted to hear it. I wanted so much to express that -spirit. It is what chiefly impresses me whenever I see the Campagna, -and it is so impossible to put it in words." - -"You have put it here," said Earle, with a gesture toward the canvas. -"Never again doubt your ability to express anything that you like. You -will be a great painter some day, Miss Alford; are you aware of that?" - -She shook her head, and the flush of pleasure faded from her face as -she turned her grave, gentle eyes to him. "No," she answered, quietly, -"I do not think I shall ever be a great painter; and I will tell you -why: it is because I do not think that art is my vocation--at least, -not my _first_ vocation." - -"Not your first vocation to be an artist?" he said, in a tone of the -greatest astonishment. "How can you think such a thing with the proof -of your power before your eyes? Why, to doubt that you are an artist in -every fibre of your being is equivalent to doubting that you exist." - -"Not quite," she answered, smiling. "But indeed I do not doubt that I -am an artist, and I used to believe that if I really could become one, -and be successful in the exercise of art, I should be perfectly happy. -Now I have already succeeded beyond my hopes. I cannot doubt but that -those who tell me, as you have just done, that I may be a painter in -the truest sense if I continue to work, are right. And yet I repeat -with the utmost seriousness that I do not think it is my vocation to -remain in the world and devote myself to art." - -Earle looked startled as a sudden glimpse of her meaning came to his -mind. "What, then," he said, "do you believe to be your vocation?" - -Claire looked away from him. She did not wish to see how hard the blow -she must deliver would strike. - -"I believe," she said, quietly, "that it is my vocation to enter the -religious life. God has given me what I desired most in the world, but -it does not satisfy me. My heart was left behind in the cloister, and -day by day the desire grows upon me more strongly to return there." - -"But you will not!" said Earle, almost violently. "It is impossible--it -would be a sacrifice such as God never demands! Why should He have -given you such great talent if He wished you to bury it in a cloister?" - -"Perhaps that I might have something to offer to Him," answered Claire. -"Otherwise I should have nothing, you know. But there can be no -question of sacrifice when one is following the strongest inclination -of one's heart." - -"You do not know your own heart yet," said Earle. "You are following -its first inclination without testing it. How could the peace and charm -of the cloister fail to attract you--you who seem made for it? But--" - -Claire's lifted hand stayed his words. "See," she said, "how you bear -testimony to what I have declared. If I 'seem made' for the cloister, -what can that mean save that my place is there?" - -"Then is there no place for pure and good and lovely people in the -world?" asked Earle, conscious that his tongue had indeed betrayed him. - -"Oh, yes!" she answered; "there are not only places, but there are also -many duties for such people; and numbers of them are to be met on all -sides. But there are also some souls whom God calls to serve Him in the -silence and retirement of the cloister, who pine like homesick exiles -in the world. Believe me I am one of those souls. I shrank from leaving -the convent where I had been educated, to go out into the world; but I -knew what everyone would say: that I was following a fancy--an untried -fancy--if I stayed. So I went; and, as if to test me, everything -that I desired has been given me, and given without the delays and -disappointments that others have had to endure. The world has shown me -only its fairest side, yet the call to something better and higher has -daily grown stronger within me, until I have no longer any doubt but -that it is God's will that I shall go." - -Earle threw himself into a chair, and sat for a minute silent, like one -stunned. He felt as if he had heard a death-warrant read--as if he was -not only to be robbed individually, but the world was to be robbed of -this lovely creature with her brilliant gift. - -"What am I to say to you?" he cried at length, in a half-stifled voice. -"This seems to me too horrible for belief. It is like suicide--the -suicide of the faculties, the genius that God has given you,--of all -the capabilities of your nature to enjoy,--of all the beauty, the -happiness of life--" - -He paused, for Claire was regarding him with a look of amazement and -reproach. "You call yourself a Catholic," she said, "and yet you can -speak in this way of a religious vocation!" - -"I do not speak of religious vocations in general," he answered. "I -only speak of yours. There are plenty of people who have nothing -special to do in the world. Let _them_ go to the cloister. But for -you--you with your wonderful talent, your bright future--it is too -terrible an idea to be entertained." - -"Do you know," she said gravely, "that you not only shock, you -disappoint me greatly? How can you be a Catholic and entertain such -sentiments?--how can you think that only the useless, the worn-out, the -disappointed people of this world are for God? I have been told that -Protestants think such things as that, but they are surely strange for -a Catholic to believe." - -"I do not believe them," he said; "I am sure you know that. But when -one is awfully shocked, one does not measure one's words. You do not -realize how close this comes to me--how terrible the disappointment--" - -She cut him short ruthlessly. "I realize," she said, with a sweet -smile, "that you are very kind to have such a good opinion of me--to -believe that the world will really sustain any loss when such an -insignificant person as I leave it for the cloister." - -"Insignificant!" he repeated, with something like a groan. "How -little you know of yourself to think that! But tell me, is your mind -unalterably made up to this step?--could _nothing_ induce you to change -it?" - -Her eyes met his, steady and calm as stars. "Nothing," she answered, -firmly but gently. "When God says, 'Come,' one must arise and go. There -is no alternative. As a preparation, He fills one with such a distaste -for the world, such a sense of the brevity and unsatisfactoriness of -all earthly things, that they no longer have any power to attract." - -"Not even human love?" he asked, almost in a whisper. - -She shook her head. "Not when weighed against divine love," she -answered. - -In that answer everything was said, and a silence fell, in which Claire -seemed to hear the beating of her heart. Would he be satisfied with -this and go away without forcing her to be more explicit, or would he -persist in laying on her one of the most painful necessities which can -be laid upon a woman? As she waited with anxiety for the solution of -this question, Earle was having something of a struggle with himself. -The impulse was strong with him to declare unreservedly what he felt -and what he had ventured to hope; but an instinct told him not only -that it would be useless, but that he would inflict needless pain upon -Claire, and mar their friendship by a memory of words that could serve -no possible purpose. He knew that she understood him; he recognized the -motive which had made her speak to him of a purpose that he felt sure -had been spoken of to no other among her associates and friends; and he -was strong enough to say to himself that he would keep silence--that -she should know no more than she had already guessed of the pain which -it cost him to hear her resolution. - -When he presently looked at her, it was with a face pale with feeling, -but calm with the power of self-control. "Such a choice," he said, "it -is not for me or for any other man to combat. I only venture to beg you -not to act hastily. It would be terrible to take such a step and regret -it." - -Claire smiled almost as a cloistered nun might smile at such words. "Do -you think that one ever takes such a step hastily? No: there is a long -probation before me; and if I have spoken to you somewhat prematurely, -it was only because I thought I should like you to know--" - -"I understand," he said, as she hesitated. "It is well that I should -know. Do not think that I am so dull as to mistake you in the least. I -am honored by your confidence, and I shall remember it and you as long -as I live. Now"--he rose--"I must bid you good-bye. I think of leaving -Rome for a time. I have a friend in Naples who is urging me to join him -in a journey to the East. Can I do anything for you in the Holy Land?" - -"You can pray for me," said Claire; "and believe that wherever I may be -I shall always pray for you." - -"What better covenant could be made?" he asked, with a faint smile. And -then, in order to preserve his composure, he took her hand, kissed it, -and went hastily away. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXIV. - - -And so for Earle those Roman days ended, with the brief dream which he -had indulged of finding in Claire's heart a response for the feeling -that had arisen in his own. Yet no disappointment can be very keen -when hope has not been very great, and Earle was well aware that he -had never possessed any ground for hope. Kind and gentle as Claire had -been, he was always conscious of something about her which seemed to -set her at a remote distance,--an indefinable manner which had made -him once call her "a vestal of art." He understood this now, but he -had felt it before he understood it, and so the blow was not as heavy -as it might have been if this underlying instinct had not existed. A -vestal!--the expression had been well chosen; for there was indeed -a vestal-like quality about her,--a vestal-like charm, which seemed -to inspire thoughts of cloisteral tranquillity, and keep the fires -of human passion at bay. This exquisite quality had been her chief -attraction to Earle: its very unlikeness to the nature which had -fascinated him, and from which he had recoiled, making its charm the -greater; but even while it attracted, he had felt that it removed her -from him and made hope wear the guise of presumption. - -Now all hope was finally at an end; and, since it is in human nature to -resign itself to the inevitable, the wound might be said to carry its -own cure. Earle was aware of this, and he left Rome in no melodramatic -spirit whatever; but feeling it best to go, in order to recover -that calm and healthy control of himself and his own feelings which -had been lacking with him since he first met Marion in Scarborough. -As we know that nature abhors a vacuum, it is probable that his -attachment to Claire arose partly from the disappointment of that prior -attachment--from the need of the heart to put another object in the -place of that which had been dethroned; but, leaving all analysis of -the kind for the future, he quietly accepted the pain of the present -and went away. - -Marion had not the least doubt of the reason of his going, although -no word fell from Claire on the subject. She said to herself that she -was sorry--that she had hoped to know that Claire and himself were -happy together, since they suited each other so well; but, although she -was sincere in thinking this, there could be no doubt that, despite -herself, she felt his departure to be a relief--that it relaxed a -strain in which she held herself,--and that if a blank followed, a -sense of peace, of release from painful conflict, also came. "I suffer -through my own fault," she reflected; "therefore it is quite right that -I should suffer." And such acceptance robbed the suffering of half its -sting. - -Two or three tranquil months followed--months during which the -influences that surrounded her sank deep into Marion, and seemed to be -moulding over again the passionate, impulsive nature. Claire was one -of the foremost of these influences, as Marion herself was well aware; -and more than once she thought that she would be content if she might -spend her life near the friend who had always seemed to her the voice -of her better self. She had begun to study art--having a very fair -talent,--and one day as she sat working at a study she said to Claire, -who was painting busily on the other side of the room:-- - -"If I can ever grow to be anything of an artist, what a pleasure it -will be for us to live and work together! I cannot think of anything I -should prefer to that." - -Claire smiled a little. "Nevertheless," she said, "there may be -something that you will prefer as time goes on, although our -association is very pleasant--as pleasant to me as to you." - -"Is there anything that _you_ would prefer?" asked Marion; for -something in the tone of the other struck her with surprise. - -Claire did not answer for a moment. Then she said, quietly: "Yes. I -must be frank with you. There is something I should prefer even to your -companionship, even to art. I should prefer to go back to the convent -that I have never ceased to regret." - -Marion's brush dropped from her hand. She was astonished beyond -measure, for it was the first intimation she had received of such a -feeling on Claire's part. "Go back to the convent," she cried, "and -give up you art!--Claire, are you mad?" - -"Very sane, my dear," answered Claire, smiling. "I have disliked to -tell you about it, because I knew you would be sorry. I am sorry, too, -that it should be necessary for us to part; but I grow daily more -certain that my vocation lies not in the world but in the cloister." - -"I am more than sorry--I am shocked!" said Marion. "With your -talent!--why, all the artists whom we know say that your future is -certain to be a brilliant one. And to bury that in a cloister!--Claire, -it should not be allowed!" - -Claire remembered what other voice had said this, almost in the same -words; but she was no more moved by it now than she had been then. - -"Who should prevent it?" she asked. "If you, for instance, had the -power, would you venture to prevent it--to say that any soul should -serve the world instead of serving God?" - -"That is not a fair way to put it. Cannot people serve God in the world -as well as in the cloister?" - -"Surely yes, if it is their vocation to do so. But if one has a -vocation for the religious life--if that imperative call is heard, -which cannot be realized except by those who hear it, bidding one arise -and go forth,--then one _cannot_ serve God as well in the world as in -the cloister." - -"But, Claire, may you not imagine this call? I cannot believe that God -would have given you such a talent if He had not meant you to make the -most of it. Think how much good you might do if you remained in the -world--how much money you might make, as well as how much fame you -might win!" - -"My dear," said Claire, with gentle solemnity, "how much will either -money or fame weigh in the scales of eternity? I want to work for -eternity rather than for time; and I am, happily, free to do so--to go -back to the cloister, where I left my heart. Do not make it painful -for me. Try to reconcile yourself to it, and to believe that God makes -no mistakes." - -"I cannot be reconciled," said Marion. "It is not only that I cannot -bear to give you up--that I cannot bear for you to resign the success -of which I have been proud in anticipation,--but I am selfish, too. I -think of my own life. You are my one anchor in the world, and I have -been happy in the thought of our living together, of our--" - -Her voice broke down in tears. It was indeed a blow which fell more -heavily than Claire had reckoned on. Feeling assured herself what would -be the end for Marion, she overlooked the fact that Marion herself had -no such assurance. In her disappointment and her friendlessness she -had come to Claire as to a secure refuge, and lo! that refuge was now -about to fail her. Emotion overpowered her--the strong emotion of a -nature which rarely yields to it,--and for some minutes she was hardly -conscious that Claire's tender arms were around her, and Claire's -tender voice was bidding her take comfort and courage. - -"I am not going to leave you immediately, nor even soon," that voice -said; "and I should certainly not leave you, under any circumstances, -until I saw you well placed and happy. Dear Marion, do not distress -yourself. Let us leave things in God's hands. He will show us what is -best." - -"I am a wretch to distress _you_," said Marion, struggling with her -tears. "But you must not believe me more selfish than I am. Do you -think I should only miss you as a convenience of my life? No, it is -_you_, Claire--your influence, yourself--that I shall miss beyond all -measure. No one in the world can take your place with me--no one!" - -"But there may be a place as good for some one else to take," said -Claire. "Do not fear: the path will open before you. If we trust God -He will certainly show us what to do. Trust Him, Marion, and try to be -reconciled, will you not?" - -"I will try," Marion answered; "but I fear that I never can be. You see -now, Claire, how strong a hold the world has on me. If I were good, if -I were spiritual-minded, I should be glad for you to do this thing; but -as it is, my whole feeling is one of vehement opposition." - -"That will not last," said Claire. "I have seen it often, even in -people whom you would have called very spiritual-minded; but it ended -in the belief that whatever God wills is best. You will feel that, too, -before long." - -Marion shook her head sadly, but she would not pain Claire by further -words. She felt that her resolution was immovable, however long it -might be before it was executed. "So there is nothing for me but to try -to resign myself," she thought. "I wish it were _my_ vocation that I -might go with her; for everything that I care for seems to slip from my -grasp." - -Apart from resigning herself in feeling, there was also a practical -side of the question which she was well aware must be considered. Where -was she to go, with whom was she to live when Claire had left her, and, -like a weary dove, flown back to cloister shades? She considered this -question anxiously; and she had not arrived at any definite conclusion, -when one day a letter came which made her utter a cry of surprise and -pleasure. - -"This is from Helen," she said, meeting Claire's glance; "and what I -hoped and expected has come to pass--she has promised to marry Mr. -Singleton." - -"Helen!" exclaimed Claire, in a tone of incredulity. "Why, I thought he -wanted to marry you." - -Marion laughed. "That was a mistake on his part," she said, "which -fortunately did not impose upon me. Perhaps he was a little in -love--the circumstances favored such a delusion,--but I am sure his -ruling motive for asking me to marry him was to give me that share of -the fortune which he could not induce me to take in any other way. I -really did not suit him at all. I saw before I left that Helen _did_ -suit him, and I hoped for just what has come to pass. O Claire, you -don't know how happy it makes me! For I feel now as if I had in a -measure atoned to Helen for the pain I caused her about that wretched -Rathborne." - -"How?" asked Claire, smiling. "By making over Mr. Singleton and his -fortune to her? But I am afraid you can scarcely credit yourself with -having done that." - -"Only indirectly, but it is certain that if I had accepted him he could -not be engaged to her now. I am so glad--so very glad! He is really a -good fellow, and Helen will be able to do a great deal with him." - -"Is he a Catholic?" - -"She says that he has just been received into the Church. But here is -the letter. Read it for yourself. I think she is very happy." - -Claire read the letter with interest, and when she had finished, -returned it, saying, "Yes, I think she is certainly very happy. -Dear Helen! how we always said that she was made for happiness! And -now God seems to have given it to her in the form of great worldly -prosperity--the very prosperity that _you_ lost. Are not His ways -strange to us?" - -"This is not at all strange to me," replied Marion. "What I lost would -have ruined me; what Helen has gained will have no effect upon her, -except to make her more kind and more charitable. She is one of the -people whom prosperity cannot harm. Therefore it is given her in full -measure. But it certainly would have been singular if I could have -foreseen that after I had gained my fortune it would pass into Helen's -hands, and that by a simple process of retribution. For if matters had -remained as they were between Rathborne and herself, there could have -been no question of this. And they would have so remained but for me." - -"You should be very grateful," said Claire, "that you have been allowed -to atone so fully for a fault that you might have had to regret always. -_Now_ it can be forgotten. Helen says she will be married in April, -does she not?" - -Marion turned to the letter. "Yes, in April--just after Easter. Claire, -let us beg her to come abroad for her wedding journey, and join us?" - -"With all my heart," said Claire. "They can come here for a little -time, and then we can go with them to Switzerland, or the Italian -lakes, or wherever they wish to go for the summer. It will be pleasant -for us to be together once more--for the last time." - -"Claire, you break my heart when you talk so!" - -"Oh! no," said Claire, gently, "I am very sure that I do not break your -heart; and if I sadden you a little, that is necessary; but it will not -last long. There is no need to think of it now, however; only think -that you and Helen and I will pass a few happy days together--for I -suppose Mr. Singleton will not be much of a drawback--before we start -on another and a different beginning of life from that on which we -entered when we left our dear convent." - - - - -EPILOGUE. - - -A year from the summer day when three girls had stood together on the -eve of parting in their convent school-room, the same three were seated -together on the shores of the Lago di Como. The garden of the hotel in -which they were staying extended to the verge of the lake, and they -had found a lovely leafy nook, surrounded by oleander and myrtle, with -an unobstructed view over the blue sparkling water and the beautiful -shores, framed by mountains. - -"A year ago to-day!" said Marion, meditatively, after a pause of some -length. "Do you remember how we wondered when and where we should be -together again? And here we are, with an experience behind us which is -full of dramatic changes and full of instructions--at least for me." - -"Certainly for me also," observed Helen. "Looking back on what I passed -through, I realize clearly how foolish we are to regret the loss of -things that seem to us desirable, but which God knows to be just the -reverse. How miserable I was for a time! Yet that very misery was -paving the way for my present happiness." - -"Very directly," said Marion, "yet it is something I do not like to -think of; for it might all have ended so differently but for the mercy -of God--and yours too, Helen. You deserve happiness, because you were -so gentle and generous under unhappiness. As for me, I deserve nothing -good, yet I have gained a great deal--the gift of faith, relief from -self-reproach, and the great pleasure of being here with you and -Claire." - -Claire looked at the speaker with a smile. "The pleasure of being -together is one that we all share," she said; "and also, I think, the -sense of great gratitude to God. How much have I, for instance, to be -grateful for--I who a year ago went forth into the world with so much -reluctance--that the way has been made so clear to my feet; that I have -now such a sense of peace, such a conviction of being in the right -path!" - -The others did not answer. It was hard for them--particularly hard for -Marion--to give full sympathy on this point; for the pain of impending -separation was hanging over them, and not even their recognition of the -peace of which Claire spoke could make them altogether willing to see -her pass out of their lives forever. There is the irrrevocableness and -therefore the pain of death in such partings, intensified by the fact -that just in proportion as a character is fitted for the religious life -does it possess the virtues to endear it most to those associated with -it in the world. In such cases renunciation is not altogether on one -side; and although Marion had struggled for the strength to make this -renunciation, she could not yet control herself sufficiently to speak -of it. Her own future looked very blank to her, although it had been -decided that she should remain with Helen, at least for a time, when -Claire left them. - -"I will stay with you until after your return to America," she had said -to Helen when her plans were discussed; "but then I must find something -to do--some occupation with which to fill my life." - -Helen shook her head. "I am sure that George will never consent to -that," she answered. - -"And what has George to do with it?" asked Marion, amused by the calm, -positive tone of Helen's speech. "I am really not aware that he has any -control over me." - -"Control--no," answered Helen; "but he feels that he owes you so -much--the recovery of his father's fortune without any expense or -division--that he is anxious to find something he can do for you, and -he has said again and again how much he wished that you would allow him -to make you independent." - -"He could not make me independent of the need to fill my life with some -work worth the doing," said Marion. "I do not yet perceive what it is -to be, but no doubt I shall find out." - -"Of course you will find out," said Claire, with her gentle, -unquestioning faith. "God never fails to show the way to one who is -willing to see it." - -The way, however, had not yet been made clear to Marion as the three -sat together on this anniversary of their first parting. She felt the -difference between herself and her companions very keenly. To them life -showed itself as a clear path, which they had only to follow to be -certain that they were in the way of duty. All doubts and perplexities -were at an end for them, whereas for her they seemed only beginning. -What, indeed, was she to do with her life? She could as yet see no -answer to that question, and could only trust that in God's time the -way would be made clear to her. - -The silence after Claire's last speech lasted some time; for there -seemed little to be said, though much to be felt, on the events of -the past year. At length Helen observed, looking around toward the -hotel, "How long George is in coming! He promised to follow us almost -immediately, and I think we must have been here almost an hour." - -"Oh! no," said Claire, smiling, "not so long as that. But certainly he -has not fulfilled his promise of coming soon." - -"And it is a pity," continued Helen; "for just now is the most -delightful time to be on the water. I believe I will go and look for -him. Will any one else come?" - -Claire, who was always in readiness to do anything asked of her, -assented and rose. But Marion kept her seat. "I think this is almost -as pleasant as being on the water," she said. "But when you have found -George, and he has found a boat, and all is in readiness, you may -summon me. Meanwhile I am very comfortable where I am." - -"We will summon you, then, when we are ready," said Helen. And the two -walked away toward the hotel. - -Marion, who had still, as of old, a great liking for solitude, settled -herself, after the others left, in a corner of the bench on which they -had been seated, and looked at the lovely scene before her eyes which -saw its beauty as in a dream. She was living over her life of the past -year while she gazed at the distant, glittering Alpine summits; and -although she had spoken truly in saying that she was deeply conscious -of gratitude for many dangers escaped, and chiefly for the wonderful -gift of faith, there nevertheless remained a sharp recollection of -failure and pain dominating all her thoughts of the past. - -Her face was very grave, therefore, and her brows knitted with an -expression of thought or suffering, when a man presently came around -a bend of the path, and paused an instant, unobserved, to regard her. -He saw, or fancied that he saw, many changes in that face since it had -fascinated him first; but they were not changes which detracted from -its charm. The beauty was as striking as ever, but the expression had -altered much. There was no longer a curve of disdain on the perfect -lips, nor a light of mockery in the brilliant eyes. The countenance had -softened even while it had grown more serious, and its intellectual -character was more manifest than ever. These things struck Brian Earle -during the minute in which he paused. Then, fearing to be observed, he -came forward. - -His step on the path roused Marion's attention, and, turning her eyes -quickly from the distant scene, she was amazed to see before her the -man who was just then most clearly in her thoughts. - -Startled almost beyond the power of self-control, she said nothing. -It was he who advanced and spoke. "Forgive me if I intrude, Miss -Lynde--but I was told that I should find you here; and--and I hoped -that you would not object to seeing me." - -Marion, who had now recovered herself, held out her hand to meet his, -saying, quietly, "Why should I object? But it is a great surprise. I -had no idea that you were in this part of the world at all." - -"My arrival here is very recent," he said, sitting down beside her; -"and you may fancy my surprise when, an hour after my arrival, I met -George Singleton, and heard the extraordinary news of his marriage to -your cousin." - -"That must have astonished you very much. We first heard of it after -you left Rome." - -"It astonished me the more," he said with some hesitation, "because I -had fancied it likely that in the end _you_ would marry him." - -"I!" she said, coloring quickly and vividly. Then after a moment she -added, with a tinge of bitterness in her tone, "Such an idea was -natural, perhaps, considering your opinion of me. But it was a great -mistake." - -"So I have learned," he answered. "But when you speak of my opinion of -you, may I ask what you conceive it to be?" - -"Is it necessary that we should discuss it?" she asked with a touch of -her old haughtiness. "It is not of importance--to me." - -"I am sure of that," he said, with something of humility. "But, believe -me, your opinion of it is of importance to me. Therefore I should very -much like to know what you believe that I think of you." - -Her straight brows grew closer together. She spoke with the air of -one who wishes to end a disagreeable subject. "This seems to me very -unnecessary, Mr. Earle; but, since you insist, I suppose that you think -me altogether mercenary and ready, if the opportunity had been given -me, to marry your cousin for his fortune." - -"Thank you," he answered when she ceased speaking. "I am much obliged -by your frankness. I feared that you did me just such injustice; and -yet, Miss Lynde, how _can_ you? In the first place, do you suppose -that I am unaware that you gave his father's fortune intact to my -cousin? And in the second place, have I not heard that you refused it -when he offered it to you again, with himself? If I had ever fancied -you mercenary, could I continue so to mistake you after hearing these -things? But indeed I never did think you mercenary, not even in the -days when we differed most on the question which finally divided us. -I did not think _then_ that you desired wealth for itself, or that -you would have done anything unworthy to gain it; but I thought you -exaggerated its value for the sake of the things it could purchase, -and I believed then (what I _know_ now) that you did injustice to -the nobleness of your own nature in setting before yourself worldly -prosperity as your ideal of happiness." - -She shook her head a little sadly. "The less said of the nobleness of -my nature the better," she answered; "but I soon found that the ideal -was a very poor one, and one which could not satisfy me. I am glad your -cousin came to claim that fortune, which might else have weighed me -down with its responsibility to the end." - -"And do you forgive me," he said, leaning toward her and lowering his -voice, "for having refused that fortune?" - -"Does it matter," she answered, somewhat nervously, "whether I forgive -you or not? It would have ended in the same way. You, too, would have -had to give it up when your cousin appeared." - -"But, putting that aside, can you not _now_ realize a little better -my motives, and forgive whatever seemed harsh or dictatorial in my -conduct?" - -Marion had grown very pale. "I have no right to judge your conduct," -she said. - -"You had a right then, and you exercised it severely. Perhaps I was too -presumptuous, too decided in my opinion and refusal. I have thought so -since, and I should like to hear you say that you forgive it." - -"I cannot imagine," she said, with a marked lack of her usual -self-possession, "why you should attach any importance to my -forgiveness--granting that I have anything to forgive." - -"Can you not? Then I will tell you why I attach importance to it. -Because during these months of absence I have learned that my -attachment to you is as great as it ever was--as great, do I say? Nay, -it is much greater, since I know you better now, and the nobleness in -which I formerly believed has been proved. I can hardly venture to hope -for so much happiness, but if it is possible that you can think of me -again, that you can forgive and trust me, I should try, by God's help, -to deserve your trust better." - -"Do not speak in that manner," said Marion, with trembling lips. "It -is I who should ask forgiveness, if there is to be any question of -it at all. But I thought you had forgotten me--it was surely natural -enough,--and that when you went away it was because--on account -of--Claire." - -"You were right," he answered, quietly. "I meant to tell you that. In -the reaction of my disappointment about you, I thought of your friend; -because I admired her so much, I fancied I was in love with her. But -when she put an end to such fancies by telling me gently and kindly of -her intention to enter the religious life, I learned my mistake. The -thought of her passed away like a dream--like a shadow that has crossed -a mirror,--and I found that you, Marion, had been in my heart all the -time. I tested myself by absence, and I returned with the intention of -seeking you wherever you were to be found, and asking you if there is -no hope for me--no hope of winning your heart and your trust again." - -There was a moment's pause, and then she held out her hand to him. - -"You have never lost either," she said. - -(THE END.) - -Transcribers note: -The authors use of "woful" instead of "woeful" is legitimate and deliberate. - - - - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fairy Gold, by Christian Reid - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIRY GOLD *** - -***** This file should be named 54926-8.txt or 54926-8.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/2/54926/ - -Produced by MFR, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Fairy Gold - -Author: Christian Reid - -Release Date: June 17, 2017 [EBook #54926] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIRY GOLD *** - - - - -Produced by MFR, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph1"> -FAIRY GOLD</p> - -<p class="ph3"><i>By</i> CHRISTIAN REID</p> - -<p class="ph4"><i>Author of "Véra's Charge," "Philip's Restitution," "A Child of<br /> -Mary," "His Victory," etc.</i></p> - -<p class="center" style="margin-top: 5em;"> -<img src="images/illus01.jpg" alt="title" /> - -</p> - - -<p class="ph4" >THE AVE MARIA PRESS<br /> -NOTRE DAME, INDIANA</p> - - - -<p class="ph5" style="margin-top: 5em;"><span class="smcap">Copyright</span>, 1897,</p> - -<p class="ph6">BY</p> - -<p class="ph5">D.E. HUDSON.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">FAIRY GOLD.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">PRELUDE.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">C</span><span class="uppercase">laire</span>! do stop that tiresome practicing and come here. Helen and I -want you."</p> - -<p>The voice was very clear and vibrating, and had a ring of command in it -as it uttered these words; while the summer dusk was dying away, and -the summer air came soft and sweet into the school-room of a convent, -that, from the eminence on which it stood, overlooked a city at its -feet, and the rise and fall of Atlantic tides. It was drawing toward -the close of the exercise-hour, but the two girls who stood together -in school-girl fashion beside an open window, and the third, who in an -adjoining music-room was diligently practicing Chopin, were not the -only ones who had neglected its observance and incurred no rebuke; -for was not to-morrow the end of the scholastic year, and did not -relaxation of rules already reign from dormitory to class-room?</p> - -<p>Many hearts were beating high at the thought of the freedom which that -morrow would bring; many dreams were woven of the bright world which -lay beyond these quiet shades; of pleasures which were to replace -the monotonous round of occupation in which youth had so far been -spent—the round of lessons from teachers whose voices were gentle as -their faces were holy and serene; of quiet meditations in the beautiful -chapel, with its sculptured altar and stained-glass windows and -never-dying lamp; of walks in the green old garden, and romps along its -far-stretching alleys. They were ready to leave it all behind, these -careless birds, eager to try their new-fledged wings; and when the heat -and burden of the day should come down upon them, how much they would -give for one hour of the old quiet peace, the old happy ignorance!</p> - -<p>And among them all no face was more bright with triumphant hope—or -was it triumphant resolve?—than hers whose voice went ringing through -the almost deserted school-room, in the half-entreaty, half-command -recorded above.</p> - -<p>The sound of the piano ceased on the instant; a slight rustling -followed, as of music being put away; and then a girl came down the -middle aisle of desks, toward the window which overlooked the garden -and faced the glowing western sky, where the two girls were standing, -both of whom turned as she advanced.</p> - -<p>"You must pardon me," she said, in a tone of apology. "I did not mean -to stay so long, but I forget myself when I am at the piano, and I -could scarcely bear to think that this was my last hour of practice."</p> - -<p>"I am quite sure that it will not be your last hour of practice," said -the girl who had spoken first. "You are too fond of drudgery for that. -But how can you talk of not bearing to think of its being the last -<i>here</i>, when Helen and I have been congratulating each other on the -fact until we exhausted all our expressions of pleasure, and had to -call on you to help us?"</p> - -<p>"Then you would have done better to let me finish my practicing," -said the other, with a faint smile; "for I cannot help you with one -expression of pleasure: I am too sorry."</p> - -<p>"Sorry!"—it was the one called Helen who broke in here. "Oh! how can -you say that, when we are going home to be so happy?"</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i> are going home, dear," remarked Claire, gently.</p> - -<p>"And are not you? Is not my home your home, and will I not be hurt if -you do not feel it so?"</p> - -<p>"You are very kind, dear," said Claire; "but you cannot give me what -God has denied. Perhaps I too might be glad of to-morrow, Helen, if I -had your future or Marion's courage; but, lacking both, I only feel -afraid and sad. I feel as if I should like to stay here forever—as if -I were being pushed out into a world with which I am not able to cope."</p> - -<p>"But a world which shall never harm you so long as my love and Marion's -courage can help you," said Helen, as she passed her disengaged arm -around the slender form. "You know we three are pledged to stand -together as long as we live; are we not, Marion?"</p> - -<p>"I know that Claire is very foolish," answered Marion. "If I had her -talent I should be eager to go into the world—eager to cope with and -overcome it. Everyone says that she is certain to succeed, and of all -the gifts in the world fame must be the sweetest."</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is," said Claire; "but I know enough of art—just -enough—to be aware that it is a long journey before one can even dream -of fame. I love to paint—oh! yes, better than anything else,—but I -know what difficult work lies before me in becoming an artist."</p> - -<p>"Yet you do not mind work," observed Helen, in a wondering tone.</p> - -<p>"No." answered the other, "not here, where I had help and encouragement -and the sense of safe shelter. But out in the world, where I shall have -only myself to look to, and no one to care whether I fail or not—well, -I confess my courage ebbs as I think of that."</p> - -<p>"How strange!" said Marion. "If my hands were as free as yours are, I -should like nothing better than for them to be as empty—if you can -call hands empty that have such a power."</p> - -<p>"And are not your hands as free as mine?" asked the other. "We are both -orphans, and both—"</p> - -<p>"Poor," said Marion, frankly. "Yes, but with a difference. Most people, -I suppose, would think the difference in my favor; <i>I</i> think it is in -yours. You have no family obligations to prevent your doing what you -will with your life, from following the bent of your genius; while -I—well, it is true I have no genius, but if I had it would be all the -same. My uncle would never consent to my doing anything to lower the -family dignity, and I owe him enough to make me feel bound to respect -his wishes."</p> - -<p>"It is well to have some one whose wishes one is bound to respect," -said Claire gently, and then a silence fell.</p> - -<p>They were decided contrasts, these three girls, as they stood together -by the open window, and looked out on the bright sunset and down into -the large garden;—decided contrasts, yet all possessed in greater or -less degree the gift of beauty.</p> - -<p>It was certainly in greater degree with Marion Lynde, whose daily -expanding loveliness had been the marvel of all who saw her for two -years past;—the marvel even in this quiet convent, where human aspect -was perhaps of less account than any where else on all God's earth. The -little children had looked with admiration on her brilliant face, the -older girls had gazed on it with throbs of unconscious envy; the nuns -had glanced pityingly at the girl who bore so proudly that often fatal -dower; and many times the Mother Superior had sent up a special prayer -for this defiant soldier of life, when she saw her kneeling at Mass or -Benediction with a many-tinted glory streaming over her head.</p> - -<p>As she stood now in her simple school dress, Marion was a picture -of striking beauty. Tall, slight, graceful, there was in her grace -something imperial and unlike other women. Her white skin, finely -grained and colorless as the petal of a lily, suited the regular, -clear-cut features; while her eyes were large and dark—splendid eyes, -which seemed to carry lustre in their sweeping glance,—and her hair -was a mass of red gold. Altogether a face to study with a sense of -artistic pleasure,—a face to admire as one admires a statue or a -painting; but not a face that attracted or wakened love, as many less -beautiful faces do, or as that of her cousin, Helen Morley, did.</p> - -<p>For everyone loved Helen—a winsome creature, with lips that seemed -formed only for smiles, and hands ever ready to caress and aid; with -endearing ways that the hardest heart could not have resisted, and -a heaven-born capacity for loving that seemed inexhaustible. It was -impossible to look on the bright young face and think that sorrow could -ever darken it, or that tears would ever dim the clear violet of those -joyous eyes. From the Mother Superior down to the youngest scholar, all -loved the girl, and all recognized how entirely she seemed marked out -for happy destinies. "You must not let the brightness of this world -veil Heaven from your sight, my child," the nuns would say, as they -laid their hands on the silken-soft head, and longed to hold back from -the turmoil of life this white dove, whose wings were already spread -for flight from the quiet haven where they had been folded for a time.</p> - -<p>Least beautiful of the three girls was Claire Alford,—a girl whose -reserved manner had perhaps kept love as well as familiarity at bay -during the years of her convent tutelage. Even Marion, with all her -haughty waywardness, had more friends than this quiet student. Yet -no one could find fault with Claire. She was always considerate and -gentle, quick to oblige and slow to take offense. But she lived a life -absorbed within itself, and those around her felt this. They felt that -her eyes were fixed on some distant goal, to which every thought of her -mind and effort of her nature was directed.</p> - -<p>The only child and orphan of a struggling artist—a man of genius, but -who died before he conquered the recognition of the world,—Claire knew -that her slender fortune would hardly suffice for the expenses of her -education, and that afterward she must look for aid to herself alone. -Usually life goes hard with a woman under such circumstances as these. -But Claire had one power as a weapon with which to fight her way. Her -talent for painting had been the astonishment of all her teachers, and -it was a settled thing that she would make art the object and pursuit -of her life. If least beautiful of the three girls who stood there -together, an observant glance might have lingered longest on her. There -was something very attractive in the gray eyes that gazed so steadily -from under their long lashes, and in the smile that stirred now and -then the usually grave and gentle lips.</p> - -<p>It only remains to be added that both Claire and Helen were Catholics, -while Marion had been brought up in Protestantism, which resulted, in -her case, in absolute religious indifference.</p> - -<p>The silence had lasted for some time, when Helen's voice at last broke -it, saying:—</p> - -<p>"You are right, Claire. It does make one sad to think that we are -standing together for the last time in our dear old school-room. We -have been so happy here! I wonder if we shall be <i>very</i> much more happy -out in the world?"</p> - -<p>"I doubt if we shall ever be half as happy again," answered Claire.</p> - -<p>"Oh, you prophet of evil! Why not?"</p> - -<p>"Why not, Helen!" repeated Claire. "Because I doubt if we shall ever -again feel so entirely at peace with ourselves and with others as we -have felt here."</p> - -<p>"It is a very nice place," observed Helen; "and I love the Mother -Superior and all the Sisters dearly. But, then, of course, I want to -see mamma and Harry and little Jock. I want to ride Brown Bess again, -and I do want to go to a party Claire."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Claire, smiling, "I suppose there is no doubt that you -will go to a good many parties, and I hope you will enjoy them."</p> - -<p>"There is no doubt of her enjoyment," interposed Marion, speaking in -her usual half satiric tone, "if Paul Rathborne is to be there."</p> - -<p>"I was not thinking of Paul Rathborne, and neither, I am sure, was -Helen," said Claire.</p> - -<p>"That is likely!" cried Marion, laughing. "Don't, Helen! I would not -tell a story to oblige Claire, if I were you."</p> - -<p>But Helen had apparently little idea of telling the story. Even in the -dusk, the flush that overspread her face was visible, and the lids -drooped over the violet eyes.</p> - -<p>"At all events, we will not talk of him," said Claire, decidedly. "We -will talk of ourselves and our own futures. We are standing on the -threshold of a new life, and surely we may spare a little time in -wondering how it will fare with us. Marion, what do you say?"</p> - -<p>"If one may judge the future by the past, I should say, so far as I am -concerned, badly enough," Marion replied. "But whether I alter matters -for better or for worse, I don't mean to go on in the same old way; I -shall change the road, if I don't mend it."</p> - -<p>"Change it in what manner?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know exactly. Circumstances will have to decide that for -me. But I don't mean to go back to my uncle's, to share the family -economics, and hear the family complaints, and wear Adela's old -dresses; you may be sure of that, Claire!"</p> - -<p>"But how can you avoid it," asked Claire, "when you have just said that -you will not disregard your uncle's wishes by attempting to support -yourself?"</p> - -<p>"I shall not do anything to hurt the Lynde pride," answered the girl, -mockingly. "I shall only take my gifts of body and mind into the world, -and see what I can make of them."</p> - -<p>"Make of them!" repeated Helen. "In what way?"</p> - -<p>"There is only one way that I care about," returned the other, -carelessly: "the way of a fortune."</p> - -<p>"Oh! I understand: you mean to marry a rich man."</p> - -<p>"I mean that only as a last resort. The world would think worse of me -if I robbed a man of his fortune; but I should think worse of myself, -and wrong him more, if I married him to obtain it. No, Helen, I shall -not do that—if I can help it."</p> - -<p>"But you would not be wronging him, Marion, if you loved him."</p> - -<p>"And do you think," demanded the young cynic, "that one is likely to -love the man it is best for one to marry?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I think so—I know so."</p> - -<p>"Ah! well, perhaps it may be so to such a child of happy fate as you -are, but it is never likely to occur to me."</p> - -<p>"And is a fortune all that you mean to look for in life?" asked Helen.</p> - -<p>"Why should I look for anything more? Does not that comprise -everything? Ah! you have never known the bitterness of poverty, or -you would not doubt that when one has fortune, one has all that is -necessary for happiness."</p> - -<p>"But I have known poverty," broke in Claire; "and I know, Marion, that -there are many worse things in life than want of money, and many better -things than possessing it."</p> - -<p>"That is all you know about the matter," replied Marion, with an air -of scorn. "Perhaps I, too, might be able to feel in that way, if I had -known only the poverty that you have—a picturesque, Bohemian poverty, -with no necessity to pretend to be what you were not. But genteel -poverty, which must keep up appearances by a hundred makeshifts and -embarrassments and meannesses—have you ever known <i>that</i>? It has been -the experience of my life,—one which I shudder to recall, and which I -would sooner die than go back to."</p> - -<p>"Poor darling! you shall not go back to it," cried Helen.</p> - -<p>But Marion threw off her caressing hand.</p> - -<p>"Don't, Helen!" she said, sharply. "I can't bear pity, even from you. -But I have talked enough of myself. You both know what I am going to -do: to make a fortune by some means. Now it is your turn, Claire, to -tell your ambition."</p> - -<p>"You know it very well," answered Claire, quietly. "I am going to be an -artist, and perhaps, if God helps me, to make a name."</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know," said Marion, gloomily. "Yours is a noble ambition, and I -think you will succeed."</p> - -<p>"I hope so," responded Claire, looking out on the sunset with her -earnest eyes. "At least I know that I have resolution and perseverance, -and I used to hear my father say that with those things even mediocre -talent could do much."</p> - -<p>"And yours is not mediocre. Yet you talk of being sorry to leave here, -with such a prospect before you."</p> - -<p>"Such a battle, too. And people say that the world is very hard and -stern to those who fight it single-handed."</p> - -<p>"So much the better!" cried Marion, flinging back her head with an air -of defiance. "There will be so much the more glory in triumph."</p> - -<p>"You never seem to think of failure," observed Claire, with a smile. -"But now Helen must tell us what she desires her future to be."</p> - -<p>"Mine?" said Helen. "Oh! I leave all such things as fortune and fame to -you and Marion. I mean only to be happy."</p> - -<p>"To be happy!" repeated Marion. "Well, I admire your modesty. You have -set up for yourself a much more difficult aim than either Claire's or -my own. And how do you mean to be happy? That is the next question."</p> - -<p>"I don't know," replied Helen, with a laugh. "I just mean to go home to -enjoy myself; that is all. And how happy it makes me to think that you -are both going with me!"</p> - -<p>"Dear little Helen!" said Claire, caressingly. "But it will not make -you unhappy to hear that I am not going with you, will it? I have just -found out that I can not go."</p> - -<p>"Not go!" repeated Helen. The deepest surprise and disappointment were -written on her face. "O, Claire, it is impossible that you can mean -it—that you can be so unkind! Why do you say such a thing?"</p> - -<p>"I say it because it is true, dear; though it is a greater -disappointment to me than to you. I have just had a letter from my -guardian, telling me he has found an opportunity to send me abroad with -a lady, an acquaintance of his own; and I have no choice but to go."</p> - -<p>"I should think you would be delighted to find such an opportunity," -said Marion. "But surely the lady is not going to Rome at this season?"</p> - -<p>"No: she is going to Germany for the summer, and to Italy in the -autumn; which is a very good thing, for I shall see the galleries of -Dresden and Munich before I go to Rome. Of course I am glad—I must be -glad—to find the opportunity at once; but I had promised myself the -pleasure of a quiet, happy month with Helen and you, and I am sorry to -lose it."</p> - -<p>"It is too bad," said Helen, with a sound as of tears in her voice. "I -had anticipated so much pleasure in our all three being together! And -now—why could not your guardian have waited to find the lady, or why -does she not put off going abroad until the autumn?"</p> - -<p>"Why, in short, is not the whole scheme of things arranged with -reference to one insignificant person called Claire Alford?" replied -Claire, laughing. "No, dear; there is no help for it. I must give up -the idea of a short rest before the combat."</p> - -<p>"And now there is no telling when we shall all be together again!" said -Helen. "I could not have believed that such a disappointment was in -store for me."</p> - -<p>"I hope you will never know a worse one," remarked Claire. "But if we -live, we must meet again some day. We are too good friends to suffer -such trifles as time and space to separate us always."</p> - -<p>"But you are going so far away, one cannot tell when or where that -meeting will be," said Helen, still mournfully.</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it may be when Marion has made her fortune, and asks us to -visit her castle," answered Claire. "Marion, have you formed any plans -as to where it is to be situated? Marion, don't you hear?"</p> - -<p>"What is it?" asked Marion, starting. "I beg your pardon, but I was -thinking. Did you say, Claire, that this visit, which you could not -make, would have been a rest before the combat to you? I was wondering -if it will be a rest to me or a beginning."</p> - -<p>She spoke half dreamily, and neither of the others answered. They only -stood with the sunset glow falling on their fair young faces, their -wistful gaze resting upon each other, and quite silent, until a bell -pealed softly out on the twilight air, and their last school-day ended -forever.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER I.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">There</span> is nothing specially attractive about Scarborough—a town which -nestles among green hills near the foot of the Blue Ridge,—except its -salubrious and delightful climate, which has long drawn summer visitors -from the lower malarial country; but if it had been as beautiful as -Naples or as far-famed as Venice, it could not have wakened more loving -delight than that which shone in Helen Morley's eyes as she drew near -it. For that deeply-rooted attachment to familiar scenes—to those -aspects of nature on which the eyes first opened, and which to the -child are like the face of another mother—was as strong in her as it -is in most people of affectionate character. For several miles before -the train reached Scarborough, she was calling Marion's attention to -one familiar landmark after another; and when finally they stopped at -the station on the outskirts of the town, her eagerness knew no bounds.</p> - -<p>"Come, Marion; here we are!" she cried, springing up hastily. But at -that moment the car was burst open by a tall young man, who entered, -followed by two small boys, upon all three of whom, as it seemed to -Marion, Helen, with a glad little cry, precipitated herself. There were -embraces, kisses, inquiries for a moment; then the young man turned -and held out his hand, saying, "This is Miss Lynde, I am sure?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Helen, turning her flushed, smiling face. "And this is my -cousin, Frank Morley, Marion. And here is my brother Harry, who has -almost grown to be a man since I went away; and here is little Jock."</p> - -<p>Marion shook hands with all these new acquaintances; the boys seized -bags and baskets, and the young man led the way from the car and -assisted them to the platform outside, near which a large open carriage -was standing, with a broadly-smiling ebony coachman, whom Helen greeted -warmly. Then her cousin told her that she had better drive home at -once. "I shall stay and attend to the trunks, and will see you later," -he said.</p> - -<p>So Helen, Marion, and the boys were bundled into the carriage, and -drove away through the streets of Scarborough,—Helen explaining that -her home was at the opposite end of the town from the station. "Indeed -we are quite in the county," she said: "and I like it much better than -living in town."</p> - -<p>"Who would wish to live in a town like this!" asked Marion, eying -disdainfully the rural-looking streets through which they were passing. -"I like the overflowing life, the roar and fret of a great city; but -places of this kind seem to me made only to put people to sleep, -mentally as well as physically."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Scarborough is a very nice place when you know it!" said Helen, -in arms at once for her birth-place. "And I assure you people are not -asleep in it, by any means."</p> - -<p>"These young gentlemen certainly look wide awake," resumed Marion, -regarding the two boys, who were in turn regarding her with large and -solemn eyes. "And so looked your cousin—very wide awake indeed."</p> - -<p>"Oh, Frank is a delightful boy!" exclaimed Helen; "and I am very fond -of him."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to hear it," said Marion. "I hope you will be fond enough of -him to keep him away from me; for if I abhor anything, it is a boy—I -mean" (with a glance at the two young faces before her) "a boy who -fancies himself a man."</p> - -<p>"Frank is twenty years old," observed Harry, who, being himself barely -ten, naturally regarded this as a venerable age.</p> - -<p>"So I imagined," replied Marion; "and twenty is not my favorite -age—for a man. Jock's age suits me better. Jock, how old are you?"</p> - -<p>Jock replied that he was seven; but at this point an exclamation from -Helen cut the conversation short; for now they were rapidly approaching -a house situated in the midst of large grounds on the outskirts of -the town,—a shade-embowered dwelling, on the broad veranda of which -flitting forms were to be seen, as the carriage paused a moment for the -gate to be opened. Helen stood up and eagerly waved her handkerchief; -then they drove in, swept around a large circle and drew up before an -open door, from which poured a troop of eager welcomers of all ages and -colors.</p> - -<p>It seemed to Marion a babel of sound which ensued—kisses, welcomes, -hand-shakings, questions,—then she was swept along by the tide into -the cool, garnished house, and thence on to a bowery chamber, where -she was left for a little while to herself: since Helen was, after -all, the grand object of the ovation, and it was into Helen's room -that the loyal crowd gathered, who had merely given to Marion that -cordial welcome which no stranger ever failed to receive on a Southern -threshold.</p> - -<p>Only Helen's mother—who, having been twice married, was now Mrs. -Dalton—lingered behind with the young stranger, and looked earnestly -into the fair face, as if seeking a likeness.</p> - -<p>"You are very little like your mother, my dear," she said at last; -"though you have her eyes. Alice was beautiful, but it was a gentle -beauty; while you—well, I think you must be altogether a Lynde."</p> - -<p>"I know that I am very like the Lyndes," Marion answered. "I have a -miniature of my father, which I can see myself that I resemble."</p> - -<p>"He was a very handsome man," said Mrs. Dalton, "and daring—ah! it -was no wonder that he was among the first to rush into the war, and -among the first to be killed! My child, you do not know how my heart -has yearned over you during all these years, how happy I was to hear of -your being at the convent with Helen, and now how glad I am to see you -under my own roof. I want you to feel that you are like a daughter of -the house."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," replied Marion, touched by the evident sincerity -of the words. "I am glad, too, to know at last some of my mother's -kindred."</p> - -<p>"I can't help wishing that you looked more like her," said Mrs. Dalton, -returning wistfully to that point. "She was very lovely—though you—I -suppose I need not tell you what <i>you</i> are. My dear"—and suddenly the -elder woman stooped to kiss the younger—"I am sorry for you."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry for you!" The words lingered on Marion's ear after her -aunt's kindly presence had left the room and she stood alone, asking -herself why she was so often met in this manner. Why was it that, even -with her royal beauty, she had thus far encountered more of pity than -of admiration? Why did all eyes that had looked on the sin and sorrow -of earth regard her with compassion, and why had she heard so often in -her old life that which was her first greeting in the new—"I am sorry -for you"?</p> - -<p>"Sorry!—for what?" The girl asked herself this with fiery and -impatient disdain. What did they all mean? Why did this keynote of -unknown misfortune or suffering meet her at every turn, like a shadow -flung forward by the unborn future? Why did this refrain always ring -in her ears? She was tired of it—so she said to herself with sudden -passion,—and she would let the future prove whether or not their pity -was misplaced.</p> - -<p>She let down her magnificent hair as she thought this, and looked at -herself in the mirror out of a burnished cloud. Not, however, as most -beautiful women look at the fair image that smiles from those shadowy -depths—not with the gratified gaze of self-admiration or the glance of -conscious power, but with a criticism severe and stern enough to have -banished all loveliness from a less perfect face; with a cool reckoning -and appreciation, in which the innocent vanity of girlhood bore no -part. And when this scrutiny was ended, the smile that came over her -face spoke more of resolution than of pleasure.</p> - -<p>She took up a comb then, and began arranging her hair. The task did not -occupy her many minutes; for her deft fingers were very quick, and no -one had ever accused her of caring for the arts of the toilet. On the -contrary, she had always manifested a careless disregard of them, which -puzzled her associates, and was by not a few set down to affectation. -Now, when she had piled her hair on top of her head like a coronal -of red gold, she proceeded to make her simple toilet, with scarcely -another glance toward the mirror. It was soon completed, and she had -been ready some time when a knock at the door was followed by the -appearance of Helen's beaming face.</p> - -<p>"So you are dressed?" she said. "I came to show you the way down. I -would have come sooner, but, you know, there was so much to say."</p> - -<p>"And to hear," added Marion. "I can imagine, though I do not know, what -such a home-coming is. And what a lovely home you have, Helen!"</p> - -<p>"You have hardly seen it yet," answered Helen. "Come and let me show -you all over it."</p> - -<p>It was certainly a spacious and pleasant house, built with the stately, -honest solidity of the work of former generations, but with many modern -additions which served to enhance its picturesqueness and comfort. -Marion praised it with a sincerity that delighted Helen; and, having -made a thorough exploration, they passed out of the wide lower hall -into a veranda, which, as in most Southern houses, was at this hour the -place of general rendezvous. Here a pretty dark-eyed girl came forward -to meet them.</p> - -<p>"I was introduced to you when you arrived, Miss Lynde," she said, "but -there was such a hubbub I fancy you did not notice me, and I am glad to -welcome you again. I feel as if Helen's cousin must be my cousin too."</p> - -<p>"Helen's cousin is much obliged," said Marion. "You are Miss Morley, -then?"</p> - -<p>"I am the Netta of whom you have doubtless heard. But pray sit down. -Are you not tired from your journey?"</p> - -<p>"A little. It was so warm and dusty!" answered Marion. "But this seems -a perfect place of rest," she added, as she sank on a lounge that had -been placed just under the odorous shade of the vines which overran -the front of the veranda. "I mean to indulge freely in the luxury of -idleness here."</p> - -<p>"I hope you will," said Helen. "But I wish that you felt sufficiently -rested to come with me into the garden. I should like you to see how -lovely it is."</p> - -<p>"I wish that I did, but I don't. Pray go yourself, however. You must -not let me begin my visit by being a bore to you. Miss Morley, pray -take her along."</p> - -<p>After some little demur, the two girls complied with her request, and -with sincere satisfaction Marion watched them disappear down the garden -paths. She was very fond of Helen, she told herself and certainly -believed; but, none the less, a very moderate amount of Helen's society -sufficed to content, and any more to weary her. Just now she felt -particularly wearied, as if both mind and body had been on a strain; -and, sinking back on the couch, with the vines breathing their rich -perfume over her, she remained so still while the shades of twilight -began to gather, that any one who discovered her would have had to look -very closely.</p> - -<p>This was presently proved; for the silence, which had lasted some time, -was broken by a quick step—a step which passed across the veranda and -entered the hall, where a ringing and hilarious voice soon made itself -heard.</p> - -<p>"Where is everybody?" it inquired. "Surely I am late enough! I thought -they would all be down by this time."</p> - -<p>"They've all been down ever so long, Frank," a child's shrill tones -replied. "They are out in the garden—Helen and Netta and Cousin -Marion."</p> - -<p>"Oh, very good! Come along, Jock, and let us find them," said Mr. Frank -Morley. "Has your cousin Paul been here yet?"</p> - -<p>"No—not yet."</p> - -<p>"Ah, better still! We are before him, then. I shall go and welcome -Helen over again, and take a kiss before she can prevent it."</p> - -<p>"Then she'll box your ears—I saw her do it once!" cried Jock, in glee. -"Oh! yes; I'll come along with you, Frank."</p> - -<p>The tall, lithe figure, followed by the smaller one, crossed the -veranda again, and strode toward the garden, leaving Marion smiling to -herself in her shady nook.</p> - -<p>Ten minutes later another step—this time a more sedate one—sounded -on the gravel. But keener eyes explored the veranda before their owner -entered the house. Consequently they discovered the figure under the -vines, and Marion was startled by a quiet voice which said:—</p> - -<p>"What! all alone, Helen? I had not hoped for such good fortune—so -soon."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER II.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Probably</span> the speaker had seldom been more surprised than when Marion -rose quickly, and, the last glow from the west falling over her, he -found himself face to face with a stranger.</p> - -<p>Even to the most self-possessed there is something a little -embarrassing when tender tones or caressing words are heard by ears -for which they were not intended; and, although there was nothing -specially significant in the letter of this speech, its spirit had been -eloquent enough to make Mr. Paul Rathborne start with confusion when he -discovered his mistake.</p> - -<p>"I beg pardon," he said, a little hastily—"I did not observe—that is" -(with a sudden grasp of self-possession), "I thought I was addressing -my cousin. I suppose I have the pleasure of seeing Miss Lynde?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Marion. "And you, I presume, are Mr. Rathborne?"</p> - -<p>He bowed. "I am glad to perceive that you have heard of me."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Marion, "in knowing Helen, one knows all the people that -make up her home circle. I assure you I feel intimately acquainted with -yourself and all the Morleys, and the children—"</p> - -<p>"And probably the horses and the dogs," he said as she paused. "I am -aware of the comprehensiveness of Helen's affections."</p> - -<p>"Her heart is large enough to hold all that she gives a place in it," -remarked Marion.</p> - -<p>"Oh! no doubt," said Mr. Rathborne. "But, perhaps, if one had one's -choice, one would be flattered by more exclusiveness."</p> - -<p>Marion glanced at him and thought, "It is evidently in your nature to -want to monopolize." But she only said: "I do not think you have reason -to complain of your place in Helen's regard."</p> - -<p>"I have no thought of complaining," he replied; "I am very grateful for -all the regard she is good enough to give me."</p> - -<p>The humility of the words could not conceal an arrogance of tone, -which did not escape the ear of the listener. At that moment she was -as thoroughly convinced as ever afterward that this man perfectly -understood how paramount was the place he held in Helen's regard.</p> - -<p>"Helen's affection is something for which one may well be grateful," -she observed, sincerely enough. "But do you not wish to find her? She -is in the garden."</p> - -<p>Mr. Rathborne did not stir. "If she is in the garden," he said, "she -will no doubt come in presently. And I judge from sounds which I hear -in that direction that she is not alone. If you do not object, I will -remain here and wait for her."</p> - -<p>"Object! Why should I object?" asked Marion. She reseated herself, and -was not displeased that Mr. Rathborne drew forward a chair and also sat -down. She was aware that he was, in a manner, engaged to Helen—in -other words, that their positive engagement had only been deferred on -account of Helen's youth; but the fact did not at all detract from the -interest he had for her—the interest of a man with wider life and, -presumably, wider thoughts than the school-girls who, up to this time, -had formed her social atmosphere. It offended her, therefore, that when -he spoke next it was in the tone of one addressing a school-girl.</p> - -<p>"I suppose, Miss Lynde, that, like Helen, you were very much attached -to the convent?"</p> - -<p>"It is not at all safe to suppose that I am in any respect like Helen," -she replied. "We are very good friends, but exceedingly different in -character."</p> - -<p>"And therefore in tastes?"</p> - -<p>"That follows, does it not? Different characters must have different -tastes."</p> - -<p>"It certainly seems a natural inference. And so I am to presume that -you were <i>not</i> attached to the convent?"</p> - -<p>"That is going rather too far. I liked it better than any other -school at which I ever was placed. But I am not fond of restraint and -subjection; therefore I am glad that my school-days are over."</p> - -<p>Mr. Rathborne smiled slightly. Even in the dusk he could see enough of -the presence before him to judge that restraint and subjection would -indeed be little likely to please this imperial-looking creature.</p> - -<p>"I am to congratulate you, then," he said, "on the fact that your -school-days are definitely over?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, they are definitely over, and it remains now to be seen what -schooling life holds for me."</p> - -<p>"Certainly a singular girl this!" thought the man, who was well aware -that most young ladies had little thought of what schooling life might -hold for them. "If I may be permitted to prophesy," he said aloud, "I -think that life has in store for you only pleasant experiences."</p> - -<p>"That is very kind of you," answered Marion, with a mocking tone in -her voice, which was very familiar to her associates; "but I don't -know that I have any claim to special exemption from the usual lot of -mankind; and certainly pleasant experiences are not the usual lot, -unless everyone is very much mistaken."</p> - -<p>"People are too much given to sitting down and moaning over the -unpleasantness of life, when they might make it otherwise by taking -matters into their own hands," said Mr. Rathborne. "But that requires a -strong will."</p> - -<p>"And something beside will, does it not?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! of course the ability to seize opportunity, and make one's self -master of it."</p> - -<p>"That is what I should like," said Marion, speaking as if to herself: -"to seize opportunity. But the opportunity must come in order to be -seized."</p> - -<p>"There is little doubt but that it will come to you," remarked her -companion, more and more impressed.</p> - -<p>How far the conversation might have progressed in this personal vein, -into which it had so unexpectedly fallen, it is difficult to say; for a -spark of congenial sympathy had been already struck between these two -people, who a few minutes before had been absolute strangers to each -other. But at this point Mrs. Dalton stepped out of the hall and came -toward them.</p> - -<p>"I thought I heard your voice, Paul," she said, as Rathborne rose to -shake hands with her; "and I wondered to whom you were talking, since I -knew the girls were in the garden. But this is Marion, is it not?"</p> - -<p>"It is Marion," replied that young lady. "I did not go into the -garden—I felt too tired,—and Mr. Rathborne found me here a few -minutes ago."</p> - -<p>"It is somewhat late for an introduction, then," said Mrs. Dalton, -"since you have already made acquaintance."</p> - -<p>"Not a very difficult task," observed Rathborne. "I have heard a good -deal of Miss Lynde, and she was good enough to say that my name was not -altogether unknown to her."</p> - -<p>"Helen talks so much of her friends that they could hardly avoid -knowing one another," resumed Mrs. Dalton. "But pray go and tell her, -Paul, that it is time to come in to tea."</p> - -<p>"With pleasure," said Mr. Rathborne, departing with an alacrity which -seemed to imply that only politeness had prevented his going before.</p> - -<p>At least so Mrs. Dalton interpreted the quickness of his step, as she -looked after him for an instant, and then turned to Marion. "I suppose, -my dear," she said, "that you have heard Helen speak of Paul very -often?"</p> - -<p>"Very often indeed," answered Marion.</p> - -<p>"And you are probably aware that if I had not refused to allow her to -bind herself while she was so young, they would be engaged?"</p> - -<p>Marion signified that she had also heard this—exhaustively.</p> - -<p>"The responsibilities of a parent are very great," said Mrs. Dalton, -with a sigh. "I certainly have every reason to trust Paul, who has been -as helpful as a son to me in all business matters since my husband's -death—he is my nephew by marriage, you know—yet I hesitate when I -think of trusting Helen's happiness to him. She is so very affectionate -that I do not think she could be happy with any one who did not feel as -warmly as herself. Now, Paul is very reserved in character and cold in -manner. I fear that he would chill and wound her—after a while."</p> - -<p>"But is it not a rule that people like best those who are most opposite -to them in character?" asked Marion, whose interest in Helen's -love-affair began to quicken a little since she had met its hero.</p> - -<p>"I believe it is a general rule," replied Mrs. Dalton, dubiously; "but -I distrust its particular application in this case. And, then, they are -not of the same religion."</p> - -<p>"Oh!" exclaimed Marion, carelessly, "that surely does not matter—with -liberal people."</p> - -<p>"It matters with Catholics," said Mrs. Dalton. "Although not a Catholic -yourself, you ought to know that."</p> - -<p>"I know that people who have always been Catholics feel so. But you, -who were once a Protestant—I should think that you would be more -broad."</p> - -<p>"Converts are the last people to be broad in that respect," said Mrs. -Dalton. "They have known too much of the bitterness of differing -feeling on that subject. But you do not understand, so we will not -discuss it. I forgot for a moment that you are separated from us in -faith."</p> - -<p>"I am separated from you because I do not hold <i>your</i> faith," said -Marion, frankly; "but I am not separated because I hold any other. All -religions are alike to me, except that I respect the Catholic most. But -I could never belong to it."</p> - -<p>"Never is a long day," observed Mrs. Dalton. "You do not know what -light the future may hold for you. However, we will talk of this -another time; for here come the garden party."</p> - -<p>They came through the twilight as she spoke, the light dresses of the -girls showing with pretty effect against the dark masses of shrubbery, -and their gay young voices ringing out, with accompaniment of laughter, -through the still air.</p> - -<p>"Marion!—where is Marion?" cried Helen, as she reached the veranda. -"Oh! there you are still, under the vines! Here is a greeting from the -garden that you would not go to see."</p> - -<p>It was a cluster of odorous roses—splendid jacqueminots—which fell -into Marion's lap, and which she took up and pinned against her white -dress. Their glowing color lent a fresh touch of brilliancy to her -appearance when Paul Rathborne found himself opposite to her at the -well-lighted tea-table. The twilight had revealed to him that she was -handsome, but he had not been prepared for such beauty as now met and -fascinated his gaze. He regarded her with a wonder which was as evident -as his admiration, and not less flattering to her vanity. For Helen's -confidences had enabled her to form a very correct idea of this cold, -self-contained man; and she felt that to move him so much was no small -earnest of her power to move others.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile she glanced at him now and then with critical observation, -seeing a keen face, with deep-set eyes under a brow more high than -broad; a thin-lipped mouth, which did not smile readily; and a general -air of reserve and power. It was a face not without attraction to the -girl, whose own spirit was sufficiently ambitious and arrogant to -recognize and respond to the signs of such a spirit in another. "He is -a man who means to make his way in the world, and who will use poor -little Helen as a stepping-stone," she thought. "A cold, supercilious, -selfish man—the kind of man who despises women, I fancy. Let us see if -he will despise <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>There was not much reason to suspect Mr. Rathborne of such presumption. -Almost his first remark to Helen, when they were together after tea, -was, "What a remarkable person your cousin seems to be!"</p> - -<p>"Marion?" said Helen. "Yes, she is so remarkable that Claire and I have -often said that she is made for some great destiny. She looks like an -empress, does she not?"</p> - -<p>Rathborne laughed. "She has a very imperial air, certainly," he said; -"and she is strikingly beautiful. She might have the world at her feet -if she had a fortune. But I suppose she has very little?"</p> - -<p>"None at all, I think," answered Helen, simply. "And it has embittered -her. She values money too highly."</p> - -<p>"It is difficult to do that," said Rathborne, dryly; "and Miss Lynde -knows what is fitted for her when she desires wealth. I never saw a -woman who seemed more evidently born for it."</p> - -<p>"I wish I could give her my fortune," said Helen, sincerely. "She hates -poverty so much, while I would not at all mind being poor."</p> - -<p>An echo of the wish shot through Rathborne's mind, but he only said, -with one of his faint, flitting smiles: "My dear Helen, you are not -exactly a judge of the poverty you have never tried. And, while it is -very good of you to wish to give your cousin your fortune, there can -be no doubt that with such a face she will not go through life without -finding one."</p> - -<p>Helen looked across the room at the beautiful face of which he spoke. -In her heart no pang of envy stirred, only honest admiration as she -said: "I knew you would admire her!"</p> - -<p>"Admire her—yes," Paul answered; "one could hardly fail to do that. -But I do not think I shall like her. I like amiable, gentle women, -and I am very certain that not even <i>you</i> can say that Miss Lynde is -amiable and gentle."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER III.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">Y</span><span class="uppercase">ou</span> have not told me yet, Marion, what you think of Paul," said Helen -the next day.</p> - -<p>The two girls were together in a handsome, airy parlor, through which -the stream of family life had been flowing all morning, but from which -it had now ebbed, leaving them alone. Helen, who had been flitting like -a bird from one occupation, or attempt at occupation, to another, now -threw herself into a chair by one of the low open windows, and looked -at Marion, who was lying luxuriously on a couch near by, and for an -hour past had not lifted her eyes from her book.</p> - -<p>They were lifted now, however, and regarded the speaker quietly. "What -do I think of Mr. Rathborne?" she asked. "My dear Helen, what can I -possibly think of him on such short acquaintance, except that he is -tall and good-looking, and appears to have a very good opinion of -himself?"</p> - -<p>"O Marion!"</p> - -<p>"For all that I know, it may be an opinion based on excellent grounds, -but it is undoubtedly the first thing about him that attracts one's -attention."</p> - -<p>"It <i>is</i> based on excellent grounds," said Helen, with some spirit. -"Everyone who knows Paul admires and looks up to him."</p> - -<p>"Not quite everyone," observed an unexpected voice, and through the -window by which she sat Mr. Frank Morley stepped into the room. "I am -sorry to come upon the scene with a contradiction," he said, as he took -his cousin's hand; "but really, you know, Helen, that is too sweeping -an assertion. <i>I</i> don't look up to Paul Rathborne."</p> - -<p>"So much the worse for you, then," said Helen. "A boy like you could -not do better."</p> - -<p>"I think that a boy, even though he were like me, might do much better. -He might look up to someone who was not so selfish and conceited."</p> - -<p>A rose flame came into Helen's cheeks. "You are very rude as well as -ill-natured," she answered in a low tone. "You have no right to say -such things to <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>"I have never been told that there was any reason why I should not -say them to you," replied the young man, significantly; "but I had no -intention of making myself disagreeable. After all, the truth is not -always to be told."</p> - -<p>"It is not the truth," exclaimed Helen, with a flash of fire in her -glance. "Paul is neither selfish nor conceited. But you never liked -him, Frank—you know you never did."</p> - -<p>"I never hesitated to confess it," said Frank; "but I regret having -annoyed you, Helen. I did not think you would take my opinion of Mr. -Rathborne so much to heart."</p> - -<p>"It is not your opinion," responded Helen. "It is—it is the -injustice!" And then, as if unwilling to trust herself further, she -sprang up and left the room.</p> - -<p>There was an awkward pause for a moment after her departure. Mr. Frank -Morley began to whistle, but checked himself, with an apologetic glance -at Marion, who, leaning back on the cushions of her couch, was faintly -smiling.</p> - -<p>"I have, as usual, put my foot into it," said the young man. "But I -could not imagine that Helen would be so fiery. She used to laugh when -I abused Paul."</p> - -<p>"Did she?" asked Marion. "But, then, you know, there comes a time when -one ceases to laugh; and if one likes a friend, one does not wish to -hear him abused. That time seems to have arrived with her."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Morley, rather ruefully. "And the worst of it is that it -looks as if she liked the fellow better than I imagined. I am awfully -sorry for that."</p> - -<p>"You evidently do not like him."</p> - -<p>"I!—no indeed. As Helen remarked, I never liked him, but I like him -less and less as time goes on."</p> - -<p>"What is the matter with him?"</p> - -<p>"Everything is the matter with him. He is as cold as a stone; he cares -for nobody in the world but Paul Rathborne, and for nothing that does -not advance that important person's interest. He is supercilious until -one longs to knock him down; and so ambitious that he would walk over -the body of his dearest friend—granting that he had such a thing—to -advance himself in life one inch."</p> - -<p>"Altogether a very charming character!" remarked Marion. "It is certain -that you are not the dearest friend over whose body he would walk."</p> - -<p>Young Morley laughed. "No," he said, frankly. "I would walk over <i>his</i> -with a good deal of pleasure; but he will never walk over mine, if I -can help it. Though he may, for all that," he added, after an instant; -"for he is so sharp that one can never tell what he is up to, until it -is too late to frustrate him."</p> - -<p>"This is very interesting," said Marion. "It is like reading a novel to -hear a character analyzed in so masterly a manner."</p> - -<p>Morley colored. He was too shrewd not to know that she was laughing at -him; but while the fact was sufficiently evident, it was not exactly -evident how best to show his appreciation of it. After a moment he -spoke in a tone which had a little offense in it:—</p> - -<p>"I don't suppose the subject interests you, so I ought to beg pardon -for dwelling on it. But I only meant to explain why Helen was vexed."</p> - -<p>"And now <i>you</i> are vexed," observed Marion. "What have I done? I assure -you I was in earnest in saying I was interested in your analysis of Mr. -Rathborne's character."</p> - -<p>"It sounded more as if you were satirical," said Morley. "And I was not -trying to analyze his character: I was only answering your questions -about it."</p> - -<p>"Quite true, but those questions led to your analyzing it—and so -successfully, too, that I am going to ask another. Tell me if you think -he is much attached to Helen?"</p> - -<p>A sudden cloud came over the young man's face, and his eyes seemed to -darken. "I do not think he is attached to her at all," he replied, -bluntly. "Or, if that is saying too much (for everyone <i>must</i> be -attached to Helen), I do not believe he would wish to marry her but -for her fortune."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Marion, philosophically, "I suppose it is the ordinary -fate of rich women to be married for their money. And, after all, they -do not seem to mind it: they appear happy enough."</p> - -<p>"Helen would never be happy," said Frank Morley, impetuously.</p> - -<p>"Do not be sure of that," responded the young cynic on the couch. -"There is a French proverb, you know, which says: '<i>Il y a toujours -l'un qui baisse et l'un qui tend la joue.</i>' Helen would play the active -part in that to perfection."</p> - -<p>The young man looked at her with something of indignation. "You may -consider yourself a friend of Helen's," he remarked, "but you certainly -do not understand her."</p> - -<p>"No?" said Marion, smiling. "Then perhaps you will enlighten me, as you -have about Mr. Rathborne. I am probably deficient in penetration."</p> - -<p>Morley made a gallant effort not to be betrayed into boyish petulance, -and succeeded sufficiently to say, with a dignity which amused his -tormentor:—</p> - -<p>"I am sure that penetration is the last thing you are deficient in, -Miss Lynde. But you do not credit others with enough of the quality. I, -at least, know when I am laughed at. Now, if you will excuse me, I will -go and make my peace with Helen."</p> - -<p>He walked out of the room, holding his slim, young figure very erect; -and Marion looked after him with a glance of mingled amusement and -approval.</p> - -<p>"Very well done, Mr. Morley!" she said to herself. "You are an -uncommonly nice boy, with uncommonly clear reasons for your opinions. -Ten years hence you may be a very agreeable man. As for Mr. Rathborne, -your account of him agrees entirely with my own impressions. I really -do possess a little penetration, after all."</p> - -<p>Then she took up her novel again, and settled back among the -sofa-cushions with an air of comfort. At that moment her only desire -was that she might not be disturbed for a reasonable length of time. -The people in the book interested her much more than the people who -surrounded her in life. At this period of her existence she was wrapped -in a ruthless egotism, which made all human beings shadows to her, -unless they touched her interest. It was not yet apparent whether any -of those who were now about her would touch her interest; and until -that fact was demonstrated, she troubled herself very little about them.</p> - -<p>A quarter of an hour, perhaps, had passed without any one appearing to -disturb her quiet, when, through the same window by which young Morley -had entered, another presence stepped into the room. It was Rathborne, -who looked around, met Marion's eyes, and came toward her with a -pleased expression.</p> - -<p>"It seems to me my good fortune to find you always alone, Miss Lynde," -he observed.</p> - -<p>"And it seems to be the custom here that visitors shall appear in the -most unexpected and informal manner," said Marion. "Do they always come -in unannounced, by way of the window?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no! Here, as elsewhere, most visitors enter decorously by way of -the door. But I have long been as familiarly intimate in this house as -if it were my home, and I expected to find the family assembled."</p> - -<p>"The family has been assembled, but the different members have been -called away by one thing or another, until only I remain."</p> - -<p>"You appear to be fond of solitude."</p> - -<p>"Is not that a wide conclusion to draw from the fact that you have -found me twice alone?"</p> - -<p>"Discerning people can draw wide conclusions from slight indications. -On each occasion a person sociably inclined would not have been left -alone."</p> - -<p>"Generally speaking, I am not very sociably inclined, I suppose; but -that does not mean that I object to society—when it pleases me."</p> - -<p>"I judge that you are not very easily pleased," answered Rathborne, -regarding the face which he found even more beautiful than his -recollection had painted it.</p> - -<p>She looked at him with a smile so brilliant that it almost startled -him. "Are you trying to give me another proof of your discernment?" she -asked. "If so, you will be gratified to hear that you are right. I am -<i>not</i> easily pleased—as a rule. I suppose people are much happier who -are not so 'difficult,' as my French teacher used to call me. There is -Helen, for instance; she likes everything and everybody, and she is -certainly happier than I am."</p> - -<p>"But, then, unfortunately it is not very flattering to the vanity when -one pleases a person who is so easily pleased."</p> - -<p>Marion lifted her eyebrows with a mocking expression. "But why should -one's vanity be flattered?" she asked. "It is not good for one that it -should be."</p> - -<p>"Not good perhaps, but very pleasant," replied Mr. Rathborne; "and I -am, like yourself, somewhat 'difficult,' and hard to please."</p> - -<p>"Ah! then you can sympathize with me. It is not an agreeable -disposition to possess."</p> - -<p>"I can sympathize with you on a good many points—or at least so I have -the presumption to fancy," he said. "There is an instinct that tells -one these things. Even in our brief conversation yesterday evening I -felt as if a sympathetic understanding was established between us. It -seemed to me that we were likely to look at many things in the same -light."</p> - -<p>It is hardly necessary to observe that, considering what she had -recently heard of the speaker's character, and hence of his probable -way of looking at things, Marion should not have been very much -flattered by this. But, as a matter of fact, she was flattered. She had -as strong a belief in her own powers, as strong a determination to make -events and people serve her ends, as Mr. Rathborne himself possessed. -But her powers were untried, her ability to impress people untested; -and this first proof that she <i>was</i> remarkable—that even this cold, -selfish man recognized in her something altogether uncommon—something -allied to his own ambitious spirit,—was like wine to her self-esteem. -She thought that here was material on which she might try whatever -power she had, without fear of doing mischief,—material certain to -look after itself and its own interest in any event, and with which no -unpleasant results could be feared.</p> - -<p>To do her justice, Marion wanted only to make a mental impression: -to extort admiration for her unusual gifts of mind and character -from this man, who, she knew instinctively, was not easily moved to -admiration or interest. If she forced it from him, then she might be -sure that it would be easy to win it from others. These thoughts were -not absolutely formulated in her mind at this moment, but they were -impressed on her consciousness sufficiently to make her reply:—</p> - -<p>"You flatter me by saying so; for you are a man who knows the world, -and I was yesterday a school-girl. It would be strange, then, if we did -see things in the same light."</p> - -<p>"It is difficult to realize that you were yesterday—or ever—a -school-girl," said Rathborne, leaning back and looking at her intently -from under his dark brows.</p> - -<p>"That does not sound very flattering," she replied, with a laugh; and -yet in her heart she knew that it was just the kind of flattery she -desired.</p> - -<p>"I am not trying to flatter you," he replied. "I am telling you exactly -how you impress me. And I do not see how, in the name of all that is -wonderful, you ever became what you are in that convent from which you -come."</p> - -<p>A swift shade passed over Marion's face. "You must not blame or credit -the convent with what I am," she said. "If I had gone there earlier, -I might be a very different person. But my character and disposition -were formed when I went there, two years ago; and the influences of the -place could not change me, though they often made me feel as if change -would be desirable."</p> - -<p>"They made you feel a mistake, then," remarked her companion, with -emphasis. "Change in you would not be desirable. You are—"</p> - -<p>But Marion was not destined to hear just then what she was. Steps and -voices came across the hall; Helen's laugh sounded, and the next moment -Helen herself appeared in the doorway, followed by Frank Morley, who -had apparently succeeded in making his peace.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER IV.</p> - - -<p class="drop" ><span class="uppercase">When</span> Sunday came, Helen said to her cousin, rather wistfully: "Will you -go to church with us to-day, Marion?"</p> - -<p>"Not to-day, I believe, if you will excuse me," answered Marion. "If I -go anywhere—which is doubtful—I suppose it ought to be to the church -I was brought up in."</p> - -<p>"I thought you always said at the convent how much you preferred -Catholic services," said Helen, in a disappointed tone.</p> - -<p>"Well, at the convent, you see, one had not much choice," replied the -other, laughing; "and, then, the services were charming there—so -poetical and beautiful. That chapel was a picture in itself. But, from -the outward appearance of your church here, I should not judge that it -possessed much inward beauty."</p> - -<p>"No," said Helen, reluctantly, "it has not much beauty; but, then, the -Mass is everywhere the same, you know."</p> - -<p>"For those who believe in it, very likely," was the careless rejoinder. -"But I am an outsider. I believe only in what I see; and when I see -beautiful ceremonies, I enjoy them for their beauty."</p> - -<p>"It is just as well, in that case, that you should not go with us, -my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, from the head of the table—for this -conversation took place at breakfast. "Ours is a very plain little -chapel, the congregation being small and poor. If you are in search -of beautiful ceremonies, the Episcopal church will be more likely to -gratify you. They have a new Ritualistic clergyman there, who has -introduced many new customs, I hear."</p> - -<p>"I see no particular reason why I should go anywhere," observed Marion, -truthfully. "It is a very pleasant day for staying at home."</p> - -<p>But she was not destined to stay at home on this particular Sunday, -which was the beginning of a change in her life. After breakfast, while -they were enjoying the freshness of the summer morning on the veranda, -and before any chime of bells yet filled the air, Miss Morley made -her appearance, fully dressed for church parade; and, after a general -greeting, said to Marion:—</p> - -<p>"I have come to inquire if you would like to go to church with me this -morning, Miss Lynde. I have heard Helen say that you are not a Roman -Catholic."</p> - -<p>"I am not anything at all," answered Marion; "and I confess that I do -not, as a rule, see the need of church-going; but, since it is such a -pleasant day, and you are so kind as to come, Miss Morley,—may I ask -what church you attend?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Netta is an Episcopalian!" interposed Helen. "She will take you to -a handsome church, filled with well-dressed people, where you will have -pretty ceremonies and nice music to amuse you."</p> - -<p>"Satire is not in your style, Helen," said Marion, putting out her -hand to give a soft pinch to the round arm near her. "But, since you -give such an attractive description, I believe I will go with Miss -Morley."</p> - -<p>"Then we have not much time to spare," said that young lady, with a -glance at her dress, as a concert of bells suddenly burst out.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I will be ready in a few minutes!" exclaimed Marion, smiling.</p> - -<p>Her simple toilet was soon made, yet its very simplicity enhanced the -striking character of her beauty; and when she followed Miss Morley up -the softly-carpeted aisle of the Episcopal church, every eye turned on -her, and everyone wondered who she could be. To herself, the atmosphere -which surrounded her was very agreeable, speaking as it did of wealth -and refined tastes. Beautiful architectural forms, polished woods, -stained glass, a pretty procession; sweet, clear voices singing to the -rich roll of a fine organ; and a congregation which gave the impression -of belonging altogether to the favored classes of society,—these -things she liked, independently of any religious association or meaning.</p> - -<p>Indeed, as a religious ceremony, the service seemed to Marion very -much of a failure, so recently had she witnessed the divine Reality of -worship. She missed the thrill of awe which had come even to her when -the Sacred Host was lifted up to heaven in the Mass; and her keen, -unprejudiced mind realized how entirely what she now saw was only the -mutilated remnant of an older and grander ritual. "It is a pity that -the Catholic religion is so exacting, and that so many common people -belong to it," she thought; "for it is the only one with any reality -about it, or any claim to one's respect."</p> - -<p>Nobody would have suspected these reflections, however, from her -outward deportment. She went through the service decorously, and -listened with exemplary attention to the sermon, which was by no means -contemptible as a literary effort. Her beautiful face—conspicuously -placed in one of the front pews—somewhat distracted the attention of -the young clergyman, and he found himself now and again looking from -his MS. to meet the large, dark eyes fixed so steadily on him. But -Marion herself was distracted by no one, although she was aware of the -appearance and manner of everybody in her immediate neighborhood.</p> - -<p>Among the rest, she observed a lady who sat near, and more than once -glanced inquiringly toward her; a lady of specially distinguished and -fashionable appearance. "She does not belong to Scarborough," thought -Marion, noticing (without appearing to do so) some of the details -of her costume. And her conclusion she soon found was correct. When -the services were over, and the congregation, passing out of church, -interchanged salutations as they went, Miss Morley acknowledged a -greeting from this lady; and Marion, as they walked on, said: "Who is -that handsome and elegant woman?"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Singleton," was the reply. "She is very handsome and very -elegant, is she not? But she does not live in Scarborough; she is here -only for the summer."</p> - -<p>"I felt sure of that," thought Marion—though she had too much tact to -say so. "Who is she?—where does she come from?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"She is one of <i>the</i> Singletons," answered Netta—"at least her husband -is,—and you know who they are. They appear to have ample means, and -live in a great many places. She has just returned from Europe."</p> - -<p>"And why has she come to Scarborough?" inquired Marion, in a tone not -altogether flattering to that place.</p> - -<p>"Well, chiefly, I believe, because the climate here agrees wonderfully -with an old gentleman who is her husband's uncle, to whom they seem to -devote themselves."</p> - -<p>"Is he wealthy?" asked Marion, with unconscious cynicism.</p> - -<p>"Oh, very!" replied Netta, with simplicity; "immensely rich, I believe, -and has no children; so he lives with the Singletons, or <i>they</i> live -with him."</p> - -<p>"The last most likely," said Marion, whose knowledge of life was -largely drawn from its seamy side.</p> - -<p>The conversation ended here, and she thought no more of it. But on the -evening of the next day Miss Morley came into the drawing room where -the family group were assembled after tea, and, turning to Marion, -said:—</p> - -<p>"Do you remember our speaking of Mrs. Singleton as we came from church -yesterday, Miss Lynde? She seems to have been as much impressed by -you as you were by her. I met her on the street this morning, and she -stopped me to ask who you were. I suppose I must not venture to repeat -all that she said of your appearance, but I may tell you that she has -some connections named Lynde, and that she is very curious to know if -you belong to them."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry that I can not satisfy her," said Marion, who showed no -signs of being as flattered as she really was. "Family genealogies have -never interested me. If my uncle were here now, he could tell her all -that she wished to know."</p> - -<p>"So that elegant Mrs. Singleton is in Scarborough again this summer!" -cried Helen, with interest. "Is the same old gentleman with her, and do -they still keep up an establishment with so much style?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes!" her cousin answered. "They have taken the Norton House for -the summer, and have brought a beautiful carriage and horses, and -servants, with them. Not many people have seen the old gentleman yet. I -hear that he is feebler than he was last year."</p> - -<p>"Then no doubt Mrs. Singleton still laments touchingly how sad it is -for old people—for their own sakes entirely!—when they live too -long," said Paul Rathborne, who was present as usual.</p> - -<p>"At least she does not devote much of her time and attention to him," -responded Mrs. Dalton, "unless report greatly belies her."</p> - -<p>"Why should she?" said Rathborne. "He has an expensive, highly-trained -nurse for his special service, besides a staff of servants. What could -she do for him, except worry him? Oh, no: it is not on account of any -demand upon her time or attention that she thinks he lives too long, -but because he keeps his fortune in his own hands, and will until death -relaxes his hold of it."</p> - -<p>"How awful," exclaimed Helen, with a shudder, "to want anybody to -die! I cannot believe that Mrs. Singleton does. She seems so kind and -pleasant."</p> - -<p>"And you think everyone must be kind and pleasant who seems so?" said -Rathborne, with a covert sneer. "My dear Helen, it will not do to judge -the world by yourself."</p> - -<p>"Why not?" asked Helen, innocently. "Why should I not believe that -others are honest and sincere as well as myself?"</p> - -<p>"Well, really there does not seem any reason on the surface, except -that experience proves it otherwise," he answered, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"I hope it may be long before experience proves it to me," said Helen. -"I can not bear to think badly of people. It seems to me that it would -break my heart to be forced to think badly of any one for whom I cared."</p> - -<p>If one heart present felt a twinge of compunction at those words, there -was no sign of it; but Mrs. Dalton looked at her daughter with a sudden -glance of something like apprehension.</p> - -<p>"You should not talk in such a way, Helen," she said. "A broken heart -is not a thing of which to speak lightly."</p> - -<p>"I did not intend to speak lightly," answered Helen. "I meant what I -said very seriously. I do not think I could bear it."</p> - -<p>"That is foolish," continued her mother. "We must bear whatever God -sends."</p> - -<p>"I do not think Helen will ever have to bear a broken heart, or -anything like it," observed Marion. "I am very certain that she is made -for happy fortune."</p> - -<p>"No one in the world, who lives for any length of time, can know -unbrokenly happy fortune," said Mrs. Dalton, gravely. "But I do not -think it well to discuss such personal subjects."</p> - -<p>"Then we will discuss the rich old man who has a highly-trained nurse -and a staff of servants," said Marion, laughingly. "Tell me"—turning -to Rathborne—"what is his name?"</p> - -<p>"Singleton," replied that gentleman. "Have you never heard of him? He -is a very rich man; and Tom Singleton—the husband of the lady you have -seen—hopes to inherit his wealth."</p> - -<p>"He is his nearest relative?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I presume there are other nieces and nephews, but he is a favorite -of the old man."</p> - -<p>"Have I not heard something of a disowned son?" asked Mrs. Dalton.</p> - -<p>"A disowned son!" repeated Marion. "I did not know that people out of -novels—and even in novels it has gone out of fashion—ever disowned -their sons now."</p> - -<p>"As I have heard the story," said Rathborne, "it is more a case of the -son disowning the father. He refused to comply with his father's wishes -in any respect, and finally broke away and left home, going off to -South America, I believe. He has not been heard of for a considerable -number of years, and Tom Singleton says there is every reason to -believe him dead. Of course the wish is father to the thought with -<i>him</i>, but others have told me the same thing."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps his father drove him away by harshness, and remorse is what is -the matter with him," said Netta Morley, solemnly.</p> - -<p>Rathborne laughed. "From my knowledge of old Mr. Singleton," he -replied, "I should not judge that remorse preyed upon him to any great -extent. The son, I have been told, was a wild, rebellious youth, whom -it was impossible to control—one of those unfortunate human beings who -seem born to go wrong, and whom no influence can restrain."</p> - -<p>"Where was the poor boy's mother?" asked Mrs. Dalton.</p> - -<p>"She died when he was very young. But, with all due deference to the -popular idea of a mother's influence, I think we see many cases in -which it fails altogether."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Mrs. Dalton. "But even if her influence fails, her patience -is more long-suffering than that of any one else, and her love is more -enduring. Perhaps this boy might not have been lost if his mother had -lived."</p> - -<p>"If we begin with 'perhaps' we may imagine anything we please," -remarked Rathborne, in atone which Marion had learned to understand as -expressing contempt for the opinion advanced.</p> - -<p>"Without indulging in any imagination at all, so much as is known of -the Singletons is very interesting indeed," she said, in her clear, -fluent voice. "If I see any of them, I shall look at them with much -more attention from having heard this romantic story of a lost son and -a great fortune."</p> - -<p>"I think you are very likely to see Mrs. Singleton," observed Netta. -"She spoke as if she desired to make your acquaintance."</p> - -<p>"That is a great compliment—from her," said Helen. "What an impression -you must have made, Marion!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER V.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Events</span> soon proved that Helen was right in saying that Marion must have -made an impression upon Mrs. Singleton. A few days later that lady's -card was brought to Mrs. Dalton, who regarded it with mild surprise, -saying, "Why, I have not called on her since her arrival this summer!"</p> - -<p>"But you called on her last summer," said Helen; "and I suppose she has -some reason for coming without waiting for you to make another formal -visit. Pray find out what it is."</p> - -<p>It was not at all difficult to discover Mrs. Singleton's reason for -the visit. She declared it frankly and at once. "I hear that you have -your charming daughter at home, Mrs. Dalton," she said; "and, knowing -her accomplishments, I want to secure her aid for some musical evenings -I am anxious to inaugurate. Mr. Singleton—my husband's uncle—finds -almost his only pleasure in music; so I desire very much that these -evenings shall be a success. Do you think Miss Morley will assist me?"</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt she will be very glad to do so," answered Mrs. Dalton.</p> - -<p>"I am delighted to hear it. And I am told that a very striking-looking -young lady, whom I saw in church with Miss Netta Morley last Sunday, -is your niece. Has she, also, taste and talent for music?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes; she has a finer voice than Helen," said Mrs. Dalton, "and -sings much better."</p> - -<p>"How very charming for me!" cried Mrs. Singleton. "May I have the -pleasure of seeing the young ladies? I should like to have their -definite promise to help me."</p> - -<p>The young ladies were summoned, and very readily gave the promise asked -of them. They would be delighted, they said, to assist to the full -extent of their musical abilities. "And when," Helen asked, "will the -evenings begin?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! at once," Mrs. Singleton replied. "On every Wednesday I hope to -gather all the musical talent of Scarborough into my drawing-room. I -shall send out my cards immediately to that effect. You don't know, -Miss Lynde,"—turning to Marion—"how pleased I am to find unexpectedly -such an addition as I am sure you will prove."</p> - -<p>Marion smiled. "You are very kind," she said; "but I fear you are -taking too much for granted. I am not a good musician. I have never had -industry enough. Helen plays much better than I do."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but, Marion, your voice is so fine!" cried Helen. "And everyone -likes singing best."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> do, I confess," said Mrs. Singleton. "And so, I think, does my -uncle. I have no doubt that you sing well, Miss Lynde."</p> - -<p>"That is kind of you again," responded Marion; "but I must warn you -that Helen is not altogether a trustworthy witness. She always thinks -well of what her friends do, and poorly of what she does herself."</p> - -<p>"I am willing to wait and let Mrs. Singleton decide whether or not I -think too well of what you do," observed Helen, with a gay little nod.</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Singleton has no doubt what her decision will be," said that -lady. "Meanwhile, Miss Lynde, I wonder if we are not related in some -way? I am very certain that the Singletons have connections of your -name, and I fancy it must be your family."</p> - -<p>"It is likely," answered Marion; "but matters of pedigree and -relationship have never interested me sufficiently for me to know -much about them. I regret that fact now," she continued, with unusual -graciousness; for she felt that she would not be sorry to be able to -claim relationship with people of such social position as these were.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" said Mrs. Singleton, "my uncle will know all about it, I am sure. -Like most people of the old school, he thinks a great deal of such -things. And I hope I may prove right in my conjecture," she added, as -she rose to take leave.</p> - -<p>"<i>What</i> an impression you must have made upon her, Marion!" cried -Helen, as soon as they were alone. "Do you know that she is usually the -most supercilious woman, and so haughty that the idea of her claiming -relationship with any ordinary person seems incredible!"</p> - -<p>"Do you consider me an ordinary person?" asked Marion, laughing, as she -walked toward a mirror. "I am exceedingly obliged to you."</p> - -<p>"You know that I consider you a most extraordinary person," answered -Helen, with emphasis; "but Mrs. Singleton does not know yet what you -are in yourself, and—and you are not rich or—"</p> - -<p>"Distinguished in any way," said Marion, as she paused. "There is no -doubt of that. As far as the outward accidents of life go, I am a very -insignificant person. But I shall not be so always, Helen. I am sure -of that; and people who know the world seem to have an instinct of it -also."</p> - -<p>Helen looked at the fair face which, with such an air of conscious -power, regarded itself in the mirror. To her this ambition belonged -to the order of inexplicable things; yet she had a belief that it was -natural enough in Marion, and that it was fully justified by gifts -which she acknowledged without defining.</p> - -<p>"No one could know you and not be sure of it," she said, in answer -to the last speech. "Of course you will fill some great place in the -world—we settled <i>that</i> long ago. But I do think it strange that Mrs. -Singleton should recognize how remarkable you are—so soon."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps it is an indication that other people will recognize it too," -replied Marion, with a smile; while she said to herself that one other -person had recognized it already.</p> - -<p>And, indeed, the recognition of that person had by this time become -sufficiently evident to everyone. In the innocence of her heart, Helen -rejoiced that her hero and oracle agreed with her in admiring the -cousin whom she admired so much. "I knew how it would be!" she said to -him, triumphantly. "You might be critical about other people, but I -knew you <i>must</i> acknowledge that Marion is beyond criticism."</p> - -<p>"That, however, is just what I don't acknowledge," Rathborne answered, -laughingly. "Miss Lynde is by no means beyond criticism; she is only a -beautiful and clever young lady, who has clearly determined to do the -best for herself without much regard for others."</p> - -<p>"Marion has never been taught or accustomed to think of others," said -gentle Helen. "But I do not think she would harm any one for her own -advantage."</p> - -<p>"Oh! no; she would only quietly walk over the person who was unlucky -enough to get in her way," remarked Rathborne. "And it is not I who -would blame her for that."</p> - -<p>Helen looked at him reproachfully. "Now you are doing yourself -injustice," she said. "I understand that you do not mean anything of -the kind, but such remarks make others think badly of you."</p> - -<p>"No doubt," he replied, carelessly; "but, my dear Helen, there is -nothing in the world of less importance to me than what others—the -class of others you mean—think of me."</p> - -<p>"But it is of great importance to <i>me</i>," said Helen. "I cannot bear -that you should be misjudged by any one."</p> - -<p>He laughed—people were right who said of Rathborne that he had not -a pleasant laugh—as he replied, "Who can say when one is misjudged? -Don't trouble yourself about that. As long as you are satisfied with -me, I can snap my fingers at the rest of the world."</p> - -<p>"You know how well I am satisfied," said Helen.</p> - -<p>"Yes, I know," he answered, with a short thrill of compunction. "I am -not all you think me, Helen. The 'others,' whose opinion makes you -indignant, are nearer right than you are, if the truth were known, I -suspect."</p> - -<p>"You shall not say such things!" cried Helen. "There is nothing I could -want changed in you, except"—her face fell a little—"except your -religion. If you were only a Catholic I should be perfectly happy."</p> - -<p>Rathborne smiled a little, as one would at the folly of a child. "I a -Catholic!" he said. "My imagination is not strong enough to fancy that. -No, my dear little Helen; you must be content with me as I am."</p> - -<p>"Have you read the book I gave you—which you promised to read?" asked -Helen, wistfully.</p> - -<p>"I glanced into it—because I promised you," he answered; "but I found -little of interest, and nothing to change my convictions. Do not -indulge the hope that they ever will be changed. Let us understand each -other on that point from the first. You are at liberty to believe and -practice what you like, and I claim the same liberty for myself. Is not -that just?"</p> - -<p>"I—suppose so," answered Helen, whose forte was not controversy, and -whose eyes were full of tears. "But surely you wish to believe and -practice the truth?"</p> - -<p>Rathborne shrugged his shoulders. "What is truth?" he said. "There is -ancient and high authority for that question, and I don't know that it -has ever been answered satisfactorily. I shall not endeavor to begin to -answer it. And I shall not take an answer from the lips of a priest. -Now let us change the subject."</p> - -<p>The subject was changed, but poor Helen's heart was heavier than -before it was begun. Whenever she did not talk to Rathborne on the -subject of religion, she indulged a hope of his conversion, founded on -her own ardent desire; but whenever she timidly opened the subject, -she felt the hopelessness of moving this nature so deeply rooted in -self-opinion, spiritual indifference, and worldly interests. At such -times her poor little heart had its first taste of bitterness of -life,—that bitterness which is so largely made up of the jarring of -different natures and of irreconcilable desires.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile some irreconcilable desires had begun to disturb the even -current of Rathborne's carefully-planned life. For years he had seen -very clearly what he meant to do—first to marry Helen, in order to -secure the financial independence which her fortune would give; and -then to climb, by certain well-marked steps, the ladder of professional -and political eminence. He had never hesitated or wavered for an -instant in this plan, neither had any obstacle arisen in his way. -Helen had yielded to his influence, her mother's opposition was easily -overcome, his professional success was all that he could desire, and -already he was known as a man certain to gain the coveted prizes of -public life.</p> - -<p>But now into this well-ordered and orderly existence a distraction -came. A beautiful, imperious, ambitious woman suddenly appeared in -his path, and the strongest temptation of his life assailed him—the -temptation to give up Helen and her fortune for Marion and Marion's -striking gifts. "What might not a man accomplish with such a brilliant -and ambitious spirit to aid his own ambition!" he said to himself, and -so felt the temptation grow daily stronger. Yet he was well aware that -in giving up Helen, he would give up more than her affection (which he -did not count at all), and her fortune (which he counted very heavily): -he would give up also a large and influential family connection, and -the respect of every person of his acquaintance whose respect was worth -most to him. He felt, however, that he might make up his mind to the -last, if it were all; for he was too cynical and had too thorough a -knowledge of the world not to know that people do not long remember -anything to the disadvantage of a successful man. But to resign Helen's -fortune, after the careful work of years to secure it, was something -more difficult to him; and he had by no means made up his mind to do so -when the above conversation took place.</p> - -<p>It was the day of Mrs. Singleton's <i>musicale</i>; and presently Rathborne, -who found conversation tiresome to maintain, said as he rose to go: -"Shall I accompany you this evening? Of course I have had a card like -everyone else."</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes; come by all means," replied Helen. "Mamma is going with us, -and Netta and Frank are to call by; but it is always pleasant to have -<i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"It is not pleasant to me, however, to form one of a caravan," he said, -with some impatience. "If I am to accompany you, can you not dispense -with Miss Morley and her brother?"</p> - -<p>"I hardly like to tell them not to come; and why should you object to -them? It is pleasant for us all to go together."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" said Rathborne, with the sneer which came so readily -to his lip. Some words of Marion's recurred to his mind. "Helen is so -gregarious and so easily pleased," that young lady had said, "that -I think she would like to live always with a mob of people." But for -the memory of this speech he might not have felt so irritated with a -harmless and amiable love of companionship; but the contempt which -dictated the words found a ready echo in his own mind.</p> - -<p>"If your cousins are going to accompany you, there is no need for -me," he observed; "so I will content myself with meeting you at Mrs. -Singleton's. Good-morning!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am sorry!" said Helen, with quick regret. "Netta and Frank would -think it very strange, else I would send and ask them not to come—"</p> - -<p>"Not on my account, I beg," responded Rathborne. "I am very well -satisfied with matters as they are. It gives me the opportunity of -choosing my own time to appear."</p> - -<p>"Don't be too late," said Helen. "You know that Marion and I are both -going to sing; and Marion, I am sure, will do her best."</p> - -<p>"And you also, I hope."</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "I am not like Marion. A public performance -unnerves me, but it always puts her at her best. You will hear to-night -how much better she will sing for a number of people than she has ever -sung for a small circle."</p> - -<p>"I shall certainly hear," said Rathborne. "Tell Miss Lynde that I am -preparing myself to be electrified."</p> - -<p>Perhaps he was aware in uttering these words that Miss Lynde had -appeared in the open door behind him. At least there was no surprise -on his face, but a great deal of satisfaction, when she came forward, -saying:—</p> - -<p>"And why, pray, Mr. Rathborne, should you be preparing yourself to be -electrified?"</p> - -<p>"Because Helen has just been telling me how much you are inspired by an -audience," he answered; "and you are to have all Scarborough for your -audience."</p> - -<p>She made a gesture of indifference. "Give me credit," she said, -"for caring a little more for the quality than the mere quantity of -appreciation. 'All Scarborough' does not mean a great deal to me, I -assure you."</p> - -<p>"Such as it is, though, it will be at your feet," he said. "Do not -scorn it."</p> - -<p>"I shall certainly wait until it is at my feet to begin to do so," she -answered, with a laugh.</p> - -<p>"It is not good policy to scorn even that which is at your feet," he -said. "You may need it some day."</p> - -<p>"Be sure that I have no inclination to scorn any kindness that comes in -my way," she observed, quickly. "You do me injustice if you believe me -capable of that."</p> - -<p>"Then you will not scorn your audience to-night," he answered; "for I -am sure you will meet nothing but kindness from it."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER VI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Never</span> was a prophecy better fulfilled than that of Rathborne; for -no one of the large company assembled in Mrs. Singleton's spacious -drawing-room but felt prepared to admire and approve the beautiful -young stranger, who was led to the piano by her host when the musical -programme was about half over. Everybody had an instinct that the star -of the evening had now appeared—that one who looked so proud and -confident was not likely to entertain them with a mediocre performance. -And, indeed, Marion, who had professed to scorn "all Scarborough," -was sufficiently inspired by her audience to feel capable of doing -her best. As the first notes of the accompaniment were struck, she -threw back her head like one who answers to a challenge; and when she -opened her lips such a tide of melody rose, such crystal-clear notes, -such a flood of pure, sweet sound, that even the lowest undertone of -conversation stopped, and people held their breath to listen.</p> - -<p>Rathborne, who had been late in arriving, and who stood just outside -one of the open windows, conveniently sheltered from observation, -smiled to himself as he watched the scene within. It was one which -gave him as much pleasure as his nature was capable of feeling. That -beautiful, stately figure beside the piano, with its regal bearing and -crown of red-gold hair, deserved to be the center of all attention; and -suited his own taste so exactly that he did not even perceive Helen's -sweet, smiling face near by. It did not surprise him that Marion sang -as he had never heard her sing before. He had read her character -accurately enough, by the light of his own, to feel sure that she would -never fail when occasion called for display.</p> - -<p>His glance swept around the apartment, taking in the expressions -of the various faces, and finally fastening on one that was partly -sheltered behind a curtain at the end of the room. This curtain fell -between the drawing-room and a smaller apartment opening from it. Now -and then during the course of the evening a few of the oldest and -most distinguished of Mrs. Singleton's guests were admitted to the -smaller apartment, where it was understood that "old Mr. Singleton" -was established to listen to the music at his ease. It must have been -very much at his ease that he listened; for he had given no sign of -his presence or appreciation until now, when—as if Marion's clear, -ringing notes had been a spell—Rathborne observed at the opening of -the curtain a thin face, with a high, aquiline nose and white moustache.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton also observed it; and as soon as the song was ended, -leaving others to crowd around the singer and express their admiration, -she walked to the curtained arch and exchanged a few words with the -person sheltered behind it. Then, turning, she crossed the room and -deftly made her way to Marion's side.</p> - -<p>"My dear Miss Lynde," she exclaimed, "what a pleasure you have given -us! What a delight to hear such a voice as yours! My uncle is charmed, -and he begs that you will sing again. Of course we all beg that you -will, but I give <i>his</i> request first, because it is a very great -compliment—from him."</p> - -<p>It was certainly a compliment which he had paid no one else; and Marion -smiled with a sense of triumph. She preserved due modesty of manner -and appearance, however, as she said: "I am exceedingly glad that I -have been able to give pleasure to Mr. Singleton; perhaps there is some -special song that he would like to hear?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! I am sure he will like to hear anything that you sing," replied -Mrs. Singleton, who did not wish to delay the amusement of the evening -long enough to make inquiry.</p> - -<p>So Marion sang again, with increased self-confidence and success; and -the thin, keen face appeared again at the opening of the curtains, as -if looking were no less a pleasure than listening.</p> - -<p>But, this song over, Mrs. Singleton was too wise a hostess to encourage -any request for a third. "We must not ask too much of Miss Lynde's -kindness," she said. "Later in the evening, perhaps she will sing for -us again; and we must be reasonable. Miss Royston is going to play for -us now."</p> - -<p>Miss Royston, a tall, angular young lady, whose elbows seemed unduly -developed, took her seat on the piano-stool, struck a few crashing -cords, and began a sonata. Being fresh from a conservatory of music, -and having a severely classical taste, she was understood to be a very -fine musician—a fact taken on trust by most of those who composed -her present audience; but very soon a conversational murmur began to -be heard; those who were near windows slipped out on the veranda "to -enjoy the cool air while they listened," and there was no longer any -glimpse of the aquiline nose and white moustache at the opening of the -<i>portičres</i>.</p> - -<p>Marion, who had not been conscious of this brief, partial appearance -of the invalid recluse, for whose amusement the entertainment had been -arranged, whispered to Helen, by whom she sat down: "I wonder how Mr. -Singleton likes this?"</p> - -<p>"Not as well as your singing, I am sure," answered Helen, in the same -tone; "for all the time you were singing he was looking at you from -behind those curtains yonder."</p> - -<p>"Was he indeed?" said Marion. She looked at the now closed, -unresponsive curtains with a quick glance of interest. "What does he -look like? I wish I had seen him."</p> - -<p>"When you sing again, glance over there and you will certainly be -gratified," said Helen. "But here comes Paul at last. He has missed -your singing; is not that too bad?"</p> - -<p>"I doubt very much if he considers it so," replied Marion. "He has -heard me several times and never expressed any particular pleasure, -that I remember."</p> - -<p>"That is Paul's way," said Helen, eagerly. "It is hard to tell what he -feels by what he expresses. He admires your voice very much. I am sure -of that."</p> - -<p>"What is it you are so sure of, Helen?" asked Rathborne, who had drawn -near enough to hear the last words through the crash of the piano.</p> - -<p>"That you are very sorry not to have heard Marion's singing," answered -Helen, looking up into his face with a smile.</p> - -<p>"I should certainly have been very sorry if I had not heard it," he -said; "but, as it happens, I had that pleasure. And it was just as I -expected," he added, turning to Marion. "You sang as I never heard you -sing before. An audience inspires you—an occasion calls forth all your -power."</p> - -<p>She laughed softly. "Perhaps it was not the audience or the occasion so -much as the consciousness of Mr. Singleton's presence, and a desire to -evoke some sign of interest from a critic who buries himself in silence -behind drawn curtains."</p> - -<p>"Well, if so, you evoked it. I congratulate you upon that."</p> - -<p>"Helen was just telling me that he vouchsafed a glimpse of himself -during my song. I wish I had seen him. I have a curiosity to know what -he is like."</p> - -<p>"Like a very ordinary old man," observed Rathborne, carelessly. "But -here comes Mrs. Singleton—to tell us, perhaps, that we should not be -talking while the music is going on."</p> - -<p>So far from that, Mrs. Singleton began at once to talk herself, in a -discreetly lowered tone. "Miss Lynde," she said, "I hope you have no -objection to making the acquaintance of my uncle? He has asked me to -bring you in to see him. He is an old man, you know, and an invalid, so -you will excuse his not coming to see <i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"I shall be delighted to go to him," answered Marion, with ready -courtesy and grace.</p> - -<p>So the entire company were surprised and interested to see -their hostess leading the young stranger across the room to the -jealously-guarded inner apartment where Mr. Singleton was secluded. All -eyes followed them curiously, and lingered on the curtains, which Mrs. -Singleton held back for a moment while Marion passed within, and then -let fall.</p> - -<p>Marion's own curiosity and gratification were equally balanced. It was -like a public triumph to be led in this manner behind these curtains, -which had opened for no other of the performers of the evening. -Evidently this rich and presumably fastidious old man was to be -included in the number of those who recognized her to be something more -than ordinary. The instant that the <i>portičres</i> were drawn back, she -looked eagerly into the apartment thus revealed.</p> - -<p>It was smaller than the drawing-room behind her, and was luxuriously -furnished. The light which filled it was softly toned and shaded, but -quite brilliant enough to show all the variety of silken-covered chairs -and couches, the richly-blended tints of Eastern rugs, the carved -tables and stands covered with books and papers. Sunk in the depths -of one of the easiest of these easy-chairs was a small, slight man; -his wasted face, with its high, distinct features, snowy hair, and -moustache, thrown into relief against the back of the chair on which -he leaned. His hands, which rested on its arms, were like pieces of -delicate ivory carving, and his whole appearance spoke as distinctly of -refinement as of ill health. Seated opposite him was an old gentleman, -whose robust aspect was in strong contrast with his own, and who was -talking in a tone which showed that he took no heed of the music in the -next room.</p> - -<p>He paused and rose at sight of the two ladies; but Mr. Singleton did -not stir, though Marion felt his bright, keen eyes fastened on her at -once. She followed her hostess, who went forward to his chair.</p> - -<p>"Here is Miss Lynde, who has come to see you, uncle," said that lady.</p> - -<p>"It is very kind of Miss Lynde," replied Mr. Singleton, with the air -of the old school—that air which a younger generation has lost and -forgotten. He held out his hand, and, when Marion laid her own in -it, looked at her with an admiration to which she had always been -accustomed, and an evident pleasure in the contemplation of so much -beauty. "Will you sit down?" he said, after a moment, indicating a low -chair by his side. "I want you to tell me where you learned to sing so -well."</p> - -<p>"Where do the birds learn?" asked Marion, smiling. "I have sung like -the birds as long as I can remember; although, of course, I have had -some teaching. Not a great deal, however."</p> - -<p>"It is a pity that you should not have more," he said. "Your voice, if -fully trained, would be magnificent. But, as it is, you sing remarkably -well; you have no vices of style, and you have given me a great deal of -pleasure."</p> - -<p>"I am very glad to have given you pleasure," answered Marion, with an -air of gracious sincerity. "Mrs. Singleton has told me that you are -very fond of music."</p> - -<p>He made a slight grimace. "I am very fond of good music," he said; "but -I do not hear a great deal of it from amateurs. When Anna told me of -the entertainment she had arranged, I had little idea of hearing such -a voice as yours."</p> - -<p>Marion laughed. "While I was singing," she said, "I had something of -the feeling which I imagine the singers must have who are obliged now -and then to go through an opera in an empty theater, for the sole -benefit of the King of Bavaria, who is invisible in his box."</p> - -<p>"But you had plenty of visible listeners besides the invisible one," -said Mr. Singleton.</p> - -<p>"I thought nothing of them," she answered. "I was singing to <i>you</i> -altogether, and now I feel as if I had been summoned to the royal box -to be complimented."</p> - -<p>There was a playfulness in the words which deprived them of any -appearance of flattery, yet it was evident that Mr. Singleton was not -ill-pleased at being compared to royalty—even such eccentric royalty -as that of the then living King of Bavaria.</p> - -<p>"To carry out the comparison," he said, smiling, "I ought to have -a diamond bracelet to clasp on your arm. Such are the substantial -compliments of royalty. But, instead, I am going to ask a favor of -you—a very great favor. Will you come some time and sing to me alone? -I promise you that I will not be invisible on that occasion."</p> - -<p>"I shall be very happy to do so," she answered, promptly. "It will be a -real pleasure to myself. Tell me when I shall come."</p> - -<p>"That must be settled hereafter. My health, and consequently my state -of feeling, is very uncertain. Sometimes even music jars on me. Anna -shall see you and arrange it."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton, hearing her name, turned from a conversation which she -had been maintaining with the gentleman who was the other occupant of -the room.</p> - -<p>"What is it that I am to arrange?" she asked. "That Miss Lynde will -come sometime and sing to us alone? Oh, that will be charming! But now -I must go back to my duties, for I think I hear the sonata ending. Will -you come with me?" she said to Marion.</p> - -<p>"If my audience is ended," replied Marion, with a pretty smile, to Mr. -Singleton.</p> - -<p>"Your audience is not ended, if you do not mind remaining with an old -man for a little while," he answered. "Anna can return or send for you -when she wants you to entertain her guests again. Meanwhile I want you -to entertain <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>"Before I go, then, I will introduce General Butler, and charge him -to bring you back presently," said Mrs. Singleton, after which she -disappeared.</p> - -<p>General Butler, no less pleased than his friend with the charm of a -beautiful face, sat down again, and said to Marion: "Your name is very -familiar to me, Miss Lynde. I wonder if you are not a daughter of -Herbert Lynde, who was killed at Seven Pines?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Marion, "I am his daughter, and always glad to meet his -old friends. You knew him, then?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! very well. He was in my brigade, and one of the bravest men I ever -saw. I thought there was something familiar to me in your face as well -as in your name. You are very like him."</p> - -<p>"Herbert Lynde!" repeated Mr. Singleton. "If that was your father's -name, my niece was right in thinking that there might be some -relationship between us. The Singletons and those Lyndes have -intermarried more than once. I hope that you do not object to -acknowledging a distant link of cousinship with us?"</p> - -<p>"So far from objecting, I am delighted to hear of it," answered Marion. -"Who would not be delighted to find such cousins?"</p> - -<p>There was something a little sad as well as ironic in the smile with -which Mr. Singleton heard these words, as he extended his hand and laid -it on hers.</p> - -<p>"That sounds very cordial and sincere," he said. "I hope you may never -find reason to qualify your delight. I confess I am glad to find that -we are not altogether strangers. It gives me a faint, shadowy claim on -your kind offices. I am not a man whom many things please. But you have -pleased me, and I shall like to see you again."</p> - -<p>"I shall like to come," answered Marion, "for my own pleasure as well -as for yours. I am not easily pleased either," she added, with a smile; -"so you must draw the inference."</p> - -<p>"It is one I should like to be able to draw also," observed General -Butler. "This is really too narrow. I cannot claim relationship, Miss -Lynde; but remember I am an old friend of your family."</p> - -<p>"Of mine, too, then," said Marion, holding out her hand to him. As he -bent over it with a flattered air, she had a triumphant sense that it -was a conclusive test of her power to be able to charm and influence -men of the world and of mature experience like these.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER VII.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">W</span><span class="uppercase">ell</span>, Marion," said Helen, "now that you have seen Mr. Singleton, what -do you think of him?"</p> - -<p>They were walking home through the soft, moonlit summer night when this -question was asked; and Marion answered, lightly: "I find him charming. -He is refined, fastidious, has seen a great deal of the world, and is -altogether a man after my own taste."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Frank Morley, who was walking by her side, "a man after -your own taste must be a heartless valetudinarian; for that is what Mr. -Singleton has the credit of being."</p> - -<p>"As it chances," said Marion, "neither his heartlessness nor his -valetudinarianism concerns me in the least—granting that they exist. -But I confess to a doubt on that point. Are you very intimately -acquainted with him, Mr. Morley?"</p> - -<p>Had the moonlight been brighter, it might have been perceived that -young Morley flushed at the tone of the question. "No," he answered; "I -have no acquaintance with him at all. But that is the opinion of every -one."</p> - -<p>"The opinion of 'everyone' has very little weight with me," said -Marion. "I prefer my own."</p> - -<p>"You are quite right to distrust an uncharitable opinion, my dear -Marion," interposed Mrs. Dalton's quiet voice. "The fact of its being -general is no reason for crediting it. People are always quicker to -believe evil than good, I am sorry to say."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that is meant for me," said Frank Morley. "But really I am -not inclined, on general principles, to believe evil sooner than good. -I do think, however, that some weight is to be given to a <i>consensus</i> -of public opinion."</p> - -<p>"What a large word!" cried Helen, laughing, while Rathborne observed, -with his familiar sneer:—</p> - -<p>"A word which represents a large fact also, but a fact that must be -based on knowledge in order to have any value. Now, the public opinion -of Scarborough has no knowledge at all of Mr. Singleton. Therefore its -decision about him has no value."</p> - -<p>"I am glad to hear it," said Marion; "for I do not believe that he is -either heartless or a valetudinarian."</p> - -<p>"I suppose he made himself agreeable to <i>you</i>," said young Morley.</p> - -<p>"Very agreeable," she answered, coolly. "He informed me that we are -related, and he asked me to come and sing for him alone."</p> - -<p>"I congratulate you on a triumph, then," said Rathborne; "for he is a -most critical person, who likes few things and tolerates few people."</p> - -<p>"So I judged," she answered; "and I felt flattered accordingly."</p> - -<p>"How frightened I should have been of him!" exclaimed Helen. "I am very -glad that my singing was not worthy of his notice!"</p> - -<p>There was a general laugh at this, as they paused at Mrs. Dalton's -gate, where good-nights were exchanged. "I will see you to the house," -said Rathborne, when his aunt declared that in the soft, bright -moonlight there was no need for any one to accompany them farther; he -opened the gate and went in, while the Morleys walked off.</p> - -<p>"Frank," said Miss Morley, "what is the reason that you so often speak -to Miss Lynde in a manner that sounds disagreeable and sarcastic? I -don't think it is well-bred, and I never knew you guilty of speaking so -to any one before."</p> - -<p>"I never had such cause before," answered Frank. "It is the tone Miss -Lynde habitually employs to <i>me</i>. You will say, perhaps, that is no -excuse, but at least you will admit that it is a provocation."</p> - -<p>"A provocation you ought to resist," said the young lady. "I am really -ashamed of you? What is the reason that you positively seem to dislike -each other?"</p> - -<p>"Miss Lynde appears to think that I am a person who needs to be kept in -his place by severe snubbing," replied the young man; "and I think that -she is the most vain and conceited girl I ever encountered. I don't -trust her an inch; and if there is not something very like a flirtation -going on between Rathborne and herself, I'm mistaken."</p> - -<p>"How can you say such a thing! Why, Paul Rathborne is as good as -engaged to Helen; and, of course, her cousin knows it."</p> - -<p>"That's neither here nor there. Whatever she knows or doesn't know, you -have only to see them together to observe how well they understand each -other. As for Rathborne, no treachery would surprise me in him."</p> - -<p>"Frank, I am really shocked at you!" cried his sister. "You have let -prejudice run away with your judgment. You dislike Paul Rathborne -until you are ready to suspect him of anything. Of course he admires -Miss Lynde—everyone does except yourself,—but that is no reason for -believing that he would be treacherous to Helen. And Miss Lynde's -manner is the same to him as to everyone, so far as I have observed."</p> - -<p>"As far as you have observed may not be very far," said Frank, with -brotherly candor. "Wait and see—that is all."</p> - -<p>"I think <i>you</i> ought to wait and see before you make such charges," -returned Miss Morley. "You always disliked Paul Rathborne, and now you -dislike Miss Lynde, so you suspect them both of very unworthy conduct. -It shows how we ought to guard against disliking people, since to do so -leads at last to unjust judgments."</p> - -<p>"Very fine moralizing," remarked the young man; "but not at all -applicable in this case, since I don't suspect them because I dislike -them, but I dislike them because I suspect them. There's all the -difference in the world in that."</p> - -<p>"It amounts to the same thing with you, I fancy," answered his -skeptical sister. "But I hope that at least you will keep your -suspicions to yourself. If you breathed them to Helen—"</p> - -<p>"Do you think I would!" he said, indignantly. "What good could it do? -Helen will believe nothing against any one she loves. And she does love -Rathborne—confound him!"</p> - -<p>"Frank, you are really growing so uncharitable that it distresses me -to hear you talk," said his sister, solemnly.</p> - -<p>Frank only responded by a laugh compounded of scorn and vexed -amusement; but in his heart he knew that it was true—that he was -growing uncharitable, and that he disliked Rathborne so much that he -was ready to believe any ill of him. It was this dislike which had -sharpened his eyes to perceive what that astute gentleman thought he -was concealing from every one—the fact of the strong attraction which -Marion had for him; and whoever else that fact might surprise, it -did not surprise young Morley in the least. He had never believed in -the disinterestedness of Rathborne's affection for Helen, and it had -enraged him to perceive the trust with which his cousin gave her heart -to a man unworthy of it. These sentiments had prepared him to observe -any failure in the conduct of that man, and there had been a gratified -sense of the justification of his own judgment when he perceived -what was so far hidden from everyone else except Rathborne himself -and—Marion.</p> - -<p>For Marion was fully alive to the admiration with which Rathborne -regarded her; but it is only justice to say that no thought of -treachery to Helen was ever in <i>her</i> mind. Many and great as her -faults might be, they were not of a mean order. By towering ambition -and arrogant pride, she might fall into grievous error, but hardly -into baseness—at least not by premeditation. But it is hard to -say at exactly what milestone we will stop on the road of seeking -the gratification and interest of self. It pleased her to see that -Rathborne regarded her in a very different manner from that in which -he regarded any other woman with whom she saw him associating; the -unconscious homage of his air when he approached her, of his tone when -he addressed her, the choice of his subjects when he talked to her -alone, were all like incense to her vanity; and it was this incense -which she liked, rather than the man. Concerning the latter, she had -not changed her first opinion, which did not differ very widely from -that of Mr. Frank Morley.</p> - -<p>The day after Mrs. Singleton's evening, Helen said to her cousin: "I -wish so much, Marion, that you would sometimes sing in our choir! Miss -Grady, our organist, said to me last night that she would be so glad if -you would, and I promised to ask you."</p> - -<p>"Why, certainly," replied Marion, with ready assent; "I shall be very -glad to do so whenever you like. Catholic music is so beautiful that it -is a pleasure to sing it; but I don't know much of it."</p> - -<p>"You know that lovely '<i>Ave Maria</i>' you used to sing at the convent."</p> - -<p>"Gounod's? Oh, yes! But when can I sing that?"</p> - -<p>"At the Offertory in the Mass. I know Miss Grady will be delighted, for -she has no really good voice. Fancy, mine is her best!"</p> - -<p>"How modest you are!" said Marion, smiling. "Very well, then, I will -sing the '<i>Ave Maria</i>' next Sunday with a great deal of pleasure, if -your organist likes, and your priest does not object to a Protestant -voice."</p> - -<p>"He is not likely to do that; but I thought you always declared that -you are not a Protestant."</p> - -<p>"I suppose one must be classed as a Protestant, according to the strict -sense of the term, when one is not a Catholic—and that I am not."</p> - -<p>"But you may be some day."</p> - -<p>"Nothing is more unlikely. Your religion is too exacting: it puts one's -whole life in bondage. Now, I want to be free."</p> - -<p>"Not free to do wrong, Marion! And the only bondage which the Catholic -Church lays upon people is to forbid their doing what is wrong."</p> - -<p>"I must be free to judge for myself what <i>is</i> wrong," returned Marion, -with a haughty gesture of her head. "But we had better not talk of -this, Helen. We do not think alike, and I do not wish to say anything -disagreeable to you."</p> - -<p>"Nor I to you," said Helen; "and indeed I have no talent for argument. -One needs Claire for that. Dear Claire! how I wish she were here!"</p> - -<p>"So do I," said Marion; "but not for purposes of argument, I confess."</p> - -<p>Glad to do something to please her aunt and cousin, Marion went -willingly the next Sunday to the Catholic church; and, having already -seen the organist—a pleasant young music teacher—accompanied Helen -into the choir-loft. Here, sitting quietly in a corner during the first -part of the Mass, she had time to contrast the scene before her with -that which she had witnessed during the other Sundays of her stay in -Scarborough. The first thing which struck her was the poverty of the -small building, as compared with the luxury and beauty of the Episcopal -place of worship. Here were no finely-carved and polished woods; but -plain, plastered walls, relieved from bareness only by the pictures -which told in simple black and white the woful story of the Cross. -The sound of moving feet and scraping benches on the uncovered floor -jarred on her nerves after the subdued quiet, which was the result of -carpeted aisles and pews; while the appearance of the congregation -spoke plainly of humble, hard-working lives. No suggestion of social -distinction and elegance was here. But in the sanctuary there was -something of beauty to please even her ćsthetic eye.</p> - -<p>The small altar was beautifully dressed with freshly-cut flowers, -draped with spotless linen and fine lace, and brilliant with light -of wax tapers. Evidently Helen's careful hand and convent-bred taste -had been there, even as Helen's pure, sweet, young voice was even now -singing the angelic words of the "<i>Gloria</i>." The priest, who was a pale -and rather insignificant-looking man, certainly lacked the refined -and scholarly air of the handsome young clergyman with whom Marion -instinctively compared him; but there was an assured dignity in his -air and gestures, as he stood at the altar, which she was too keen an -observer not to perceive, and remember that the other had lacked.</p> - -<p>In the midst of these mingled thoughts and impressions—thoughts and -impressions wherein devotion had no place—she was suddenly summoned to -sing. She took her place with the self-possession which never failed -her, and began that beautiful strain to which Gounod has set the sacred -words of the "<i>Ave Maria</i>." There were not many musically trained ears -or critically trained tastes among the congregation below, but even -they turned instinctively to see what voice was rising with such divine -melody toward heaven. Over and over again Marion had sung these words -without thinking of their meaning, but she had never before sung them -in the Mass; and now something in the hush of the stillness around -her, in the reverence of the silent people, in the solemn, stately -movements of the priest and the uplifting of the chalice, seemed to -fill her with a consciousness that she, too, was uttering a prayer—a -prayer of such ancient and holy origin that careless lips should fear -to speak it.</p> - -<p>"<i>Sancta Maria, Mater Dei!</i>"—Never before had the wonder, the majesty, -the awfulness of the Name struck her as it struck her now, when she -was, as it were, the mouthpiece for all the believing hearts that so -called the Blessed Maid of Israel. "<i>Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc -et in hora mortis nostrć.</i>" Her voice sank over the last words with a -strange sense of their meaning. The hour of our death! It would come to -her, too, that hour—a sudden, intense realization of the fact seemed -to run through her veins like ice,—and when it came, would it not be -well to have appealed in earnest to Her who stood by the Cross, and was -and is eternally the Mother of God?</p> - -<p>Such a thought, such a question was new to this proud and worldly -spirit. Why it came to her at this moment is one of the miracles of -God's grace. It was not destined to make any lasting impression; but -for the time it was strong enough to cause her, when the hymn was -ended, to go and kneel down in the place she had left; while from her -heart rose the appeal which only her lips had uttered a moment before, -"Holy Mary, Mother of God, pray for me now and at the hour of my death."</p> - -<p>It gratified Helen to observe that Marion knelt with apparent -devoutness during the solemn portion of the Mass; but when they -came out of church, and she turned with a smile to congratulate her -on her singing, she was struck by the paleness and gravity of the -beautiful face. "What is the matter?" she asked, quickly. "Has anything -displeased you?"</p> - -<p>"Displeased me!" said Marion, with a start of surprise. "No; why should -you think so?"</p> - -<p>"You look so grave."</p> - -<p>"Do I? Perhaps I am displeased with myself, then. I did not know before -that I was impressionable, and I find that I am. That vexes me. I -detest impressionable people; I detest above all to feel that I myself -am at the mercy of outward influences."</p> - -<p>Helen looked all the wonder that she felt. "I don't understand what you -mean." she said. "How have you found out that you are impressionable—I -mean particularly so?"</p> - -<p>Marion smiled slightly. "I am afraid you would not understand if -I told you," she replied. "Or you would misunderstand, which is -worse. But don't ask me to go to your church again, Helen. Something -there—something about the services—affects me in a way I don't -like. Nothing I should dislike so much as to become a mere emotional, -susceptible creature; and I feel there as if I might."</p> - -<p>"But, Marion," exclaimed Helen, half-shocked, half-eager, "surely our -feelings are given, like everything else, to lead us to God! And, O -Marion! how can you turn away from what may be the grace of God? For -remember, <i>God Himself</i> was on the altar to-day!"</p> - -<p>She uttered the last sentence in tones of reverent awe; but Marion -frowned impatiently.</p> - -<p>"It was because I knew you would not understand that I did not want -to speak," she said. "What I am talking of is a mere matter of -susceptibility to outward influences. It is disagreeable to me, and I -do not wish to subject myself to it—that is all. I am never troubled -in that way at the Episcopal services," she added, more lightly. "I -shall go there in future."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER VIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was not very long before Marion's promise to Mr. Singleton was -recalled to her mind—if, indeed, that could be said to be recalled -which had never been forgotten. For she had not exaggerated in saying -that this old man, with his air of the world, with his keen, critical -glance, and the mingled imperativeness and courtliness of his manner, -was after her own taste. His evident admiration and appreciation of -herself no doubt led greatly to this result; for had she been treated -as he was in the habit of treating people whom he did not like, there -could hardly have been much liking on her side. But since his approval -of <i>her</i> was very manifest, her approval of <i>him</i> was not less so; and -was, moreover, sharpened by the restless ambition which made her look -eagerly for any opening by which she might gain her desired ends.</p> - -<p>She was glad, therefore, to receive one morning a note from Mrs. -Singleton, begging to know if that day would suit her for the -fulfillment of her promise to sing for Mr. Singleton alone. "I should -have asked <i>you</i> to name the day," the note went on, "but for the fact -that there are only certain days on which my uncle feels equal to the -exertion of seeing any one; and, of course, he wishes to see as well -as to hear you. If you have no other engagement for this afternoon, -will you, then, gratify him by coming at five o'clock? And I hope to -keep you to spend the evening with me."</p> - -<p>Had any engagement interfered with the proposed appointment, there -is no doubt that Marion would have broken it like a thread; but she -was, happily, free from such a necessity, and had only to tell Mrs. -Singleton that she would accept her invitation for the afternoon with -pleasure. So, at the time appointed, her aunt's carriage dropped her at -the door of the house which the Singletons had taken for the season. -It was by far the handsomest house in Scarborough—wide, spacious, -stately, with nobly proportioned rooms, and halls that spoke eloquently -of the wealth that had planned them. It was a wealth that had vanished -now, as the house had passed out of the possession of those who built -it; but the fine old place served admirably as a setting for the -Singleton establishment, which was formed on a very lavish scale.</p> - -<p>When Marion was shown into the drawing room, she found Mr. Singleton -there, established in a deep easy-chair near the piano, with an open -newspaper before him. He laid it on his knee when she entered, and held -out his hand.</p> - -<p>"You will excuse my keeping my seat," he said, as she came toward -him. "I rise with great difficulty, owing to obstinate sciatica, and -never without assistance. But you must believe that I appreciate your -kindness in coming."</p> - -<p>"I am very glad to come," she said, with cordial sincerity. "I told you -that it would be a pleasure to me. I like to sing, especially to one -who knows what good singing is; and whose praise, therefore, has value."</p> - -<p>He smiled, evidently well pleased. "And how do you know," he said, -"that my praise has that value?"</p> - -<p>"One can tell such things very quickly," she replied. "I think I should -have known that you possessed musical culture even if I had not heard -so."</p> - -<p>"I have a good deal of musical knowledge, at least," he said. "In my -youth I lived much abroad, and I have heard all the great singers of -the world. It has been a passion with me, and I have missed nothing -else so much during these later years of invalidism. You can judge, -therefore, whether or not it is a pleasure to hear such a voice as -yours."</p> - -<p>"I know that my voice is good," said Marion; "but I also know how much -it lacks cultivation. I fear that must jar on you, since you have heard -so many great singers."</p> - -<p>"No, it does not jar on me, because you have no bad tricks. You sing -simply and naturally, with wonderful sweetness and power. Sing now, and -afterward I will take the liberty of asking you some questions about -yourself."</p> - -<p>Marion went to the piano, and, animated by the last words, sang as -well as she could possibly have sung for a much larger audience. In -the lofty, wide room she let out the full power of her splendid voice -with an ease, a total absence of effort, which delighted her listener. -Lying back in his deep chair while song followed song, and marking -how clear and true every note rang, his interest in the singer grew; -and he began to rouse a little from the state of indifferent egoism -which was normal with him, to consider what would be the future of this -girl, whom nature had so richly endowed. Perhaps curiosity had a part -in the interest; at least when Marion had sung for some time, he said -suddenly:—</p> - -<p>"That is enough for the present. I must not be unreasonable, and I must -not let you strain your voice. Will you come now and talk to me for a -while?"</p> - -<p>"Willingly," she answered, rising from the instrument with a smile. -"But you must remember that it does not follow that because I can -entertain you by singing I can also entertain you by talking."</p> - -<p>"I think it will follow," he said. "You talk, if not as well as you -sing—for that would be very extraordinary—at least well enough to -make me desire to listen to you. And in order to make you appreciate -that, I must tell you that the talking of most people bores me -intolerably."</p> - -<p>"Are there any signs by which one can tell when one begins to bore -you?" asked Marion, sitting down on a low chair in front of him. -"Because I should like to cease as soon as that point is reached."</p> - -<p>He smiled, all the lines of his face relaxing as he looked at her. -In fact, he found the charm of her beauty almost as great as that of -her voice. Had it been an unintellectual beauty, he would have cared -nothing for it; but the flash of that indescribable quality which the -French call <i>esprit</i>, the quickness and readiness of her speech, the -grace of her manner,—all pleased and interested the man, who was not -easily pleased or interested.</p> - -<p>"I do not believe there is any danger of your ever reaching that -point," he said. "And I think you are sure of it yourself. You have no -fear of boring any one; for you know the thing is impossible."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," she answered. "But I have never observed that the -people who bore one are at all afraid of doing it. So, lack of fear -would not prove exemption from the possibility. But I flatter myself -that I have penetration enough to detect the first sign, and I am -certain that I would not need to detect the second."</p> - -<p>"Any one who saw you would be certain of that," he said, regarding -her intently. "As it chances, however, it may be I who will prove the -bore; for I am going to claim one of the privileges of an old man, and -ask you some questions about yourself; or, to spare me the trouble of -asking the question, I should like for you to tell me something about -your life, if you have no objection."</p> - -<p>"Not the slightest," replied Marion; "indeed your interest flatters me. -But I am sorry to say that there is very little to tell. You see, my -life is only beginning."</p> - -<p>"True. You have just left school, I believe?"</p> - -<p>"Only a few weeks ago. I came then with my cousin from the convent, -where I had spent two years."</p> - -<p>"You are not a Roman Catholic, I hope?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! no, certainly not." It occurred to her, as she spoke, that if he -should ask what she was, she would not be prepared with so ready an -answer. But his interest was apparently satisfied with ascertaining -what she was <i>not</i>, and he went on to another question:—</p> - -<p>"Where is your home?"</p> - -<p>"Ah! that is difficult to answer," she said. "Before going to the -convent, I lived with my uncle, but I could hardly call that home; and, -since I have no desire to return to his house, I must reply with strict -correctness that I have no home."</p> - -<p>"That is a sad statement for one so young. Is not your uncle your -guardian?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose that he is; but, you see, I have no fortune to look -after—somehow it has all vanished away,—and, personally, I am not -very much in need of a guardian."</p> - -<p>"Permit me to differ with you there," said Mr. Singleton, gravely. -"Personally, I think that you are very much in need of a guardian. -And by that I do not mean any reflection on your power of conducting -yourself—which I have no doubt is very sufficient,—but I mean that -no young and beautiful woman of good social rank should be without the -protection of such guardianship."</p> - -<p>"I presume certainly that my uncle considers himself my guardian, -and it is likely that he has legal power to interfere with my -actions," said Marion. "But I think he does not feel interest enough -to interfere—unless he thought me likely to bring discredit on the -family. And I believe he knows me well enough not to fear that."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton smiled at the unconscious pride of her tone, and the -gesture with which she lifted her head. "One need not know you very -well in order to be sure of that," he said. "But, since these are your -circumstances, allow me, as your kinsman, to ask another question. What -are your plans for the future?"</p> - -<p>She opened her hands with a gesture signifying emptiness, and slightly -shrugged her shoulders. "Frankly, I have none," she answered. "I am -waiting on fate. Don't think that I mind it," she added, quickly, -catching an expression on his face. "It is interesting—it is like -waiting for a play to begin. If I had my choice, I should prefer the -uncertainties of my life to a life already mapped and arranged like -that of my cousin, Helen Morley. Why should uncertainty of the future -daunt one who has a consciousness of some powers, and has no fear at -all? I am only anxious for the play to begin, that is all."</p> - -<p>"Poor child!" said her listener. The words were uttered involuntarily, -and startled him a little; for he was not easily moved to sympathy -or compassion. But the very dauntlessness of this courage, the very -rashness of this self-confidence, were sad to the man who knew so well -the pitfalls of life, the dangers which no powers could avert, no -bravery overcome. If Marion had subtly calculated how best to rouse -his interest, and touch whatever heart remained to him in the midst -of the gradual withering up of the springs of feeling, she could -not have succeeded better, nor probably half so well. Any appeal to -his sympathy, any tearful eyes or supplicating tones, he would have -resisted; but this proud daring of fate, this quick rejection of pity, -moved him more than, beforehand, he would have imagined possible. When -conscious of the words which had escaped him, he went on:—</p> - -<p>"Pardon me, but I have known so long the life you are just -beginning—indeed I am about to leave the stage as you make your -<i>début</i>,—that I fear the play may not prove all that you fancy. It is -apt to take sudden turns which no skill can foresee, and which force -one, whether one will or not, into very unpleasant situations. But I -have no inclination to act the part of a prophet of ill, so I hope all -this may be reversed for you; certainly so much courage and so much -beauty ought to propitiate Fate. And, meanwhile, if there is anything I -can do to serve you, remember that I am your kinsman, and let me know."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," said Marion, graciously. "But while waiting for the play -to begin, I have nothing to desire. My friends are very kind. And now I -fear that I may have reached that point of which we spoke earlier—the -point of possible boredom. At least I know that I have talked too much -of myself."</p> - -<p>"Not at all," he replied, quickly. "You have only answered my -questions; and I have been, I fear, too inquisitive. But my interest in -you must plead my excuse. I suppose I have been more ready to gratify -it because it is not easily roused—at least not to the degree in which -you have roused it."</p> - -<p>"That is very pleasant for me to hear," said Marion, truthfully. "I -like to rouse interest—everyone does, I imagine; and yet I should not -care for it if it were easily roused."</p> - -<p>"No, I imagine not," said he, with a look that seemed to read her -through and through. "You will care only for difficult things, and you -are made to gain them."</p> - -<p>Before Marion could express her approval of this prophecy, the sound of -approaching footsteps was heard, and Mrs. Singleton entered the room, -in the freshest and prettiest of evening toilets. She held out both -hands to Marion, with an air of effusion.</p> - -<p>"I was roused out of my <i>siesta</i> by the most delightful sounds!" she -cried. "At first I thought it must be an angel singing, but angels are -not in the habit of visiting me; so then I remembered your appointment, -and that I had intended to be present to share the pleasure with uncle. -Unfortunately I slept too long for that, but you will sing some for me -now—or perhaps we had better defer it until later, when Tom can have -the pleasure too. You remember that you are going to spend the evening -with us."</p> - -<p>Marion remembered, and was very willing to do so; for these were people -whom she liked to cultivate. They were not only people of high social -consideration, who might be useful to her, but their knowledge of the -world, their familiarity with society abroad as well as at home, and -their easy habits of wealth and luxury, pleased her taste and gratified -her own instinctive yearning for these things. The quiet, old-fashioned -comfort of her aunt's establishment lost all its charm when contrasted -with the fashion and lavish expenditure which were here. She was the -only guest at the beautifully served dinner to which they sat down in -the summer gloaming; but she could truly assure Mrs. Singleton that she -was glad it was so. "Who could be found in Scarborough as entertaining -as yourselves?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"How very nice of you to say so!" replied that lady, patting her hand. -"Then we are very well satisfied; for I am sure nobody could be found -in Scarborough as entertaining as you are. In fact, you do not belong -to the Scarborough order of life at all; you are totally out of place -here."</p> - -<p>Marion laughed. "I am afraid I feel so occasionally," she said; -"but I have an idea that it is my fault: that I expect too much of -Scarborough."</p> - -<p>"You belong to another life altogether," repeated Mrs. Singleton, -positively. "I felt sure of it the first time I saw you. A quiet, -sociable, country-town existence may suit other people—your pretty -cousin, for example,—but it does not suit <i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"That is very true," said Marion. "As a matter of taste, it certainly -does not suit me; but I learned early that one cannot always expect to -have one's tastes gratified."</p> - -<p>"You are very philosophical. Now, for me, I always expect to have my -tastes gratified, and they generally are. Demand a great deal and you -will get at least some of it; that is my philosophy."</p> - -<p>"And, unlike many philosophers, you always practice what you preach. -That I can testify," said Mr. Singleton (the husband). "Don't let her -demoralize you, Miss Lynde. If you have any moderation of desire, by -all means keep and culture it."</p> - -<p>"Unfortunately, my desires are boundless," replied Marion, smiling. "It -is only my expectations which are moderate."</p> - -<p>"Well, that is remarkable enough," said the gentleman; "if only you can -manage to keep them so—but you will not."</p> - -<p>"Why not?"</p> - -<p>He cast a glance into an opposite mirror. "About the best reason I -offer is to be found there," he answered. "No woman is going to expect -less than Nature gave her a right to demand."</p> - -<p>And so on all sides fresh fuel was offered to the vanity which already -turned high and strong in dangerous flame.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER IX.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Several</span> weeks passed, during which the acquaintance of Marion with the -Singletons progressed rapidly to intimacy—such intimacy, that Helen -protested more than once that her cousin spent more time with Mrs. -Singleton than with herself. She was certainly very often the companion -of that lady—seen by her side in the pretty phaeton which she drove, -met at all her entertainments, called upon for all occasions when she -needed assistance, social or otherwise. The vaguely understood link of -relationship between them served as an excuse for this, had any excuse -been required beside the caprice of the elder and the inclination of -the younger lady. "I have discovered a cousin in Miss Lynde," Mrs. -Singleton would say to her Scarborough acquaintances. "Do you not -think that I am very fortunate?" And there were few who did not reply -honestly that they considered her very fortunate indeed.</p> - -<p>But the person who regarded this association most approvingly was old -Mr. Singleton, since it secured him a great deal of Marion's society, -for which he evinced a partiality. It was, in fact, to this partiality -that Marion owed Mrs. Singleton's attentions. "Your uncle has taken a -most extraordinary fancy to that girl, Tom." she said to her husband -at a very early stage of the acquaintance; "so I think that I had -better cultivate her. It will be better for me to use her as a means -to contribute to his amusement than to let her develop into a power -against us. There is no counting on the whims of an old man, you know."</p> - -<p>"Especially of <i>this</i> old man," assented Mr. Singleton. "He is capable -of anything. Therefore I don't think I would have the girl about too -much."</p> - -<p>"It is better for me to have her about than for him to take her up. If -he considers her my <i>protégée</i>, he will not be so likely to make her -his own. I have given the matter some thought, and that is the way I -look at it."</p> - -<p>"You may be right," said easy-going Mr. Singleton. "I have great -confidence in your way of looking at things, and of managing them too. -But I confess that I have no confidence in this handsome and clever -young lady. I don't think she would hesitate to play one any trick."</p> - -<p>"Confidence in <i>her</i>!" said Mrs. Singleton, with scorn. "Of course I -have not a particle. But she will have no opportunity to play me a -trick. Be sure of that."</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Helen said to Marion, rather doubtfully: "Marion, do you -really like Mrs. Singleton very much? She is very pleasant and very -elegant, but somehow—I hope I am not uncharitable—I never feel as if -one could thoroughly trust her."</p> - -<p>"My dear," replied Marion, with her mocking smile, "do you know, or -fancy that you know, many people whom you can 'thoroughly trust'? If -so, you are more fortunate than I am; for I have known only one or two -in my life."</p> - -<p>"O Marion! no more than that? How can you be so unjust to your friends?"</p> - -<p>"I have no friends, in the true sense of the term, except you and -Claire. I trust <i>you</i>."</p> - -<p>"I hope so, and I you—most thoroughly."</p> - -<p>Marion regarded her with something like wonder. "Now, why," she said, -dispassionately, "should you trust me? I am sure I have never shown a -character to inspire that sentiment."</p> - -<p>"You delight in showing your worst side," answered Helen; "but it does -not deceive me. I know that the worst is not as bad as you would have -it believed to be, and that the best exists all the time."</p> - -<p>"It certainly exists for you, and always will," said Marion, quickly. -"There is nothing I could not sooner do than betray your trust."</p> - -<p>"How can you even hint such a thing!" exclaimed Helen, indignantly. "Do -you think I could ever fear it?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied Marion; "I am sure that you would never fear it from -any one whom you love. But you may have to suffer it some day, -nevertheless."</p> - -<p>The speaker's tone had more significance than she intended, and Helen -looked at her with a glance of sudden apprehension. "What do you mean?" -she asked. "Why should I fear it?"</p> - -<p>"Why should any of us fear that we will have to share in the common -lot—the common knowledge of evil as well as of good?" said Marion, -evasively. "We must all expect it; at least that is one of the pleasant -things we are told."</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes, I suppose we must expect it," said Helen. "But expecting a -thing in a general way, and doubting any—any one in particular, is a -very different matter."</p> - -<p>The conversation ended here; but the mere fact that she had been so -quick to take alarm might have told Helen that, unconsciously to -herself, suspicion had taken some root in her mind. The readiness with -which she put herself into an attitude of defense showed that she -feared attack. And, indeed, she had already suffered more than one -attack on the subject of Rathborne—if that could be called attack -which was only the expression of a gentle doubt, first from her mother, -and then from the priest, who, distrusting all such marriages in -general, had special reasons for distrusting this one in particular. -Like most priests, he had many sources of information; many streams -flowed, as it were, into the silent reservoir of his mind; and in -this way things concerning Rathborne had come to his knowledge, which -rendered him deeply averse to seeing Helen link her pure young life -with that of a man so unscrupulous and selfish. Loath to give pain -if unable to achieve any practical good thereby, he had spoken very -guardedly to her when she sought his counsel; but, perhaps because he -spoke with so much caution, his words sank deeply into her mind, and -left a sense of weight behind. But it was one of her characteristics -that, after once reposing confidence in a person, she could not lightly -recall it; and she clung to Rathborne more closely for the opposition -which she attributed to mistaken judgment.</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, Helen was already learning something of what Marion -called the common lot,—she was acquiring some knowledge of -the difficulty of reconciling conflicting desires, and of the -impossibility of finding things made smooth and easy. Now and then -there was a wistful look in her eyes, which touched her mother deeply, -and made her ready to consent to anything which would restore sunshine -to one who seemed so wholly made to enjoy it.</p> - -<p>But Mrs. Dalton was not blind to one fact, which may or may not have -been clear to Helen,—the significant fact that Rathborne had not, -since the return home of her daughter, pressed his suit with his former -ardor. He had not begged that the conditional and merely tolerated -engagement should be converted into an open and positive one; he seemed -quite satisfied with matters as they stood, and took Helen's sentiments -entirely too much for granted, so Helen's mother thought. What to do, -however, she did not clearly perceive, and Father Barrett strongly -advised a policy of inaction. "Let matters take their own course," he -said. "I am of opinion that Helen may be spared what you fear most -for her; but this cannot be brought about by any effort of yours, -which would tend, on the contrary, to rouse opposition. If the child -must suffer, in any event do not let her have the additional pain of -thinking that she owes any of the suffering to you."</p> - -<p>To this counsel Mrs. Dalton gave heed—or thought she did. But many -things betrayed to Helen that her mother's disapproval of Rathborne's -suit had not lessened with time. Anxious to avoid any possible -conflict, the girl shrank from broaching the subject; but it was -a growing pain to her affectionate nature that there should be a -subject—and that the nearest her heart and life—in which she was not -sure of her mother's sympathy—where her deepest feelings might yet be -arrayed against each other, and a difficult choice be made necessary.</p> - -<p>To Marion, meantime, Rathborne had become somewhat troublesome. As we -learn in many an old legend that it is easier to raise a fiend than to -put him down, so she found it easier to make the impression which she -had desired than to regulate the effect of that impression. She had -made it with the utmost ease,—an ease very flattering to her vanity; -but, innocent as she had been of any intention save that of gratifying -vanity, retribution followed hard upon her steps. Apart from the fact -that she was incapable of deliberately betraying Helen's confidence, -she trusted Rathborne no further than most other people did. Moreover, -her arrogance of spirit was as great as her ambition, and she -considered herself fitted for a position much higher than he could -possibly offer her—had she believed him ready to offer anything. But, -so far from believing this, she gave him no credit for any sincerity of -intention toward her, knowing well that self-interest was the sole rule -of his life. "He dares to think that he can amuse himself with me and -then marry Helen!" she thought. "There may be two who can play at that -game. Let us see!"</p> - -<p>The thought that it was a very dangerous game did not occur to her; -or, if it occurred, did not deter her. At this time of her life she -had only a sense of worldly honor to deter her from anything which -she desired to do; and she desired most sincerely to punish the man -whom she believed to be true neither to Helen nor herself. Therefore, -although his attentions began to annoy her, she did not discourage -them, notwithstanding that she noted scornfully how he avoided, as -far as possible, devoting himself to her when he was likely to be -observed. But his precautions had not saved him, as we are aware, from -the keen observation of Frank Morely; and Mrs. Dalton herself, with -eyes sharpened by a mother's anxiety, began to perceive that Marion -possessed a great attraction for him.</p> - -<p>Matters were in this by no means satisfactory state when Mrs. -Singleton, growing weary of other forms of amusement, decided to -patronize Nature. There was a great deal of beautiful scenery in -the vicinity of Scarborough, which she declared had been too long -neglected. "A picnic is horrid!" she said. "The very word is full -of vulgar associations, and the thing itself is tiresome beyond -expression. One would grow weary of the most delightful people in the -world if doomed to spend a whole day in the woods with them. But a few -hours in the pleasantest part of the day—that is another matter. A -gypsy tea is just the thing! We will go out in the afternoon to Elk -Ridge, have tea, look at the sunset, and return by moonlight; is not -that a good idea?"</p> - -<p>"Excellent," said the persons whom she addressed—a party of five -or six who had been dining with her. "It will make a very pleasant -excursion, only we must be sure of the moon."</p> - -<p>"Oh! we have only to consult the almanac for that," said the lively -hostess. "I think there is a new moon due about this time."</p> - -<p>Marion laughed, and, touching the arm of old Mr. Singleton, by whom she -sat, pointed out of a western window to the evening sky, where hung the -beautiful crescent of the moon, framed between the arching boughs of -tall trees.</p> - -<p>"Hum—yes," observed that gentleman. "Anna's attention to Nature is -altogether controlled by the question of whether or not it can be made -to contribute to her amusement. Now that the moon has arrived, it will -not be long before the gypsy tea takes place."</p> - -<p>And, indeed, in a few days all arrangements for this festivity were -completed, the party made up, and the programme settled. Mrs. Singleton -wished that Marion should accompany her; but Helen protested so much -against this that the arrangement was changed; and it was finally -settled that Marion and herself, with Rathborne and Morley, would make -up a <i>parti carré</i> in a light open carriage.</p> - -<p>There is nothing more attractive to youth, nothing more suited to -its natural lightness of heart and spirit, than such pleasures as -these—golden afternoons in summer woods and under summer skies; -sunsets when all nature is flooded with beauty, like a crystal cup -filled to the brim; and nights of spiritual, entrancing loveliness. -Even with older persons, the sense of care seems lifted from the mind -for a little time among such scenes; while to the young and happy, care -is a thing impossible to realize when earth itself in transformed into -Arcadia.</p> - -<p>So Helen felt as she started on this excursion. In some subtle fashion, -the doubts which had weighed upon her for a considerable time past -were lifted. She did not say to herself that she had been foolish, for -she was little given to self-analysis; but involuntarily she felt it, -involuntarily she threw off the shadow which had fallen over her, and -grasped the pleasure offered, as a child puts out its hand to grasp -sunbeams. When they drove away, her heart was as light as a feather, -her face as bright as the day, and she turned back to wave her hand in -gay farewell to her mother.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER X.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Elk</span> Ridge, the place selected by Mrs. Singleton for her gypsy tea, was -a very picturesque and beautiful locality, distant seven miles from -Scarborough. The drive there, through the soft, golden beauty of the -August afternoon, was delightful; and the beauties of the height when -reached well repaid any exertion that might have been necessary to -gain it. Since none was necessary, however, it proved a great surprise -to those who had not been there before to find themselves on a noble -eminence, crowned by splendid masses of rock, and commanding a most -extensive view of the smiling country around and the blue mountains in -the distance. It was an ideal spot for <i>al fresco</i> amusements, and the -party assembled were in the mood to enjoy it.</p> - -<p>Very soon a kettle was hung from crossed sticks over a blazing fire; -and while the water was boiling, and the arrangements for tea in -progress, all those who were not actively engaged in these arrangements -scattered over the summit, admiring the view, and now and then climbing -some of the more accessible of the great granite boulders. Among the -last were Helen and Frank Morley, both in high spirits, and laughing -like a pair of merry children. Marion shrugged her shoulders over their -exploits.</p> - -<p>"I have never been young enough for that," she said to Rathborne. "I -could never, at any stage of existence, see the 'fun' of risking one's -neck."</p> - -<p>"It is childish!" he responded, with ill-concealed contempt. He had -endeavored to dissuade Helen, but for once she had been deaf to his -remonstrances. Her spirits were so high this afternoon that an outlet -for them was indispensable; and she was still so much of a child that -this special outlet of physical exertion and daring was very agreeable -to her.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is a good thing to be childish now and then," said -Marion. "I don't think <i>I</i> ever was; and, no doubt, it is so much the -worse for me."</p> - -<p>"On the contrary, I think, so much the better," replied Rathborne. -"Where there is childishness there must be folly, and I cannot imagine -you guilty of that."</p> - -<p>"Can you not?" She paused an instant and seemed to reflect. "But there -are things worse than folly," she said, with one of her sudden impulses -of candor; "and I might be guilty of some of them."</p> - -<p>"Oh! you might—yes." He laughed. "So might I. Perhaps for that reason -I have more sympathy with them than with folly."</p> - -<p>Marion gave him a glance which he did not understand nor yet altogether -fancy. "Yes," she said, "I am very sure you have more sympathy with -what is bad than with what is foolish."</p> - -<p>Before he could reply to such an equivocal speech, Mrs. Singleton sent -a messenger for Miss Lynde to come and help her pour out tea; and the -young lady rose and walked away.</p> - -<p>It was very gay and bright and pleasant, that gypsy tea among the -rocks, with depths of verdure overhead and far-stretching beauty of -outspread country below. The amber sunshine streamed over the scene; -pretty pale-blue smoke, from the fire over which the kettle hung, -mounted in the air; there was a musical chatter of tongues and sound of -laughter. At such times and in such scenes it is difficult for the most -thoughtful to realize the great sadness of the world, the care that -encompasses life, and the pain that overshadows it. But these light -hearts were never at any time troubled with the realization of such -things. They were all young and, for the most part, prosperous; life -went easily with them, and nothing seemed more remote than trouble or -unhappiness. The hours sped lightly by, as such hours do, and presently -it was time to think of returning. The sun sank into his golden bed, -the moon would soon rise majestically in the east, and the drive back -to Scarborough would be as delightful as the drive out had been.</p> - -<p>But just before the move for departure was made Rathborne came to -Marion and said: "You have not yet seen the finest view—that from the -other side of the Ridge. Would you not like to walk over there and look -at it?"</p> - -<p>"I think not," replied Marion, who did not care for a <i>tęte-ŕ-tęte</i> -with him. "I am not very fond of views."</p> - -<p>"O but, Marion, this view is really fine!" cried Helen, eagerly. "Pray -go; you will be repaid for the exertion."</p> - -<p>Not caring to make her refusal more marked, Marion rose with an inward -sense of vexation. "Very well, then," she said to Rathborne; "since -Helen is sure I will be repaid for the exertion, I will go; but, since -<i>I</i> am not sure, I hope the exertion required is not very much."</p> - -<p>"It is only that of walking about a hundred yards," he answered. And -as they turned and followed a well-defined path, which led among the -rocks and trees, he added, "I do not mean, however, to insist upon any -exertion which would be disagreeable to you."</p> - -<p>Marion might truthfully have answered that it was not the exertion -which was disagreeable to her; but she had no desire to make an enemy -of this man, and instinct told her that whoever wounded his vanity was -thenceforth to him an enemy. So she replied lightly that she was very -indolent, especially where the beauties of nature were concerned; but -that she had no doubt the view would repay her after she reached it.</p> - -<p>"I think it will," said Rathborne; "otherwise I should not have -proposed your coming."</p> - -<p>And indeed even Marion, who was right in saying that the beauties of -nature did not greatly appeal to her, was moved by the loveliness and -extent of the view suddenly spread before her, when they came to the -verge of the Ridge, on the other side, where the hill broke off in a -sheer precipice. The great rock-face of this precipice shelved downward -to a soft, pastoral valley, beyond which were belts of encircling -woodlands, green hills rising into bolder heights as they receded, and -a distant range of azure mountains fair as hills of paradise.</p> - -<p>"Oh! this <i>is</i> glorious!" cried Marion, involuntarily, as the broad -scene, with the long, golden lights and beautiful shadows of late -evening falling across it, was suddenly revealed by an abrupt turn in -the path. She walked to the edge of the precipice and stood there, -with hands lightly clasped, looking into the far, magical distance. -At this moment, as in other moments like it, something stirred in -her nature deeper and nobler than its ordinary impulses. She had a -consciousness of possibilities which at other times were remote from -her realization,—possibilities of loftier action and feeling, of a -higher standard, of a loftier aim than her life had known. It was a -state of feeling not unlike that which came to her in the Catholic -church, and she shrank from it. By this grand arch of bending, lucid -sky, by those distant heavenly heights with their mystical suggestions, -thoughts were roused in her which seemed in little accord with the -other thoughts of her life. She forgot for a moment the man who stood -beside her, and started when he spoke.</p> - -<p>"It repays you—I see that," he said. "And so I am repaid for bringing -you."</p> - -<p>"Yes, it is very beautiful," she answered, slowly; "but I am not sure -that I am obliged to you for bringing me here. It produces in me -feelings that I do not like."</p> - -<p>"What kind of feelings?" inquired Rathborne, curiously.</p> - -<p>She swept him with a quick glance from under her half-drooped eyelids, -and he had again the impression that it conveyed something of contempt.</p> - -<p>"If I could define them," she said, "I doubt if you would be able to -understand them. I am certain that you have never felt anything of the -kind."</p> - -<p>"Why should you be certain of that?" he asked, a little irritated as -well by her tone as by her glance. "You do not surely think that you -have gauged all my possibilities of feeling."</p> - -<p>"I have made no attempt to do so," she said, indifferently. "Why should -I? But one receives some impressions instinctively."</p> - -<p>"And you think, perhaps, that I have no feeling," he replied quickly; -"that I am cold and hard and selfish, and altogether a calculating -machine. But you are mistaken. I was all that once—I frankly confess -it,—but since I have known you, I have changed. I have learned what it -is to feel in the deepest manner."</p> - -<p>There was a short silence. Marion's heart gave a great bound and then -seemed to stand still. A fear which she had striven to put away was -now a horrible certainty. She had played with fire, and the moment of -scorching was come—come to desecrate a place which she had felt to be -a sanctuary filled with the consciousness of God. Her first impulse -was to turn and go away without a word; her next, to utter words as -scornful as her mood.</p> - -<p>"If I am mistaken, so are you, Mr. Rathborne," she said,—"exceedingly -mistaken in imagining that I have given any thought to your feelings, -or that I am in the faintest degree interested in them."</p> - -<p>Her tone stung him like the stroke of a whip, and roused a passion on -which she had not calculated. He took a few hasty steps toward her; -and she found herself prisoned between the precipice on one side, and -this man, who stood and looked at her with eyes that gleamed under his -frowning brow.</p> - -<p>"Do you mean to tell me," he said, peremptorily, "that you have -no interest in feelings which you have deliberately excited and -encouraged? Do you mean to say that you have meant nothing when by -every art in your power you have led me on to love you?"</p> - -<p>Surely retribution was very heavy upon Marion at that moment. The -injustice of the charge—for of any such intention her conscience -acquitted her—only added to her sense of angry humiliation, and to the -consciousness, which she could not ignore, that she had, in some degree -at least, brought this upon herself. Her indignation was so deep, her -anger so great, that for once her readiness of speech failed, and she -could only reply:</p> - -<p>"How dare you address me in this manner?"</p> - -<p>He laughed—a short, bitter laugh, not pleasant to hear. "You are -a good actor, Miss Lynde," he said. "I never doubted your capacity -in that line; but I see that it is even greater than I imagined. -How dare I address you with the truth! Why should I not? You have -made me believe that you desired nothing more than to hear it. Your -manner to me, since the first evening we met, has admitted of but -one interpretation—that you wished to excite the feeling I have not -hesitated to show you. And so long as I merely <i>showed</i> it, you were -pleased; but now that I utter it, you profess an indignation which it -is impossible you can feel."</p> - -<p>"You are speaking falsely!" cried Marion, whose anger was now so -excessive that no words seemed strong enough to express it. "I have -never for one instant wished to encourage the feeling of which you -speak. I knew you were engaged to Helen, and I thought you something, -at least, of a gentleman. I now see that you have no claim whatever to -that title. Let me pass!"</p> - -<p>"No," he said—and now he extended his hand and caught her wrist in a -vise-like grasp. "I have no doubt, from the proficiency you exhibit, -that you have played this game before with success; but you shall not -have the pleasure of playing it successfully with me. In one way or -another, I will make it a costly game to you, unless you tell me that -all this affected indignation means nothing, and that if I end my -entanglement with Helen, you will marry me."</p> - -<p>"Let me go!" said Marion, pale and breathless with passion. "If you -were free as air—if you had never been engaged to Helen—I would not -think of marrying you! Is that enough?"</p> - -<p>"Quite enough," he answered—but still he did not release her wrist. -"Now listen to me. I am not a man with whom any woman—not even one -so clever as you are—can amuse herself with impunity. I do not mean -to be melodramatic; I shall not curse you for your deception, for the -heartlessness with which you have sacrificed me to your vanity; but I -warn you that you have made an enemy who will leave nothing undone to -pay his debt. I read you very thoroughly, beautiful and unscrupulous -schemer that you are; and I promise you that in the hour when you think -your schemes are nearest success, you will find them defeated by me. To -that I pledge myself."</p> - -<p>There is something terrible in feeling one's self the object of hatred, -even if that hatred be both undeserved and impotent; and, brave as -Marion was, proud and defiant as she was, she felt herself shiver under -these words, and under the gaze which seconded them. What, indeed, -if she had made a mistake on the very threshold of the life in which -she had expected to manage so well. What if, instead of making a -satisfactory test of her power, she had roused an enmity which even -her experience knew to be more powerful and more tireless than love? -She did not quail under the fiery gaze bent on her, but her heart sank -with a sense of apprehension, of which she was strong enough to give no -outward sign.</p> - -<p>"It is a very worthy object to which you pledge yourself," she -observed, with scorn. "But I am not afraid of a man who is cowardly -enough to threaten a woman with his enmity because she rejects and -despises what he calls his love."</p> - -<p>Her voice had always a peculiar quality of clearness in speaking, -but when she was at all excited it was like silver in its resonance. -Therefore the words distinctly reached the ears of one who was coming -toward them, and the next instant Helen's pale face and startled eyes -rose before her.</p> - -<p>She uttered a sharp exclamation, which stopped the words that were -rising to Rathborne's lips; and, wrenching her arm from his grasp, she -sprang forward to her cousin's side. "Helen!" she cried, unconscious -almost of what she said, "what are you doing here?"</p> - -<p>It is not always the people who seem most weak whom emergency proves to -be so. At this moment Helen exhibited a self-control which would have -surprised even those who knew her best. She was pale as marble, and her -violet eyes had still their startled, piteous look; but she answered, -quietly:—</p> - -<p>"I came to look for you. It was foolish—I will go back now. Don't -trouble to come with me."</p> - -<p>But as she turned, Marion seized her arm. "Helen!" she exclaimed, -"don't misjudge me! Don't think that this is my fault!"</p> - -<p>"No," replied Helen, with the same strange quietness; "I heard what you -said. I don't blame—any one. I suppose it was natural."</p> - -<p>Then it was Rathborne's turn. "Helen," he said, coming up to her, and -speaking with an attempt at the old tone of authority; "you must listen -to <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>But she turned away from him with something like a shudder. "No," she -said, "do not ask me—not now. I may be weak, but not so weak as not to -understand—this. Don't come with me. Frank will look after me and take -me home. That is all I want."</p> - -<p>She moved away through the beautiful greenery, a slender, lovely -figure, with drooping head; and the two whom she left behind watched -her with one sensation at least in common—that of a keen sense of -guilt, which for the moment no other feeling was strong enough to -stifle.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">When</span> Marion returned to the party, who were preparing for their -homeward drive, Frank Morley came up to her with a very grave face.</p> - -<p>"Helen tells me that she is feeling so bad, Miss Lynde," he said, -coldly, "that she wishes me to take her home. I have, therefore, -arranged for our return in the buggy in which Netta came out, and she -and her escort will take our places in the carriage with you."</p> - -<p>"Make whatever arrangement you please," answered Marion, as coldly as -himself; "but pray leave me out of it. There is a vacant seat in Mrs. -Singleton's carriage, which I shall take for the return."</p> - -<p>"Very well—the matter, is settled, then," he said. "I will take Helen -away at once." And he walked off with a scant courtesy, which his youth -and indignation excused.</p> - -<p>But it was a new sensation to Marion to be treated with discourtesy by -any one; and she had to pull herself together with an effort before she -was able to approach Mrs. Singleton in her usual manner, and announce -that she was willing to take the seat she had before declined.</p> - -<p>"I don't like to repeat anything, not even a drive, in exactly the -same manner," she said by way of explanation; "so if you will allow me, -I will join you for the homeward drive."</p> - -<p>"I shall be delighted to have you," answered Mrs. Singleton. "I thought -you would do better to come with me. Tom will be delighted, too. You -shall sit with him, and drive if he will let you."</p> - -<p>Good-natured Mr. Singleton was much pleased to share his box seat with -such a companion, and even to make over the reins to her whenever -the road was good enough to allow of it with safety; while to Marion -there was distraction from her own thoughts—from the recollection -of unpleasant complications, and the sense of angry humiliation—in -guiding the spirited horses, that tried all the strength of her arms -and wrists, and required an undivided attention.</p> - -<p>However, the drive was soon over, and then she had before her the -disagreeable necessity of facing her aunt and Helen. Brave as she was, -she was assailed by a cowardly impulse to avoid meeting them. What if -she went home with Mrs. Singleton, and for the evening at least did not -meet them? But what would be gained by that, except delay? She knew -that unless she wished to leave it in Rathborne's power to make what -statement he chose, she <i>must</i> go to them with her own statement; and, -this being so, delay would serve no end except to give the impression -of heartless indifference. No, there was nothing for it but to meet at -once what had to be met sooner or later; so when the Singleton carriage -drew up at her aunt's gate, she exchanged a gay farewell with her -companions, and with a heavy heart and reluctant step took her way to -the house.</p> - -<p>How different from its usual aspect that house looked, as she drew -near it! Usually at this hour bright lights shone from the windows; -there would be snatches of music, sounds of voices and laughter; if the -moon were shining as to-night, a gay party would be assembled on the -veranda. Now it was still and quiet; the lights in the drawing-room -were turned low; the broad, open hall looked deserted. Only one figure -emerged from the shadow of the vines on the veranda into the full -moonlight as she approached. It was a small figure—that of Harry -Dalton.</p> - -<p>"Why, Harry!" exclaimed Marion, with an effort to speak as usual, "are -you all alone? Where is Helen?"</p> - -<p>"Helen has gone upstairs; she has a headache," answered Harry. "But -mamma is in the sitting-room, and wants to see you."</p> - -<p>"Very well," said Marion. She began to unbutton her gloves, as some -outward relief to her inward agitation, and without pausing, walked -into the house. Since the interview must take place, the sooner it was -over the better—so she said to herself as she entered the room where -her aunt awaited her.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton was sitting by a table on which stood a shaded lamp, and, -with a book open before her, seemed to be reading; but her effort to -fix her mind on the page had not met with much success. She had, in -reality, been waiting for the sound of her niece's step; and when she -heard her coming, she was conscious of as much shrinking from the -interview as Marion felt. "I must be reasonable," she said to herself; -and then, pushing back her volume, she looked up as the girl entered.</p> - -<p>It was characteristic of Marion that she spoke first. "I am sorry to -hear that Helen is not well, aunt," she said. "Has she been at home -long?"</p> - -<p>"About half an hour," answered Mrs. Dalton. "She has gone to her room; -she asked that she might be left alone. That is so unlike Helen, that -I am sure something very serious has occurred. And I judge from a few -words which Frank said, that you know what it is, Marion."</p> - -<p>"What did Mr. Frank Morley say?" inquired Marion, sitting down. The -introduction of his name roused in her an immediate sense of defiance. -After all, what right had they to suppose that what had happened was -any fault of hers?</p> - -<p>"He said that Helen had overheard something which passed between Paul -Rathborne and yourself," answered Mrs. Dalton; "and that afterward she -had asked him to bring her home alone. He told me this in reply to my -questions. Helen said nothing; but I feel that I ought to know how -matters stand, so I ask you what did she overhear?"</p> - -<p>"She overheard me tell Mr. Rathborne that I rejected and despised the -love that he ventured to offer me," replied Marion, speaking in her -clearest and most distinct tone.</p> - -<p>A quick contraction of the brow showed how much the answer pained, if -it did not surprise, Mrs. Dalton. "My poor child!" she said, as if -to herself. Then she looked at Marion with something like a flash in -her usually gentle eyes. "And do you hold yourself guiltless in this -matter?" she asked. "If Paul Rathborne is a traitor to Helen—as he -surely is,—have not you encouraged his admiration? Does not your -conscience tell you that you have sacrificed her happiness for the -gratification of your vanity?"</p> - -<p>"No," replied Marion; "my conscience tells me nothing of the kind. How -could I prevent Mr. Rathborne's folly? But, of course, I expected to be -blamed for it," she added, bitterly. "That is the justice of the world."</p> - -<p>"God forgive me if I am unjust!" said Mrs. Dalton. "I did not mean to -be. But, Marion, this is not altogether a surprise to me. I have seen -his admiration for you, and I have seen—I could not help seeing—that -you did not discourage it."</p> - -<p>"Why should I have discouraged it?" asked Marion. "I saw no harm in -it. I could not imagine that because he found some things to like—to -admire, if you will—in me, he would become a traitor to Helen. It is -asking too much to demand that one turn one's back on a man because he -is a shade more than civil."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton shook her head. "Those are merely words," she said. "They -do not deceive yourself any more than they deceive me. You know that -you have used this man's admiration as fuel for your vanity, and that -so cautious and so selfish a man would never have acted as he has -done if he had not felt himself encouraged. Do not misunderstand me," -she added, more hastily. "For Helen's sake I am not sorry that this -has happened. It is better for her, even at the cost of great present -suffering, that her eyes should be opened to his true character. But -you, Marion—how can you forgive yourself for the part you have played? -And what is to become of you if you do not check the vanity which has -led you to betray the trust and wring the heart of your best friend?"</p> - -<p>The quiet, penetrating words—gentle although so grave—seemed to -Marion at that moment like a sentence from which there was no appeal. -Her conscience echoed it, her eyes fell, for an instant it looked as if -she had nothing to reply. But she rallied quickly.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry if you think I have wilfully done anything to pain Helen," -she said, coldly. "It does not strike me that I could have averted -this, unless I had been gifted with a foreknowledge which I do not -possess. I could never have imagined that Mr. Rathborne would be so -false with regard to Helen, and so presumptuous with regard to <i>me</i>."</p> - -<p>The haughtiness of the last words was not lost on the ear of the -listener, who looked at the beautiful, scornful face with a mingling of -pity and indignation.</p> - -<p>"You expected," she said, "to encourage a man's admiration up to a -certain point, and yet to restrain his presumption? A little more -knowledge of human nature would have told you that was impossible; a -little more feeling would have kept you from desiring it." She paused -a moment, then went on, with the same restrained gravity: "I am sorry -if I seem to you harsh, but nothing in this affair is worse to me than -the revelation it makes of your character. I am grieved by Helen's -suffering, and shocked by Paul Rathborne's treachery; but for the first -I have the comfort that it may in the end spare her worse suffering, -and for the second I feel that it is not a surprise—that I never -wholly trusted his sincerity. But <i>you</i>, Marion—what can I think of -you, who, without any stronger feeling than vanity to lead you on, have -trifled with your own sense of honor, as well as with the deepest -feelings of others? What will your future be if you do not change—if -you do not try to think less of unworthy objects and more of worthy -ones—less of gaining admiration and more of keeping your conscience -clear and your heart clean?"</p> - -<p>"What will my future be!" repeated Marion. She rose as she spoke, and -answered, proudly: "That concerns myself alone. I have no fear of it; I -feel that I can make it what I will, and I shall certainly not will to -make it anything unworthy. But it need not trouble you in the least. I -am sorry that my coming here should have brought any trouble on Helen. -The only amend I can make is to go away at once, and that I will do."</p> - -<p>"No," said Mrs. Dalton, quickly; "that can not mend matters now, and -would only throw a very serious reflection upon you when it is known -that Helen's engagement is at an end. I cannot consent to it."</p> - -<p>"But Helen's engagement might not be at an end if I went away," -responded Marion.</p> - -<p>"You do not know Helen yet," said Mrs. Dalton, quietly. "I have not -spoken to her on the subject, but I am certain what her decision will -be."</p> - -<p>Marion herself was by no means certain that Mrs. Dalton's judgment was -correct. She thought Helen weak and yielding to the last degree, and -believed that very little entreaty would be requisite on Rathborne's -part to induce her to forgive him. "It will be only necessary for him -to throw all the blame on me," she thought, with a bitter smile, as she -went to her chamber. Nevertheless, it was not a very tranquil night -that she passed. Whatever change the future might bring, she knew -that Helen was suffering now—suffering the keen pangs which a loving, -trusting heart feels when its love and trust have been betrayed. "It is -hard on her, she is so good, so kind, so incapable herself of betraying -any one!" thought the girl, whose conscience was still in a very -dormant state, but whose sense of pity was touched. "How sorry Claire -would be if she knew!" And then came the reflection, "What would Claire -think of me?" followed by the quick reply, "She would be as unjust as -the rest, and call it my fault, no doubt."</p> - -<p>The thought of Claire's judgment, however, was another sting added to -those which already disturbed her; and it was not strange that she -tossed on her pillow during the better part of the night, only falling -asleep toward morning. As is usually the case after a wakeful night, -her sleep was heavy, so that the first sound that roused her was the -breakfast bell. She opened her eyes with a start, and to her surprise -saw Helen standing beside her.</p> - -<p>The memory of all that had happened flashed like lightning into her -mind; and, unable to reconcile that memory with this appearance, she -could only gasp, "Helen!—what are you doing here?"</p> - -<p>"I knocked at the door, but you did not answer, so I came in," Helen -responded, simply. "It is late, else I should not have disturbed you. -But I wanted to speak to you before you went down."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Marion. She sat up in bed, with white draperies all about -her, and looked at her cousin. She expected a demand for explanation, -perhaps reproaches, but she did not expect what came.</p> - -<p>"I only want to tell you," said Helen, with the same quiet simplicity, -"that I have no reason to blame you for—what occurred yesterday. It -was not your fault: you could not have helped it. I don't know that any -one is to blame very much," she added, with a sigh; "but I felt that I -ought to tell you that I do not blame <i>you</i> at all."</p> - -<p>"Helen!" cried Marion. All her proud self-control suddenly gave way, -and she burst into tears. The generosity which underlay the erring -surface of her nature was touched to the quick, and her conscience -spoke as it had never spoken before. "Helen, you are too good," she -said. "You judge me too kindly. I do not feel myself that I am not to -blame. On the contrary, I have no doubt my aunt is perfectly right, and -that I am very much to blame. I let my vanity and my love of admiration -carry me too far, but never with the intention of injuring you or -betraying your trust—never!"</p> - -<p>"I am sure of that," said Helen, gently. She laid her hand on the bent -head of the other. It startled her to see Marion display such feeling -and such humility as this. "Mamma was thinking of me," she went on; -"else she would not have blamed you; for how could you help being more -attractive than I am? If I was unreasonable enough to think for a -little time last night that you were to blame, I know better now. God -has given me strength to look at things more calmly. I can even see -that <i>he</i> may not be greatly in fault. No doubt he thought he loved -me—until he saw you."</p> - -<p>"Helen, he is not worthy of you!" cried Marion, passionately. "He loves -no one but himself."</p> - -<p>Helen shook her head. "Surely he loves you," she said; "else why -should he tell you so? But we need not discuss this. Will you come down -when you are ready?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes," said Marion, with an effort; "I will be down very soon."</p> - -<p>She rose as Helen left the room, and dressed very hastily, a prey -the while to many conflicting emotions. Relief was mingled with -self-reproach, and admiration of Helen's generosity with scorn of her -weakness. "For, of course, her excuses for him mean that she will -forgive him!" she thought. "I have heard that women—most women—are -fools in just that way, and Helen is exactly the kind of woman to be -guilty of that folly. The miserable dastard!"—she remembered his -threat to herself—"I wish I could punish him as he deserves for his -treachery and presumption!"</p> - -<p>It did not occur to her to ask whether or not <i>she</i> deserved any -punishment for the share she confessed to having borne in the -treachery. Had the idea been suggested to her, she would have said that -her share was infinitesimal compared with his, and that she had already -been punished by the insolence she had drawn upon herself.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">But</span> Helen's quietness did not deceive her mother, whose heart ached -as she saw in the pale young face all the woful change wrought by one -night of suffering, one sharp touch of anguish. Yet, if she had only -known it, the girl brought back into the house a very different face -from that which she had taken out in the early morning, when, driven -by an intolerable sense of pain, she had gone in search of strength -to bear it. There was but one place where such strength was to be -found, and thither her feet had carried her direct. She was the first -person to enter the little church when it was opened to the freshness -of the summer morning; and long after the Holy Sacrifice was over she -had still knelt, absorbed and motionless, before the altar. Everyone -went away: she was left alone with the Presence in the tabernacle; -and in the stillness, the absolute quiet, a Voice seemed speaking to -her aching heart, and bringing comfort to her troubled soul. When at -length, warned of the passage of time by the striking of a distant -clock, she lifted her face from her clasped hands, even amid the stains -of tears there were signs of peace. The sting of bitterness had been -taken out of her grief; and, that being so, it had become endurable. -She might and would suffer still; but when she had once brought herself -to resign this suffering into the hands of God, and with the docility -of a child accept what it pleased Him to permit, the worst was over.</p> - -<p>The first result of the struggle she had made and the victory she had -gained was apparent when, on her return home, she went to Marion's -room. The generous heart could not rest without clearing itself at once -of the least shadow of injustice,—and she had implied, if she had not -expressed, a blame of Marion which she was noble enough to feel might -be unjust. Hence that visit which so deeply touched the girl, whose own -conscience failed to echo Helen's acquittal.</p> - -<p>Breakfast passed very quietly. Mrs. Dalton saw that her daughter was -making an heroic effort to appear as usual, and she seconded it as far -as lay in her power, talking more than was her custom in order to allow -Helen to be silent, and to prevent the boys from asking questions about -events of the preceding afternoon. To make no change in her manner to -Marion was more difficult; but, with the example that Helen set, she -was able to accomplish even this; and finally the usual separation for -the morning took place with great sense of relief to all concerned. -Marion put on her hat and went out, ostensibly to keep an appointment -with Mrs. Singleton, but really to be safely out of the way in case -Rathborne should make his appearance.</p> - -<p>Helen herself had some fear of this appearance, and she took refuge -in her own chamber, dreading the necessary explanation to her mother, -not so much on her own account as on account of the judgment upon -Rathborne which she knew would follow. Tenderness does not die in an -hour or a day; and although her resolve to put him out of her life was -firm, she was not yet able to put him out of her heart, nor to think -without shrinking of the severe condemnation which her mother would -mete out to him. There was no need for haste in speaking; she might -rest a little, and gather strength for the trial, knowing that Mrs. -Dalton would make no effort to force her confidence.</p> - -<p>So she was resting on the bed, where she had not slept at all the night -before, when the door softly opened and Mrs. Dalton entered the room.</p> - -<p>"Helen," she said, gently, "I am sorry to disturb you, but Paul -Rathborne is downstairs and asks to see you. What shall I tell him?"</p> - -<p>"Tell him that I cannot see him," answered Helen. "It is impossible! -You must speak for me—you must make him understand that he is entirely -free from any engagement to me, and I do not blame him for what he -could not help. I suppose you have guessed that something is the -matter," she added, wistfully. "It is only that I have found out he -cares for Marion—not for me."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton put her arm around her with a touch full of sympathy, -without speaking for a moment. Then she said: "My child, I always knew -he was not worthy of you."</p> - -<p>"But this does not prove him unworthy of me," replied Helen, in a tone -sharp with pain. "It only proves that he was mistaken when he thought -of me."</p> - -<p>"Men of honor do not make such mistakes," said Mrs. Dalton.</p> - -<p>"How could he help falling in love with Marion?" continued Helen. "She -is so much more beautiful, so much more attractive than I am! And that -he has done so, settles the doubt of his disinterestedness which you -always entertained. Do him so much justice, mamma. You feared that he -professed to care for me because I have a little money. But Marion has -none."</p> - -<p>"We need not discuss that, my dear," said Mrs. Dalton, who was touched -but not convinced by this generous plea. "It is enough if, satisfied -that his affections have wandered, you are determined to dismiss him."</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Helen, "I am determined on that. But I cannot see him. You -must go to him, and tell him from me that I do not blame him, but that -all is at an end between us."</p> - -<p>With this message Mrs. Dalton went downstairs. Her own mood with -Rathborne was far from being as charitable as her daughter's; and her -face, usually set in very gentle lines, hardened to sternness as she -descended. She was not inclined to deal leniently with one who had so -shamefully betrayed the trust placed in him, and had overshadowed so -darkly the sunshine of Helen's life. Like some other parents, she had -up to this time imagined that the stern conditions of human existence -were to be relaxed for Helen, and that one so formed for happiness was -to be granted that happiness in a measure which is allowed to few. A -sense of keen injury was, therefore, added to her indignation at a -treachery for which she could find no palliation.</p> - -<p>Rathborne, who was anxiously expecting yet dreading to see Helen, drew -his breath with a sharp sense of vexation when his aunt entered. This -was worse than he had feared. Calculating upon Helen's gentleness, he -had not thought that she would refuse to see him; and if she saw him, -he believed that his influence would be strong enough to induce her -to overlook anything. But when Mrs. Dalton entered, he knew that the -consequences of his treachery were to be fully paid. A cold greeting -was exchanged between them, and then a short silence followed, as each -hesitated to speak. It was Mrs. Dalton who broke it, as soon as she -felt able to control her voice.</p> - -<p>"I have told Helen that you are here," she said, "but she declines to -see you. It is not necessary, I presume, to explain why she declines. -Of that you are fully aware. It is not necessary, either, that I should -add anything to her own words, which are, briefly, that you will -consider everything at an end between you. She added also that she does -not blame you for anything that has occurred—but I hardly think that -your own conscience will echo that."</p> - -<p>"No," said Rathborne, who had paled perceptibly, "my own conscience -does not echo it. On the contrary, I feel that I am deeply to blame; -yet I hoped that Helen might believe me when I say that I am not so -much to blame as appears on the surface. A man may be tempted beyond -his strength, and some women are experts in such temptations."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton looked at him with scorn in her eyes. "If you think," she -said, "that you will serve your cause with Helen by such cowardly -insinuations as that, you are mistaken. And, as far as I am concerned, -you have only taken a step lower in my esteem. But that is a point -which does not matter. Wherever the blame rests, the fact remains that -if Helen did not take the decision of the matter into her hands, <i>I</i> -should do so. You have proved yourself a man whom it is impossible I -can ever consent to trust with my daughter's life and happiness."</p> - -<p>Rathborne rose to his feet. The decisive words seemed to leave him -no alternative. He felt that he had committed a blunder which was -altogether irretrievable; and combined with the keen mortification of -failure was a hatred, which gathered bitterness with every moment, -against the woman he believed to have led him on and deceived him.</p> - -<p>"In that case," he said, "there is nothing for me to do but to go. I -had hoped that Helen might understand—that she would not let a moment -of folly outweigh the devotion of years; but if she judges me as hardly -as you seem to imply, I see that my hope is vain. Tell her from me that -if she knew the whole truth she would regard the matter in a different -light. But if she does not wish to know the truth—if she prefers to -judge me unheard,—I can only submit."</p> - -<p>"It is best she should not see you," said Mrs. Dalton, who was glad -that Helen herself had decided this point. "Even if you persuaded her -to trust you again, I could not give my consent to the renewal of an -engagement which has been ended in this manner."</p> - -<p>"<i>You</i> have always distrusted me," said Rathborne, bitterly.</p> - -<p>"No," she replied, gravely; "so far from that, I trusted you as my own -son, though I did not think you were the person to make Helen happy. -I had always a fear that you did not care for her enough, and now I -am forced to believe that you did not care for her at all. If you had -done so, this could never have happened, just as it could never have -happened if you had possessed the right principle and the sense of -honor which I should certainly wish my daughter's husband to possess."</p> - -<p>Rathborne could hardly believe the evidence of his ears as he listened -to these severe, incisive words. He had always regarded Mrs. Dalton as -a person who was mild to weakness, and whom, whenever it suited him, -he could influence in whatever manner desired. He therefore scarcely -recognized this woman, with her sentence of condemnation based on -premises which he could not deny, though he made a faint attempt to do -so.</p> - -<p>"You do not understand," he said, "how a brief infatuation—a delirium -of fancy—can attack a man, let his sense of honor be what it may. As -for my attachment to Helen, that is something which has lasted too long -to be doubted now."</p> - -<p>"Will you inform me, then, how you proposed to reconcile it with your -declaration to Marion?"</p> - -<p>"That was drawn from me—forced from me!" he exclaimed. "It was a -madness of the moment, into which I was led by her art."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton rose now, a bright spot of color on each check. "That is -enough!" she said. "I can listen to nothing more. No man of honor -would, for his own sake, utter such words as those—even if they were -true, and I am sure they are not. Great as my niece's faults may be, -she is incapable of such conduct as you charge her with. Go, Paul -Rathborne! By such excuses you only prove more and more how unworthy -you are of Helen's affection or Helen's trust."</p> - -<p>"Very well," he answered, his face white and bitter with anger. "As you -and she have decided, so be it. But take care that the day does not -come when you will deeply regret this decision."</p> - -<p>Then he turned, and, without giving her time to reply had she been so -inclined, left the room.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Dalton looked after him with a heavy sigh. Regret her decision she -knew that she would not; but it would be vain to say that she did not -regret the necessity for it, that she did not think with a keen pang -of Helen's suffering, and that she did not feel, with much bitterness, -that Marion had not been guiltless in the matter. Yet even in the midst -of her indignation she had pity for the girl, whose vanity and ambition -were likely to wreck her life, as they had already gone far to alienate -her best friends.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Marion could not disguise the fact that she was not in her -usual spirits—for the thought of Helen weighed heavily upon her,—and -Mrs. Singleton, observing this, drew at once her own conclusions.</p> - -<p>"I am afraid the gypsy tea was not altogether a success, so far as you -were concerned or your cousin either," she said. "I heard that she went -home with Frank Morley instead of with her <i>fiancé</i>. I will not ask any -indiscreet questions, but I suspect that your attractions have drawn -Mr. Rathborne from his allegiance. It is what I have anticipated for -some time."</p> - -<p>Marion frowned a little, annoyed by this freedom, which, however, she -felt that she had drawn upon herself, and had no right to resent. But -she evaded the implied question.</p> - -<p>"Helen was not feeling well, and so she made her cousin take her home -before we were ready to start," she said. "I am not particularly -partial to Miss Morley's society, or Mr. Rathborne's either, and -thought I would accept the seat you offered me. That was the whole -matter."</p> - -<p>"I am delighted to hear it," said Mrs. Singleton, not deceived in the -least. "I was afraid there had been a lover's quarrel, and that perhaps -you were the innocent cause of it. That is always such an awkward -position. I have occupied it myself once or twice, so I speak from -knowledge."</p> - -<p>"I am sure that if you occupied it, it must have been innocently," said -Marion, with malice. "But we need not discuss what is not, I trust, -likely to occur, so far as I am concerned. How is Mr. Singleton this -morning?"</p> - -<p>"Not well at all. This is one of his bad days. And it is one of mine, -too," she added, with a slight grimace; "for I have just heard that -Brian Earle is coming."</p> - -<p>"And who is Brian Earle?"</p> - -<p>"Surely you have heard my uncle talk of him? At least, it is most -astonishing if you have not; for he likes him better than any one else -in the world, I think; although they don't agree very well. I have no -fancy for Brian myself: I find him entirely too much of a prig; but -I will say that he might twist the old man around his finger if he -would only yield a little more to his wishes and opinions. It is a -lucky thing for us that he will not, but it does not make his folly -less. Fancy! Mr. Singleton asked him to live with him, look after his -business, and generally devote himself to him during his life, with the -promise of making him his sole heir, and <i>he refused</i>! Can you believe -that?"</p> - -<p>"I must believe it if you are sure of it," replied Marion, smiling at -the energy of the other. "But why did he refuse?"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. "Because he was not willing to -give up control of his own life, and spend the best years of his youth -in idleness, waiting for an old man to die. That is what he said. As -if he would not gain by that waiting more than his wretched art would -bring him if he toiled at it all his life!"</p> - -<p>"His art—what is he?"</p> - -<p>"Oh! a painter—or an attempt at one. Are such people always visionary -and impracticable? I judge so from what I have read of them, and from -my knowledge of him. It is true that his folly serves our interest very -well; for if he had agreed to what his uncle proposed, we should have -no chance of inheriting anything; but, nevertheless, one has a contempt -for a man with so little sense."</p> - -<p>"I think you should have the highest regard for him in this instance, -since he is serving your interest so well. But why is he coming?"</p> - -<p>"To see his uncle before going abroad again. Mr. Singleton has a strong -attachment for him, notwithstanding the way he has acted; and I should -not be surprised if he made him his heir, after all. So you see there -is no reason why I should be overjoyed at his visit, especially since -he is not at all an agreeable person, as you will see."</p> - -<p>"I may not see," said Marion; "for I do not think I shall be in -Scarborough much longer."</p> - -<p>"You are going away?" said Mrs. Singleton, with a quick flash of -comprehension in her eyes.</p> - -<p>"In a few days probably," was the reply. "I promised to spend only a -month with Helen, and I have been here now six weeks."</p> - -<p>"But I thought you were good for the season," said Mrs. Singleton; -while her inward comment was: "So matters are just as I thought!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Reticence</span> was not Mrs. Singleton's distinguishing characteristic. It -was not very long, therefore, before she mentioned her suspicions -about Marion both to her husband and her uncle. The first laughed, -and remarked that it was only what he had expected; the latter looked -grave, and said: "In that case it will not be pleasant for her to -remain in her aunt's house."</p> - -<p>"So far from it," was the careless reply, "that she is speaking of -leaving Scarborough."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton glanced up sharply. "That would be very undesirable," he -said. "Her singing is a great pleasure to me; for the matter of that, -so is her society. Ask her to come and stay with you."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton lifted her eyebrows. This was far from what she -anticipated or desired. There had been a little malicious pleasure in -her announcement, but she would certainly have refrained from making -it had she feared such a result as this. She was so vexed that for a -moment she could scarcely speak. Then she said: "You are very kind; -but, although I like Miss Lynde, I do not care enough for her society -to ask her to stay with me."</p> - -<p>"I never imagined for an instant that you cared for her society," -replied Mr. Singleton, coolly. "I was not thinking of your -gratification, but of my own, in desiring you to ask her here. Of -course, it is necessary that she should be nominally your guest; -although, as we are aware, really mine."</p> - -<p>"I think, then, that it would be best she should be nominally as well -as really yours," said Mrs. Singleton, too much provoked to consider -for the moment what was her best policy.</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton looked at her with an ominous flash in his glance. "Very -well," he answered, deliberately. "That is just as you please. We can -easily change existing arrangements. I will speak to Tom about it."</p> - -<p>But this intimation at once brought Mrs. Singleton to unconditional -surrender.</p> - -<p>"There is no need for that," she said, hastily. "Of course I will do -whatever you desire. I only thought it might be best that the matter -should be clearly understood. I have no fancy for Miss Lynde, nor any -desire for her companionship. To speak the truth, I do not trust her at -all."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders—a gesture to which he gave an -expression that many of his friends found very irritating. It said -plainly at present that nothing mattered less in his opinion than -whether Mrs. Singleton trusted Miss Lynde or not.</p> - -<p>"Let us keep to the point," he said, quietly. "What your sentiments -with regard to the young lady may be I do not inquire. I only desire -you to ask her to come here. If you object to do this—and far be -it from me to place any constraint upon you,—I must simply make an -arrangement by which it can be done. That is all."</p> - -<p>"Why should I object?" asked Mrs. Singleton. "If she comes as your -guest, it is certainly not my affair."</p> - -<p>"I have requested, however, that you ask her to come as your guest. Do -not misunderstand that point. And do not give the invitation so that it -may be declined. I should consider that tantamount to not giving it at -all. See that she comes. You can arrange it if you like."</p> - -<p>With this intimation the conversation ended, and Mrs. Singleton had no -comfort but to tell her husband of the disagreeable necessity laid upon -her. "I am to ask Marion Lynde to come here as my guest, and I am to -see that she comes! Could anything be more vexatious?" she demanded. -"I am so provoked that I feel inclined to leave your uncle to manage -his own affairs, and to get somebody else to invite guests for his -amusement."</p> - -<p>"Nothing would be easier than for him to do so," said Mr. Singleton. -"We are not at all necessary to him, you know. And why on earth should -you object to asking Miss Lynde, if he desires it? It seems to me that -you might desire it yourself."</p> - -<p>"Oh! it seems so to you, does it?" asked the lady, sarcastically. -"Because she has a pretty face, I presume. It does not occur to you -that a girl who has drawn her cousin's <i>fiancé</i> into a love affair with -her—for I am certain that is what has occurred—would betray us just -as quickly, and use her influence with this infatuated old man to any -end that suited her."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton looked a little grave at this view of the case. "Well," -he said, "that may be so, but how are we to help it? Certainly not by -showing that we are afraid of her."</p> - -<p>"I might have helped it by letting her go away without telling him -anything about it," said the lady. "And I wish I had!"</p> - -<p>"Useless!" said her philosophical husband. "He would have found it out -for himself. Don't worry over the matter. Ask her here with a good -grace, since you have no alternative, and trust that he will tire of -her as he has tired of everybody else."</p> - -<p>That this was good advice—in fact, the only advice to be -followed—Mrs. Singleton was well aware. And she proceeded to do what -was required of her, with as good a grace as she could command. The -invitation surprised Marion, but it was not unwelcome, as cutting the -knot of her difficulties. For, anxious as she now was to leave her -aunt's house, and to spare herself the silent, unconscious reproach of -Helen's pale face, she was deeply averse to returning to her uncle's -home. She had registered a passionate resolve never to return there if -she could avoid it; but she had begun to fear that she would be unable -to avoid doing so, when Mrs. Singleton's invitation offered her, at -least, a temporary mode of escape. She received it graciously, saying -that she would be happy to accept it whenever her aunt and cousin would -consent to let her go.</p> - -<p>"Oh! I am sure they will be averse to giving you up," said Mrs. -Singleton, with the finest sarcastic intention. "But if you are -intending to leave them in any event, they can not object to your -coming to me for a time."</p> - -<p>"They will certainly not object to that," replied Marion. "The -question is only <i>when</i> I can avail myself of your kind invitation."</p> - -<p>This proved to be quite soon; for when Mrs. Dalton heard of the -invitation, she advised Marion to set an early day for accepting it. -"I think it necessary," she said, "to take Helen away for change of -air and scene. I should have asked you to accompany us; but, under the -circumstances, the arrangement proposed by Mrs. Singleton is best. I am -sure you will understand this."</p> - -<p>"I understand it perfectly," said Marion; "and am very sorry that you -should have been embarrassed by any thought of me."</p> - -<p>So it was settled. Helen was quite passive, ready to do whatever was -desired of her; but the spring of happiness seemed broken within -her—that natural, spontaneous happiness which had appeared as much a -part of her as its perfume is part of a flower. It was hard for Mrs. -Dalton to forgive those who, between them, had wrought this change; -although she knew that it was well for her daughter to be saved, at any -cost, from a marriage with Rathborne.</p> - -<p>But Rathborne himself was naturally not of this opinion; and, being a -person of strong tenacity of purpose, he was determined not to give up -his cause as lost until he had tested his influence over Helen. The -opportunity to do this was for some time lacking. He knew that it would -be useless to go again to Mrs. Dalton's house and ask for an interview, -even if his pride had not rendered such a step impossible. He waited -for some chance of meeting Helen alone; but she shrank from going -out, so he had found no opportunity, when he heard of her intended -departure. This brought him to see the necessity of vigorous measures, -and consequently he appeared the next morning at the Catholic church, -having learned at what hour Mass was said.</p> - -<p>Entering late—for he did not wish to be observed more than was -unavoidable,—he found the Mass in progress, and about half a dozen -persons representing the congregation. His glance swept rapidly -over these, and at once identified Helen, observing with a sense of -relief that she was alone. Satisfied on this point, he dropped into -a seat near the door to wait until the service ended, looking on -meanwhile with a careless attention which had not the least element of -comprehension. To him it was an absurd and unintelligible rite, which -he did not even make the faintest effort to understand.</p> - -<p>When it ended, he thought that his waiting would also end; but to his -irritated surprise he found that Helen's devotions were by no means -over. The other members of the congregation left the church, each -bestowing a curious glance on him in passing; but Helen knelt on, until -he began to suspect that she must be aware of his presence and was -endeavoring to avoid him. The thought inspired him with fresh energy -and obstinacy. "She shall not escape me. I will stay here until noon, -if necessary," he said to himself; while Helen, entirely unconscious of -who was behind, was sending up her simple petitions for submission and -patience and strength. They did not really last very long; and when she -rose, Rathborne rose also and stepped into the vestibule to await her.</p> - -<p>His patience had no further trial of delay there. Within less than -a minute the door leading into the church opened and Helen's face -appeared. At the first instant of appearing, it had all the serenity -that comes from prayer; but when she saw him standing before her, this -expression changed quickly to one of distress. With something like a -gasp she said; "Paul!" pausing with the door in her hand.</p> - -<p>Rathborne stepped forward, with his own hand extended. "Forgive me for -startling you," he said; "but this was my only chance to see you, and I -felt that I must do so."</p> - -<p>"Why?" asked Helen. She closed the door, but did not give her hand. -"There is no reason, that I am aware of, why you should wish to see -me," she added, in a voice which trembled a little. "Everything has -been said that need be said between us."</p> - -<p>"On your side, perhaps so," he answered; "but not on mine. I have said -nothing. You have given me no opportunity to say anything. You have -condemned me unheard."</p> - -<p>"Condemned you! No," she replied. "I have never had any intention or -desire to condemn you. On the contrary, I said from the first that I -did not blame you for what was probably beyond your power to control. -But I desired that all might be ended between us; and, that being -so, there is nothing more to say on a subject that is—that must -be—painful to you as well as to me."</p> - -<p>"It will not be painful if I can induce you to listen to me and to -believe me," he said. "That is what I have come this morning to beg of -you—the opportunity to set myself right. Appoint a time when I can -come and find you alone, or meet me where you will. Only give me the -opportunity to justify myself to you."</p> - -<p>He spoke with an earnest pleading which was by no means simulated, -for he never lost the consciousness of how much for him depended upon -this; and that the pleading had an effect upon Helen was evident in her -growing pallor, in the look of pain that darkened her eyes. But she -answered, with a firmness on which he had not reckoned:—</p> - -<p>"You should not ask of me something which could not serve any good end. -No explanation can alter facts, and I would rather not discuss them. -What happened was very natural. No one knows that better than I. But -nothing can efface it now."</p> - -<p>"Not if you heard that I was led into folly by every possible art?" he -demanded, carried beyond self-control by the unforeseen difficulty of -bending one who had always before seemed so pliant to his influence. -"Not if I proved to you that your cousin—"</p> - -<p>Helen lifted her hand with a gesture which had in it something of a -command. "Not another word like that," she said. "I will not listen to -it. If what you imply were true, how would it help matters? A man who -is weak enough to be led away by the art of another is as little to be -trusted as the man who deliberately breaks his faith. He may not be as -blamable—I do not say that,—but one could never repose confidence in -him again. That is over."</p> - -<p>"Helen!" said Rathborne. He was amazed, almost confounded, by a dignity -of manner and tone which he had not only never seen in Helen before, -but of which he would not have believed her capable. He did not reckon -on the judgment and strength which earnest prayer had brought, nor did -it occur to him that the worst place he could have chosen for the -exertion of his influence was the threshold of the church, where day -after day she had come to beg for the direction that in such a crisis -would surely not be denied her. "I hardly know you," he went on, in the -tone of one deeply wounded. "How changed you are!—how cold! What has -become of the sweet and gentle Helen I have known and loved?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him with the first reproach that had been in either tone -or glance. "The Helen you knew—who trusted you so absolutely and loved -you so well—is dead," she answered. "There is no need that we should -speak of her." She paused for an instant, and then, with her voice -breaking a little, went on: "I am going away—I may not see you again -in a long time. Meanwhile I will try, with the help of God, to forget -the past, and I beg you to do the same; for it can never be renewed. -And if you wish to spare me pain, you will never speak of it again."</p> - -<p>Had Rathborne uttered what was in his mind, he would have replied that -whether he gave her pain or not was a matter of the utmost indifference -to him, if only he might gain his desired end. A sense of powerless -exasperation possessed him, the greater for his disappointment. He had -been so certain of bending Helen to his will whenever he met her alone; -yet now Helen stood before him like a rock, with immovable resolution -on her gentle face. He lost control of himself, and, stepping forward, -seized her by the hand.</p> - -<p>"You are not speaking your own mind in this," he said. "You are -influenced by others, and I will not submit to it. The dictation of -your mother or your priest shall not come between us."</p> - -<p>"Nothing has come between us except your own conduct and my own sense -of right," answered Helen. She grew paler still, but did not falter. -"It is best that we should part at once; for you have made me feel more -strongly that it is best we should part altogether. Let me go. You -forget where we are."</p> - -<p>"You will not listen to me?—you will not give me an opportunity to -explain?"</p> - -<p>"There is nothing to explain," she said, faintly; for the strain of the -interview was telling upon her. "Nothing can alter the fact of what I -heard. I could never trust you or believe in your affection after that. -Once for all, <i>everything is at an end between us</i>. Now let me go."</p> - -<p>He released her with a violence which sent her back a step. "Go, then!" -he said. "I always knew that you were weak, but I never knew before how -weak. You are a puppet in the hands of others, and both you and they -shall regret this."</p> - -<p>He left the vestibule; while she, after waiting for a moment to recover -herself, turned and re-entered the church.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XIV.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">A</span><span class="uppercase">nd</span> so, Brian, I find you as obstinate as ever!" said Mr. Singleton, -in a complaining tone.</p> - -<p>The person whom he addressed smiled a little. He did not look very -obstinate, this pleasant-faced young man, with clear gray eyes, that -regarded the elder man kindly and humorously. They were sitting in -the latter's private room, which opened into the drawing-room—Mr. -Singleton leaning back in his deep, luxurious chair; Brian Earle seated -opposite him, but nearer the open window, through which his glance -wandered now and then, attracted by the soft summer scene outside, -flooded with the sunshine of late afternoon.</p> - -<p>"I am sorry if it seems to you only a question of obstinacy," he said, -in a voice as pleasant as his face; "for that is the last thing I -should wish to be guilty of. Mere obstinacy—that is, attachment to -one's will simply because it is one's will—always seemed to me a very -puerile thing. My impulse is to do what another wishes rather than what -I wish myself—all things being equal."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" said Mr. Singleton, with the sarcastic inflection of voice -which was very common with him. "Then I am to suppose that, where I am -concerned, your impulse is exactly contrary to what it is in the case -of others; for certainly you have never consented to do anything that I -wish."</p> - -<p>"My dear uncle, is that quite just, because I can not do <i>one</i> thing -that you wish?"</p> - -<p>"That one thing includes everything. You know it as well as I do. In -refusing that, you refuse all that I can or ever shall ask of you."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to hear it," said the other. "But do you not think that it -is a great thing to ask of a man to resign his own plan and mode of -life, to do violence to his inclination, and to give up not only his -ambition but his independence as well?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Mr. Singleton, "it <i>is</i> a great deal; but I offer a -great deal also. You should not forget that."</p> - -<p>"I do not forget it. You offer an immense price, but it is the price of -my freedom and my self-respect."</p> - -<p>"In that case we will say no more about it," returned Mr. Singleton, -hotly. "If you consider that you would lose your freedom and your -self-respect by complying with my wishes—wishes which, I am sure, are -very moderate in their demands,—I shall certainly not urge you to do -so. We will consider the subject finally closed."</p> - -<p>"With all my heart," said Earle. "It is a very painful subject to me, -because I regret deeply that I am unable to comply with your wishes."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton made a wave of his hand which seemed peremptorily to -dismiss this regret. "Nothing would be easier than for you to gratify -me in the matter if you cared to do so. Since you do not desire to do -so, I shall cease to urge it. I have some self-respect, too."</p> - -<p>To this statement Earle wisely made no reply, and he was also -successful in repressing a smile; though he knew well from past -experience that his uncle's resolution would not hold for a week, -and that the whole ground would have to be exhaustively gone over -again—probably again and again.</p> - -<p>"You seem very pleasantly settled here," he observed after a moment, by -way of opening a new subject. "This is a charming old place."</p> - -<p>"Yes. I should buy it if I expected to live long enough to make it -worth while," replied Mr. Singleton. "The climate here suits me -exceedingly well."</p> - -<p>"And the people are agreeable, I suppose?" observed Earle, absently, -his eye fastened on the lovely alterations of light and shade—of the -nearer green melting into distant blue—which made up the scene without.</p> - -<p>"I know little or nothing of the people of the town," said Mr. -Singleton; "but I meet a sufficient number of my old friends—brought -here, like myself, by the climate—to give me as much society -as I want. Tom and his wife have, of course, a large circle of -acquaintances; so you need entertain no fear of dullness in the short -time you are good enough to give me."</p> - -<p>"Do you fancy that I am afraid of dullness?" asked Earle, with a laugh. -"On the contrary, no man was ever less inclined for society than I am. -But I like the look of the country about here, and I think I shall do -sketching."</p> - -<p>"If you find sketching to do, there may be perhaps some hope of -detaining you for a little while," said Mr. Singleton.</p> - -<p>"The length of my stay will not be in the least dependent on any -possible or probable sketching," returned Earle, good-humoredly. He -understood the disappointment which prompted Mr. Singleton to make -these sarcastic speeches; and they did not irritate him in the least, -but only inspired him with fresh regret that he could not do what was -desired of him. For he spoke truly in saying that, all things being -equal, he much preferred to do what another wished rather than what he -wished himself. This was part of a disposition which was amiable and -obliging almost to a fault. But with the amiability went great strength -of resolution, when he was once fairly roused; and this resolution had -been roused on a matter that he felt was a question of the independence -of his life. To do what his uncle asked would be to resign that -independence for an indefinite length of time—to give up the career on -which from earliest boyhood he had set his heart—to sell his liberty -for a mess of worldly pottage—that had no attraction for him.</p> - -<p>A man who cares little for money beyond the amount necessary for -moderate competence, and who has no desire for wealth, is a character -so rare in this age and country that people are somewhat justified in -the incredulity with which they usually regard him. But now and then -such characters exist, and Brian Earle was one of them. Possessing -simple, almost austere tastes, having from his earliest boyhood a -passion for art, money had never appeared to him the supreme good which -it is considered to be by so many others; nor, in any real sense of the -word, a good at all. This was partly owing to the fact that he had -inherited fortune sufficient for all reasonable needs, and had no one -depending upon him. A man who has given hostages to fortune cannot be -as indifferent to fortune as one who has given none. Even if he lacks a -mercenary spirit, he must desire for those whose happiness rests in his -care the freedom from sordid anxieties which a monetary competency in -sufficient degree alone can give.</p> - -<p>But Brian Earle, having no nearer relative than a married sister, -had nothing to teach him to value wealth in this manner; and, since -it could purchase nothing for which he cared, he felt no temptation -to accept Mr. Singleton's proposition that he should devote his life -exclusively to him, on consideration of inheriting his whole estate. -There were few people who would have hesitated over such an offer, -and who would not have been inclined to hold the man insane who did -hesitate. But Brian Earle did more than hesitate: he absolutely refused -it.</p> - -<p>It said much for the influence of his personal character that, even -after this refusal, Mr. Singleton still evinced the partiality for his -society which he had always exhibited, still claimed as much of that -society as he possibly could, and generally consulted him when he had -a decision of importance to make. "Ten to one, Earle will finally get -the fortune as well as his own way," those who knew most of the matter -often remarked. But one person, at least, had no expectation of this, -and that was Earle himself.</p> - -<p>His affection for his uncle and gratitude for much kindness, however, -made him show a deference and regard for the latter which had no basis -in interested hopes, and which Mr. Singleton was not dull enough to -mistake. Indeed there could be no doubt that his own regard for Earle -was largely based upon the fact that the young man desired nothing -from him, and was altogether independent of him, even while this -independence vexed and irked him. Perceiving at the present time that -the conversation had reached a point where it would be well that it -should cease, Brian rose to his feet.</p> - -<p>"I think I will stroll about a little, and look into those -possibilities of sketching," he said. "I have scarcely glanced at the -place as yet."</p> - -<p>"Probably some one is going to drive," observed Mr. Singleton. "There -are plenty of horses, and Tom and his wife keep them well employed. Of -course they are at your service also."</p> - -<p>"I am accustomed to a humbler mode of locomotion, and really prefer -it," Brian answered. "One sees more on foot."</p> - -<p>"I wish you had more expensive tastes," said his uncle. "One could get -a hold on you then."</p> - -<p>He seemed to be speaking a thought aloud; but, as Earle had no desire -to be provoking, he did not utter in reply the quick assent, "Yes, -by no surer means than expensive tastes can a man sell himself into -bondage."</p> - -<p>He went out, whistling softly, seized his hat in the hall, and was -crossing toward the entrance, when down the broad, curving staircase -came Mrs. Singleton in out-door costume. Probably the encounter was no -more to her taste than to his, but she successfully simulated pleasure, -which was more than he was able to do.</p> - -<p>"You are just going out, Brian?" she said. "That is fortunate, for I -wanted to ask you to go to drive with us; but I knew you were with your -uncle, and he is so fond of your society that I did not like to disturb -you. But now you will come, of course. Only Miss Lynde and myself are -going. I believe you have not yet met Miss Lynde—ah, here she is!"</p> - -<p>For, as they came out on the portico together, they found Marion -already there. Words of polite refusal were on Earle's lips—for had he -not just remarked that he did not care to drive?—but when his glance -fell on the beautiful girl, to whom Mrs. Singleton at once presented -him, those words found no expression. It was natural enough that, with -the delight of the artist in beauty, he should have felt that the -presence of such a face put the question of driving in a new aspect -altogether. It would be a pleasure to study that face, and a pleasure -to discover if the mind and the spirit behind were worthy of such a -shrine.</p> - -<p>So, after handing the ladies into the open carriage that awaited them, -he followed, and took his seat opposite the face that attracted him, -as it had attracted the admiration of everyone who ever looked at it. -Marion herself was so accustomed to this admiration that the perception -of it in Earle's eyes neither surprised nor elated her. She took it -as a matter of course,—a matter which might or might not prove of -importance,—and meanwhile regarded rather curiously on her part the -man who carelessly put a fortune aside in order to follow his own will -and his own chosen path of life. On this remarkable conduct she had -already speculated more than once. Did it mean that he was a fool—as -Mrs. Singleton plainly thought,—or did it mean that he had a belief -in himself and in his own powers, which made him stronger than other -men, and therefore able to dispense with the aid which they so highly -desired?</p> - -<p>She had not sat opposite him for many minutes before she was able -to answer the first question. Decidedly he was not a fool—not even -in that modified sense in which people of artistic, imaginative -temperaments are sometimes held to be fools by the strictly practical. -But with regard to the other question, decision was not so easy. -Nothing in his appearance, manner or speech indicated any extraordinary -belief in himself; but Marion had sufficient keenness of perception -to recognize that, under his unassuming quietness, power of some sort -existed. It might be the power to accomplish great things, or it might -only be the power to content himself with moderate ones; but it was -certainly not an altogether ordinary nature that looked out of the -clear gray eyes, and spoke in the pleasant voice.</p> - -<p>"Where shall we go?" said Mrs. Singleton to Marion, when they had -rolled through Scarborough and were out in the country. "We must show -Brian all the points of picturesque interest in the vicinity. Do you -think we have time to drive to Elk Ridge?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" answered Marion, quickly; "it is too late to go there. And -I am sure there are other places nearer at hand which are quite as -pretty."</p> - -<p>"Do you think so?" said Mrs. Singleton, skeptically. "Pray tell us -about them; for I know of no place half so charming in its surroundings -and view as Elk Ridge."</p> - -<p>Marion colored a little. She really did not know of any other place -equal to Elk Ridge in picturesque attractions; but her dislike to the -idea of revisiting it was so strong that she had spoken instinctively, -without thought. She was always quick witted enough to see her way -out of a difficulty, however, and after an instant's hesitation she -answered:—</p> - -<p>"I did not say that I positively knew of such a place, only that I was -sure it must exist, and probably near at hand. Why not? The country -seems to be very much the same in its features all about here."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders.</p> - -<p>"No one can be sure of what may or may not exist," she said; "but when -it is a question of looking for it, I prefer what has been already -discovered. We will not go to Elk Ridge, however, if you object. I am -afraid our gypsy tea must have left disagreeable associations behind -it."</p> - -<p>Earle could not but observe that Marion's color deepened still more, -and that a slight tightening of the lines about her mouth showed that -her annoyance was greater than the nature of the subject seemed to -warrant. "Evidently some very disagreeable association in the matter!" -he thought; and, before she could reply to the last remark, he said:—</p> - -<p>"Pray do not show me the best thing in the neighborhood at once. That -should be led up to by successive degrees. These lovely pastoral -meadows and those distant hills strike a note that suits me exactly -to-day. I do not care for anything more boldly picturesque."</p> - -<p>"In that case, take the river road, Anderson," said Mrs. Singleton, -addressing the coachman, and settling herself comfortably under the -shade of her lace-covered parasol.</p> - -<p>So, for several miles they bowled gently along the level road which -followed the margin of a beautiful stream, its soft valley spreading -in Arcadian loveliness around them; gentle green hills bounding it; -and far away, bathed in luminous mist, a vision of distant, purple -mountains.</p> - -<p>Earle felt himself lapsed into a state of pleasant content. The -luxurious motion of the carriage, the charming scenes passing before -his eyes, the beautiful face opposite him, and the sound of musical -voices—one, at least, of which did not talk nonsense—all combined to -satisfy the artist which was so strong within him, and to make him feel -that the virtue which had brought him to Scarborough was rewarded.</p> - -<p>As they re-entered the town, in the light of a radiant sunset, an -incident occurred which revealed a fact that astonished both Mrs. -Singleton and Marion. As they drove rapidly down a street, before them -on rising ground stood the Catholic church, with its golden cross in -bold relief outlined against the rose-red beauty of the evening sky.</p> - -<p>"What a pretty effect!" cried Marion.</p> - -<p>Earle turned in his seat to follow the direction of her glance, and, -seeing the cross, looked surprised. "What is that?" he said. "It looks -like a Catholic church."</p> - -<p>"It <i>is</i> a Catholic church," answered Marion.</p> - -<p>He said nothing more, but as the carriage swept around a corner and -carried them in front of it, he looked toward the church and lifted his -hat.</p> - -<p>This act of reverence would probably have had no meaning to Mrs. -Singleton, but Marion had lived too long with Catholics not to -understand it. "Oh!" she exclaimed, involuntarily, with an accent of -surprise; adding, when Earle looked at her, "is it possible you are a -Catholic!"</p> - -<p>He smiled. "Does that astonish you?" he asked. "There are a good many -of them in the world."</p> - -<p>"A Catholic!" repeated Mrs. Singleton, incredulously. "What -nonsense!—Of course he is not—at least not a <i>Roman</i> Catholic!"</p> - -<p>"Pardon me," he answered, still smiling, "but that is exactly what I -am—a Roman Catholic. For that is the only kind of Catholic which it is -worth any one's while to be."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XV.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">O</span><span class="uppercase">h</span>, you must be mistaken, Anna!" said Tom Singleton, with his easy -good-nature. "Brian could not have told you in earnest that he is a -Catholic. The thing is absurd."</p> - -<p>"Ask him for yourself, then," answered Mrs. Singleton. "You will soon -discover whether or not he is in earnest."</p> - -<p>"I can not say that I feel interested in his religious opinions, so why -should I ask him?"</p> - -<p>"In order to find whether or not I am mistaken, and in order to put -your uncle on his guard; for I am sure that he would not be pleased by -such a discovery."</p> - -<p>"Then let him make it for himself," said Singleton. "It is no affair -of mine. I should feel like a sneak if I meddled with such a matter; -and, what is more, the old fellow would very quickly let me know that -he thought me one. Besides, it makes no difference. Earle is out of the -running. His own obstinacy settles that."</p> - -<p>"Not so much as you think, perhaps," said the lady. "Why is he here if -the matter is settled? Believe it or not, his chance of inheriting the -fortune is better than yours to-day."</p> - -<p>"Well, if so, let the best man win," returned Singleton, -philosophically. "I shall certainly not descend to any trickery to get -the better of him. Of course I am anxious for the fortune, but to show -my anxiety would be a very poor way to secure it. I firmly believe that -what makes my uncle lean so to Brian is that he does not appear to care -for anything that he can do for him."</p> - -<p>"And in my opinion that indifference is all appearance," observed Mrs. -Singleton, sharply. "If he cares nothing for what your uncle can do, -why is he in attendance on him? But, however that may be, I shall see -that his extraordinary change of religion becomes known."</p> - -<p>"If you go to my uncle with such information, you will only harm -yourself," said Singleton, warningly.</p> - -<p>"I shall not think of going to him," she answered. "I know very well -that his sentiments toward me are not sufficiently cordial to make that -safe. I shall manage that Brian will give the information himself."</p> - -<p>"If you take my advice, you will let the matter alone," said her -husband.</p> - -<p>But he knew very well that she would not take his advice, and he said -to himself that it was well for her to do as she liked. She would not -be satisfied without doing so; and, after all, if Brian <i>had</i> been so -foolish as to become a Roman Catholic, there was no objection to his -uncle's knowing it. Earle himself certainly did not desire secrecy, or -else he would not have mentioned the fact so openly and carelessly.</p> - -<p>And, indeed, nothing was further from Earle's mind than any desire -for secrecy. Therefore, he fell with the readiest ease into the trap -which Mrs. Singleton soon laid for him. It was one evening, when the -household party was assembled in the drawing room after dinner, that -she led the conversation to foreign politics, and the position of the -Papacy in European affairs. Mr. Singleton, who took much more interest -than the average American usually does in these affairs, was speedily -led to express himself strongly against the Papal claim to temporal -sovereignty.</p> - -<p>Earle looked up. "I think," he observed, in his pleasant but resolute -voice, "that you have, perhaps, never considered that question in its -true bearings."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> have never considered it in its true bearings!" said Mr. -Singleton, astonished beyond measure by this bold challenge; for he -regarded himself, and was regarded by his friends, as an authority on -the subject of European politics. "In that case will you be kind enough -to inform me what are its true bearings?"</p> - -<p>The request was sarcastic, but Earle answered it with the utmost -seriousness. "Certainly," he said, "to the best of my ability." And, -before Mr. Singleton could disclaim any desire to be taken in earnest -he proceeded to state with great clearness the historical proofs and -arguments in favor of the Pope's sovereignty.</p> - -<p>His little audience listened with a surprise which yielded, in spite of -themselves, to interest. The ideas and facts presented were all new to -them, and to one, at least, seemed unanswerable.</p> - -<p>It has been already said that Marion had a mind free from prejudice; -she had also a mind quick and keen in its power of apprehension. She -caught the drift and force of Earle's statements before any one else -did, and said to herself, "That must be true!" Yet, even while she -listened with attention, it was characteristic of her that she also -observed with amusement the scene which the group before her presented. -Mr. Singleton, leaning back in his chair, was frowning with impatience, -and the air of one who through courtesy only lends an unwilling ear. -Tom Singleton was watching his cousin with an expression compounded -of surprise, curiosity, and an involuntary admiration; while Mrs. -Singleton looked down demurely at a fan which she opened and shut, her -lips wearing a smile of mingled amusement and gratification.</p> - -<p>In the midst of this group Earle, with an air of the most quiet -composure, was laying down his propositions one after another, -unobservant of and indifferent to the expressions on the different -faces around him. "He is very brave," thought Marion; "but surely he -is also very foolish. Why should he unnecessarily contradict and vex -the old man, who can do so much for him?" A sense of irritation mingled -with the admiration which she could not withhold from him. "It would -have been easy to say nothing," she thought again; "and yet how well he -speaks!"</p> - -<p>He did indeed speak well—so well that the attention of Mr. Singleton -was gradually drawn from the matter to the manner of his speech. He -turned and looked keenly at the young man from under his bent brows.</p> - -<p>"You speak," he said, "like an advocate of the cause. How is that?"</p> - -<p>"I hope that I should be an advocate of any cause which I believed to -be just," answered Brian, quietly; "but I am in a special manner the -advocate of this, because I am a Catholic."</p> - -<p>"A Catholic!" Mr. Singleton looked as if he could hardly believe the -evidence of his ears. "It is not possible that you mean a <i>Romanist</i>?"</p> - -<p>Earle bent his head, smiling a little. "I mean just that," he said; "or -at least what <i>you</i> mean by that. The term is neither very correct nor -very courteous, but it expresses the fact clearly enough."</p> - -<p>This coolness had the usual effect of provoking Mr. Singleton, yet of -making him feel the uselessness of expressing vexation. It was evident -that his disgust was as great as his surprise, but he waited a moment -before giving expression to either. Then he said, curtly:—</p> - -<p>"It is no affair of mine what you choose to call yourself, but I should -have more respect for your sense if you told me you were a Buddhist."</p> - -<p>"Very likely," returned Earle, with composure; "for in that case I -should be following the last whim of fashionable intellectual folly. -But, you see, I thought it more sensible to go back to the old faith of -our fathers."</p> - -<p>"You might have gone back to paganism, then," sneered the other. "That -was the faith of our fathers also."</p> - -<p>"Very true," assented the young man; "and in that also I should have -been following a large train. But I was not in search of a faith simply -because it had been that of my fathers. I was in search of a faith -which bore the marks of truth, and I found it to be that which some of -my fathers unfortunately discarded."</p> - -<p>"And you have absolutely joined the Church of Rome?" demanded Mr. -Singleton, with ominous calmness.</p> - -<p>"Yes," Earle replied, as calmly; "some months ago."</p> - -<p>The elder man took up a newspaper. "In that case," he observed, in a -tone of icy coldness, "I have nothing more to say. The step is one with -which I have no sympathy and very little tolerance; but, fortunately, -it does not concern me at all."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton shot a glance at her husband, which Marion saw was -one of triumph. She knew instantly that the conversation which led -to Earle's avowal had not been a matter of accident. "What a pretty -trick!" she said, mentally, and, with a sudden impulse to show her -sympathy with courage, she addressed the young man:—</p> - -<p>"You have at least the pleasure of knowing, Mr. Earle, that you belong -to the same faith as most of the best and many of the greatest people -of the world."</p> - -<p>Earle looked at her with surprise. Such a speech, under the -circumstances, was the last he could have expected from her; for, -notwithstanding the glamour of her beauty, he had read her accurately -enough to perceive her worldliness, and her desire for all that the -world could give. He knew that she was a favorite of his uncle's, -and could not have imagined that she would brave the displeasure of -the latter in a manner so unnecessary. Perhaps Mr. Singleton was -also surprised—at least he glanced up at her quickly, while Earle -answered:—</p> - -<p>"It is a deeper satisfaction still to believe that it is a faith which -has made the best of those people what they are, and which can derive -no lustre from the greatest."</p> - -<p>"I have always observed that Roman Catholics are very enthusiastic -about their religion," said Mrs. Singleton; "but I did not know before, -Marion, that you inclined that way."</p> - -<p>"What way?" asked Marion, coolly. "To enthusiasm or to Catholicity? As -a matter of fact, I do not incline to either. But I have seen a great -deal of Catholics, and admire many things about them. Indeed, all of my -best friends belong to that religion."</p> - -<p>"Then we may expect you to follow in Brian's footsteps before long," -said the lady, with malicious sweetness.</p> - -<p>"There is nothing that I am aware of more improbable," replied Marion.</p> - -<p>She rose then, conscious that the conversation, if carried farther, -might develop more unpleasantness, and moved toward the piano. Earle -followed her, in order to lift the lid of the instrument, and as he did -so said, smilingly:—</p> - -<p>"I think you are quite right to endeavor to restore harmony by sweet -sounds. Is it not extraordinary that there should be no such potent -cause of discord in the world as a question of religion?"</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is because people feel more strongly on that subject -than on any other," she answered, looking up at him, and wondering a -little that a man so young, with all the world before him, and all its -ambitions to tempt him, should think of religion at all.</p> - -<p>The next day she found an opportunity to say this frankly. During -the morning she strolled into the garden with a book, and there -encountered Earle, leaning on a stone-wall that skirted the lower -boundaries of the grounds, sketching a pretty meadow and group of trees -beyond. She came upon him unobserved—for he was standing with his back -to the path along which she advanced,—and the sound of her clear, -musical voice was the first intimation he had of her presence.</p> - -<p>"How rapidly you sketch, Mr. Earle, and how well!" she said.</p> - -<p>He started and turned, to find her standing so near that she overlooked -his work. She smiled as his astonished eyes met her own. "Do I disturb -you?" she asked. "If so I will go away."</p> - -<p>"You have certainly not disturbed me up to the present moment," he -answered. "Have you been here long?"</p> - -<p>"Only a few minutes. You were so absorbed that you did not observe me, -and I was so interested in watching you that I did not care to speak. -But if I disturb you—"</p> - -<p>"Why should you disturb me if you care to stay? You will not obstruct -my view of the meadow or trees. It is a pretty little scene, is it not?"</p> - -<p>"Very," she answered, moving to the wall, at which she paused, a few -feet distant from him, and laid her book down on the ledge which it -conveniently presented. Then she stood silent for a minute, looking -at the shadow-dappled landscape, and conscious of a sense of pique, -provoked by the cool indifference of his reply. She knew that to many -men her presence <i>would</i> obstruct their view of the fairest scene -nature might present, and she could perceive no reason why this man -should be different from them,—why her beauty, which his artist-glance -had evidently appreciated, seemed to have so little effect upon him. -Her vanity had become more insistent in its demands, from the homage -which had been offered her; and the withholding this homage had already -become a thing insufferable. But she was far too proud to show this, as -many weaker women do; and, after a short interval, she said, lightly -enough:—</p> - -<p>"What a very great pleasure it must be when one is able to set down -beauty as you are doing—to preserve and make it one's own! I have a -friend who loves art devotedly—in fact, she is a true artist,—and I -have always the same feeling when I watch her at work."</p> - -<p>"The power is certainly a great delight," said Earle, going on with -his rapid strokes; "but you must not imagine that it is all delight. -There is a great deal of drudgery in this as in all other arts; and, -worse still, there are times of infinite disgust as well as profound -discouragement."</p> - -<p>"So Claire used to say—at least, she spoke of discouragement, but I -never heard her speak of disgust."</p> - -<p>"Claire!" Earle looked at her now with his quick, bright glance. "I -wonder if I do not know of whom you speak. There can hardly be more -than one Claire who is a true artist."</p> - -<p>"There may be a hundred, for aught I know," replied Marion, carelessly; -"but I mean Claire Alford. Her father was a distinguished artist, I -believe. You may have heard of him."</p> - -<p>"Everyone has heard of him, I imagine," returned Earle, a little -dryly; "but I knew him well in my boyhood, and he did more than any one -else to fan whatever artistic flame I possess. I was, therefore, very -glad when I chanced to meet his daughter about a month ago."</p> - -<p>"You met Claire? That can hardly be! She is abroad."</p> - -<p>"I met her a few days before she sailed. The lady with whom she has -gone, and with whom she was then staying, is the widow of an artist -whom I knew, and is herself a great friend of mine."</p> - -<p>"And so you have met Claire! I really don't know why it should surprise -me, yet it does. What did you think of her? I ask the question without -hesitation, because I know it is impossible for any one to think ill of -her, and the well is only in proportion as you know or divine her."</p> - -<p>"I am sure of that," said Earle, with a kindly smile for the speaker. -"She charmed me at first sight: she is so simple, so candid, so -unconscious of herself, so evidently intent upon high aims."</p> - -<p>"Yes, she is all of that," replied Marion. Involuntarily her voice fell -as she thought of how little any word of this commendation could be -applied to herself. "Did you find out that you had something in common -beside your love of art?" she asked, after an instant. "Claire is a -fervent Catholic."</p> - -<p>"Is she?" he said, with interest. "No, I did not discover it. Nothing -brought up the subject of religion. But I am not surprised. There is an -air about her that made me call her in my own mind a vestal of art. I -can easily realize that she is something more and better than that."</p> - -<p>"It is a pretty name, and suits her well—a vestal of art," said -Marion. She was silent then for a minute or two, and stood looking with -level gaze from under the broad brim of her sun-hat at the pastoral -meadow-scene, unconscious for once what a picture she herself made, as -she leaned on the stone-wall, with a spreading mulberry-tree throwing -its chequered shade down upon her graceful figure. Artist instinct drew -Earle's eyes upon her, and he was saying to himself, "How much I should -like to sketch her! Shall I ask her permission to do so?" when she -suddenly turned her face toward him and spoke.</p> - -<p>"Do you know, Mr. Earle," she said, "that you astonished me very -much last night? For the matter of that"—with a slight laugh,—"I -suppose you astonished everyone. But I am bold enough to express my -astonishment, because I should really like to know what you meant."</p> - -<p>"I shall be very happy to tell you," Earle answered, "if you will give -me an idea what <i>you</i> mean."</p> - -<p>"I mean this. Why did you vex Mr. Singleton by unnecessary -contradiction, and an unnecessary avowal of what you knew would annoy -if it did not seriously alienate him?"</p> - -<p>The young man regarded her with surprise. "Simply because I had no -alternative," he replied. "Nothing was further from my desire than to -vex him. But why, in the name of all that is reasonable, should people -be vexed by hearing the truth? Is not that what we all wish, ostensibly -at least—to learn and to believe <i>the truth</i> about a thing, not mere -fancies or ideas?"</p> - -<p>"Ye—s," said Marion, hesitatingly. "I suppose no one would acknowledge -that he did not wish to know the truth; but you are aware that nothing -is more offensive than the truth to people who have strong convictions -against it."</p> - -<p>"So much the worse for such people, then."</p> - -<p>"And so much the worse sometimes for those who persist in enforcing -enlightenment upon them."</p> - -<p>"I really do not think that is my character," he said. "I have never, -to my knowledge, attempted to force enlightenment upon any one. But -sometimes—as was the case last night—one must speak (even when -speaking will serve no end of conviction), or be guilty of cowardice -and tacit deception."</p> - -<p>Marion shook her head, in protest, apparently, against these views; but -probably she felt the uselessness of combating them. At least when she -spoke again it was to say, abruptly:—</p> - -<p>"But how on earth do you chance to take that particular view of truth?"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XVI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Earle</span> smiled. "The answer to that is contained in what I remarked a -moment ago," he said. "I wanted <i>truth itself</i>, not my own or anybody's -else views or fancies concerning it."</p> - -<p>Marion looked at him with a gravity on her face which gave it a new -character altogether. "And do you really think that you found this -absolute truth in the Catholic faith?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"I do not think so—I <i>know</i> it," he answered. "It is there or nowhere. -I satisfied myself of that."</p> - -<p>"But how did you come to care enough about it to think of satisfying -yourself?" she persisted. "That is what puzzles me most. The Catholic -faith may be true—I can readily believe it is,—but how did you, a -young man with the world all before you, ever come to care whether it -were true or not?"</p> - -<p>He regarded her silently for a moment before replying. It seemed as if -he found it difficult to answer such words as these. At length he said: -"Is there any special reason why a young man, even if it were true that -he had all the world before him—and it is true in a very limited sense -of me,—should not think occasionally of the most important subject in -the world, and should not desire to think rightly?"</p> - -<p>"Of course there is no reason why he should not," she replied. "Only -it seems unnatural. One fancies him thinking of other things. In his -place, <i>I</i> should think of other things."</p> - -<p>"May I ask what they would be?"</p> - -<p>"I am sure you can hardly need to ask. Even if you have no ambition -yourself, you must realize its existence; you must know how it makes -men desire fame and power and wealth for the sake of the great -advantages they bring. In your place, I should think of making a name, -of conquering fortune, of enjoying all that the world offers."</p> - -<p>"Well," he said, after a short pause—during which he had gone on with -the rapid, practiced strokes of his pencil,—"all that is natural -enough, and there is no harm in it unless one wished to enjoy some of -the unlawful things which the world offers. But why should one not do -all this—make a name and conquer fortune—and still give some thought -to the great question of one's final end and destiny?"</p> - -<p>She made a slight gesture of impatience. "You know very well," she -said, "that, as a matter of fact, an ambitious man has no time for -considering such questions."</p> - -<p>"That depends entirely upon the man. You should not make your -assertions so sweeping. In these days, at least, no man of thought—no -man who is at all interested in intellectual questions—can ignore the -subject of religion. Let me illustrate my meaning. Would you have been -surprised to learn that I were an Agnostic or a Positivist?"</p> - -<p>"No," she replied, somewhat reluctantly. "That would have been -different."</p> - -<p>"Only different because they are fashionable creeds of the hour, and it -is considered a proof of intellectual strength to stultify reason, and, -in the face of the accumulated proofs of ages, to declare that man can -know nothing of his origin or his end. But when, on the contrary, one -accepts a logical and luminous system of thought, a revelation which -offers an explanation of the mystery of being entirely consistent with -reason, you think that very remarkable! Forgive me, Miss Lynde, if I -say that I find your opinion quite as remarkable as you can find my -faith."</p> - -<p>She blushed, but answered haughtily: "That may be. It was no doubt -presumptuous of me to express any opinion on the subject. I really -don't know why I did it, except that I was so much surprised, in the -first place by the fact that you had thought of the matter, and in the -second place by the avowal which vexed your uncle."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry to have vexed him," said Earle, quietly; "but he is too -much of a philosopher to allow it to trouble him long—indeed I have no -idea that it has troubled him at all."</p> - -<p>She did not answer, but the expression in her eyes was one of so much -wonder that he smiled. "What is it now?" he asked. "What are you still -surprised at?"</p> - -<p>"I hardly like to tell you," she replied. "I feel as if I had already -said too much—"</p> - -<p>"By no means. I like frankness, of all things; especially if I may be -allowed to imitate it."</p> - -<p>She smiled in spite of herself. "That," she said, "is certainly -as little as one could allow. Well, then, I confess that I do not -understand why you should refuse to accept the fortune which Mr. -Singleton evidently wishes so much to give you. Have you conscientious -scruples against holding wealth?"</p> - -<p>"Not the faintest. I would accept a million, if it came to me -unfettered by conditions which would make even a million too dearly -bought."</p> - -<p>"Such as—?"</p> - -<p>"What my uncle asks—that I give up everything which interests me in -life, and devote myself to him as long as he lives."</p> - -<p>"But he cannot live long. And then—"</p> - -<p>"Then I should be a rich man. But, as it chances, I do not care about -being a rich man. Money can not buy anything which I desire. It cannot -give me the proficiency in art which must be won by long and hard -study."</p> - -<p>"It would make that study unnecessary."</p> - -<p>"Unnecessary!" He glanced at her with something of her own wonder, -dashed by faint scorn. "Do you think that I consider <i>making money</i> the -end of my art? So far from that, I would starve in a garret sooner than -lower my standard for such an object. And, insensibly perhaps, I should -lower it if I had a great deal of money. No man can answer for himself. -Therefore, I have no desire to be tempted. And I repeat that money can -buy nothing which I value most."</p> - -<p>"Do you not value power? It can buy that."</p> - -<p>"In a very poor form. I am not sure that I should care for it in its -best form, but certainly not in that which money buys."</p> - -<p>"Money is the lever which moves the world," she said; "and it is only -because you have never known the real want of it that you hold it so -lightly."</p> - -<p>"I have sometimes thought that myself," he replied. "It is true that -only a starving man properly appreciates bread. I have never starved, -and it may be that I am not properly grateful for mine; but, at least, -I try neither to undervalue nor overvalue it."</p> - -<p>"Some day," she said, "you may find an object which money would have -helped you to gain, and then you will regret the folly—forgive me if I -speak plainly—which threw away such a great power."</p> - -<p>"I should have to change very much," he replied, "before I could care -for any object which money would help me to gain."</p> - -<p>"There is nothing more likely than that you will change on that point. -If there is anything that life teaches, it is that there is scarcely a -single object which money will not help us to gain."</p> - -<p>He looked at her with a curious surprise, which he did not attempt to -conceal. "Forgive <i>me</i>," he said, "if I speak too plainly; but there -is a remarkable want of harmony between your appearance and your -utterances. If one listened with closed eyes, one might fancy that a -man of fifty spoke in behalf of the god to whom he had devoted his -life. But when one looks at you—"</p> - -<p>"You are surprised that such sentiments should come from one who ought -to be ignorant of every reality of life," she observed, coolly, as he -paused. "But I learned something about those realities at a very early -age. I know how the want of money has embittered my life; I know how it -lays on me now fetters under which I chafe; and therefore, by right of -the experience which you lack, I tell you that you will live to regret -the loss of the fortune you are throwing away."</p> - -<p>"No man can speak with absolute certainty of the future; but, if I know -myself at all, I do not think I shall ever regret it."</p> - -<p>She shrugged her shoulders slightly. "In that case you will be an -extraordinary man," she said. "But I feel as if I should beg your -pardon for having fallen into such a personal vein of discussion."</p> - -<p>"I do not think that the responsibility rests with you," he answered. -"But if you consider that you owe me an apology, I can point out an -immediate way to make amends. Ever since you have been standing there, -I have been longing to make a sketch of you. Will you allow me to do -so?"</p> - -<p>"Certainly," she said, smiling; for the request flattered her vanity.</p> - -<p>So, while she stood in the sunshine and shadow, a charming picture of -youth and grace, he sketched her, feeling with every stroke the true -artist appreciation of her beauty; and more and more surprised at -her intelligence as they talked of art and literature, of people and -events, while time flew by unheeded.</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Mr. Singleton was certainly wroth with his favorite. The -latter's change of religion—or, to be more correct, his choice of -religion—was the last of many offenses; and the old man said to -himself that, so far as he was concerned, it should indeed be the -last. "The boy is a fool, besides being obstinate and ungrateful!" -he thought, with what he felt to be righteous indignation, and which -(knowing his own weakness in regard to Earle) he strove to encourage -and fan into enduring anger. "But I am glad I have discovered this in -time—very glad! Though he has refused so positively to do anything -that I wish, there is no telling what weakness I might have been guilty -of when it came to the point of making my will. But now I am safe. My -money shall never go into the hands of the Jesuits—that I am resolved -upon. And, of course, they would soon obtain it from Brian, who has no -appreciation whatever of its value. Yes, my mind is settled at last on -that score. He shall never inherit anything from me; but where on earth -am I to find a satisfactory legatee to take his place?"</p> - -<p>The consideration of this question, and the difficulty of answering -it, produced in old Mr. Singleton a state of temper which made life a -burden, for the time being, to all his personal attendants. While Earle -was philosophically setting forth his views to Marion at the bottom -of the garden, the valet and the nurse were having a very hard time -in getting the fractious invalid ready for the day; and when he was -finally established in his sitting-room, he probably remembered the -soothing power of music, and asked for Miss Lynde.</p> - -<p>Diligent search having revealed the fact that Miss Lynde was not in the -house, Mr. Singleton wanted to know if any one could tell him where -she had gone. Mrs. Singleton, being interrogated, professed utter -ignorance; but one of the maids volunteered the information that from -an upper window she had seen Miss Lynde in the garden with Mr. Earle. -That had been an hour before. "Go to the same window and see if she is -there yet," ordered Mr. Singleton when this was communicated to him. -Observation duly made, and a report brought to him that she was still -there, "Shall I send for her, sir?" inquired his servant.</p> - -<p>"No," snapped the irate old gentleman. "What do you mean by such a -question? Why should I wish to disturb Miss Lynde? I simply desired to -satisfy myself where she was. When she comes in, let her know that I -would like to see her."</p> - -<p>Left alone then, he opened his newspapers with a softening of the lines -about his mouth. After all, a way might be found of managing Brian. The -influence of a beautiful woman might accomplish what his own influence -had failed to do. Marion would make a capital wife for the young man. -"Just the wife he needs," thought Mr. Singleton. "A woman of ambition, -of cleverness, and of worldly knowledge quite remarkable in one so -young. No danger of <i>her</i> under-valuing money, and the Jesuit would -be very sharp who could get it from her. Why did I not think of this -before? Of course he will fall in love with her—what man could avoid -doing so?—and, in that event, everything can be arranged. <i>She</i> will -bring him to my terms soon enough."</p> - -<p>These reflections had so soothing an effect upon his temper that -when Marion came in, and was told by Mrs. Singleton that <i>he</i> (with -a significant gesture toward the apartment of the person indicated) -was in the mood of a tiger, and demanding her presence, she was most -agreeably surprised at being received with extreme kindness.</p> - -<p>"I am told you have been asking for me. I am sorry to have been out of -the way," she said.</p> - -<p>"I wanted to ask you to sing for me," he replied. "My nerves are in an -irritated state this morning, and I felt as if your voice might soothe -them. But I am not unreasonable enough to expect you to be always on -hand to gratify my fancies. It was well that you were out enjoying this -beautiful morning."</p> - -<p>"I was only in the garden. You might have sent for me. I should have -been delighted to come and sing for you. Shall I do so now?"</p> - -<p>"After a little. Sit down and let me talk to you for a few minutes. -I suppose you can imagine what it is that gave me a particularly bad -night, and has set my nerves on edge this morning?"</p> - -<p>"I am afraid that it is worry," said Marion, sitting down near him. -"You did not like what Mr. Earle said last night."</p> - -<p>"I certainly did not like it. The announcement he made was a great -surprise to me and a great shock. Under any circumstances, I should be -sorry for any one in whom I felt an interest to take such a step; but -you are probably aware that I have felt a peculiar interest in Brian."</p> - -<p>"I have heard that your intentions toward him have been most kind."</p> - -<p>"I have desired that he shall take with me the place of a son. I have -asked him to accept the duties of such a position—duties that would -not be very heavy,—and I have promised that, in return, he shall -inherit everything that is mine. Do you think that an unreasonable -proposal?"</p> - -<p>"Very far from it," answered Marion. "I think it most reasonable and -most kind. I can not understand how he can hesitate over it."</p> - -<p>"He does not hesitate," said Mr. Singleton, bitterly: "he refuses it. -After that I ought to be willing to let him go; but the truth of the -matter is, I have no one to take his place. He is not only my nearest -relative, but there is something about him that attaches one to him -despite one's self. My dear"—he looked wistfully, yet keenly, into the -beautiful face,—"it has occurred to me that perhaps <i>you</i> might have -some influence over him."</p> - -<p>"I!" exclaimed Marion. For a moment her surprise was so great that she -could say nothing more. Then, with the realization of his meaning, a -wave of color came into her face. "I have no reason to suppose that I -have the least influence with Mr. Earle," she said. "If I had, I would -gladly use it for the ends about which you are so anxious."</p> - -<p>"I am sure of that," observed Mr. Singleton, significantly. "Well, all -I can say is that nothing would please me more than for you to acquire -such influence. If you should acquire it, and if you should consent to -use it always, I would be a very delighted old man. You understand me, -I see, so I need say no more. Now go and sing for me."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XVII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Mr</span>. Singleton was wise enough to remain satisfied with having expressed -his wishes to Marion. He said nothing to Earle, having a general -conviction that "in vain is the snare spread in sight of any bird," and -a knowledge of this particular bird which warned him to be cautious. -But the idea which had occurred to him seemed so likely to produce the -desired result, that he was greatly encouraged by it, and his manner to -his nephew was so different from what Mrs. Singleton had anticipated, -that she said to herself with much chagrin that Tom was right after -all, and she had gained nothing by the disclosure she had brought about.</p> - -<p>Earle himself was pleased that his uncle showed no coldness of feeling -toward him. He had fully expected this; and, while the anticipation had -not troubled him in any serious manner, he was relieved to find that he -was to be spared that sense of alienation which is always a trial to a -person of sensitive feelings.</p> - -<p>What he would have thought had his uncle at this time frankly avowed to -him the plan he had conceived, it is not difficult to imagine. What he -would have done is no less easy to conjecture. But, left in ignorance, -and exposed to an association which would have had attractions for -any one, he unconsciously drifted toward a position destined to lead -to serious results. For while Marion repelled she also attracted him, -through the interest he felt in a character so strongly marked for -good or for evil, and by the very frankness with which she displayed -traits and expressed sentiments with which he had little sympathy. "It -is a fine character warped and distorted," he said to himself. "Good -influences might do much with it. What a pity if she drifts deeper -into the worldliness that now attracts her so greatly! For there is -nothing frivolous about her, and she will find in the end that none but -frivolous people can be contented with the things for which she longs."</p> - -<p>Now, there are a few people who, brought into contact with a character -of which they think in this manner, do not feel inclined to exert the -influence that they believe would be beneficial. And how much more -when the person on whom it is to be exerted is a young, a beautiful -and a clever woman! Whether he approved of her or not, Earle could not -fail to find Marion a stimulating and agreeable companion. The absence -of effort to attract—for she was far too proud to make this—lulled -to rest any fear of the result of such an association to himself; -and their morning conversation in the garden was the beginning of an -intercourse which grew daily more pleasant on both sides.</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton had been the first to see the probable end, but it was -not long before others foresaw it also. "I told you that girl would -betray us," said Mrs. Singleton to her husband. "She means to marry -Brian Earle and take our place. That is clear."</p> - -<p>"But there may be two words to that," said the gentleman addressed. -"Brian may not intend to marry <i>her</i>. He was talking of his plans to me -while we were smoking last night, and there was not a word of marrying -in them."</p> - -<p>"That much for his plans!" said Mrs. Singleton, with a slight, -contemptuous gesture. "They will soon be whatever Marion Lynde chooses. -When a woman like her makes up her mind to marry a man, she will -succeed. You may be sure of that."</p> - -<p>"Rather a bad lookout for men, in such a case," returned Mr. Singleton. -"Only if the power is limited to women like Miss Lynde, one might bear -it with philosophy."</p> - -<p>His wife gave him a look compounded of scorn and irritation. "There -is not much doubt what you would do in Brian Earle's place. That girl -seems to turn the head of every man she comes in contact with. I am -sure I wish I had never heard of her!"</p> - -<p>"I fancy Rathborne wishes the same thing," observed Mr. Singleton. "I -never saw a man so changed as he is of late; I met him yesterday, and I -was struck by his moody looks."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton shrugged her shoulders. "I have no compassion to spare -for him. A man who has been such a fool as he has, deserves to suffer. -But we have done nothing to deserve to be supplanted in this way."</p> - -<p>"Well," said the more reasonable husband, "it is hardly just to talk -of being 'supplanted.' The old fellow has always been very frank with -me, and insisted there should be no room for misconception. We have an -agreeable home without any expense to ourselves, but he has always -told me that he did not bind himself to leave me anything at all."</p> - -<p>"Of course he would not bind himself; but if Brian refuses to be his -heir—and that is what his conduct heretofore amounts to,—whose chance -should be better than yours?"</p> - -<p>"Really it is hard to say. Who can account for the whims of rich old -men? He may cut us all off, and leave his fortune to Miss Lynde."</p> - -<p>"If I thought so," said Mrs. Singleton, fiercely, "I would murder her—"</p> - -<p>"Come, Anna, that is beyond a joke!"</p> - -<p>"Or myself, for having brought her to his notice."</p> - -<p>"Defer both murders until you find out whether there is any need for -them," said her provoking husband. And then he beat a hasty retreat.</p> - -<p>But even he, now that his eyes were opened, began to perceive the -extreme probability of all that his wife suggested. There was no doubt -of the fact that Marion and Earle were constantly together, that they -seemed to find much gratification in each other's society, and that Mr. -Singleton (this was patent to the most careless observation) looked on -approvingly at their growing intimacy. "The old fellow wants to see -the thing brought about," said Tom Singleton to himself. "He thinks it -would tie Brian down, and that a wife with such ideas would soon cure -him of his contempt for riches. Well, he's right enough; and since it -is most likely to come about, Anna and I may make up our minds that our -day is nearly over. We shall soon have to step down to make room for -Mrs. Brian Earle."</p> - -<p>The young lady designated in advance by this title was herself -entirely of his opinion. At this time a rosy vista opened before her. -She felt that all which she most desired was within her grasp. And yet -not exactly in the manner she had anticipated. For, much as she had -always longed for the power which wealth gives, it had not been her -dream to obtain wealth by marriage. That seemed to her a means too -commonplace, and also too degrading. It was to be won through her own -effort, her own cleverness, in some manner as vaguely outlined as a -fairy-tale. But she was too shrewd not to perceive, after a very brief -acquaintance with life, that for a young girl, without some special and -brilliant talent, to hope to <i>make</i> a fortune was as reasonable as if -she had thought of building a tower with her own hands. She realized, -then, that it was a wonderful prospect which opened before her, as if -by the stroke of an enchantress' wand, in the fancy of Mr. Singleton -for herself, and in the fact that Earle excited her regard in a degree -she had hardly imagined possible. Once, with mocking cynicism, she had -asked of Helen, "Do you think such good fortune ever befalls one, as -that the man one could love is also the man it is expedient for one -to marry?" And now that good fortune, so utterly disbelieved in, had -befallen herself!</p> - -<p>For the very things in which Earle was least like herself attracted her -most. He was an embodiment of ideas which, abstractly, were too exalted -for her to reach. His faith, his unworldliness, his devotion to noble -ends,—all touched the higher side of her own nature, like strains of -heroic poetry. Under his immediate influence, she began to change in -a manner as strange as it was significant. Keen eyes noted this, and -Mrs. Singleton said to herself that the girl was capable of playing -any part, even of pretending to be quixotic and unworldly. But in this -she did her injustice. With all its great faults, Marion's character -possessed the saving salt of sincerity, and she was absolutely -incapable of playing a part for any purpose whatever. The change in -her just now was real; there only remained a question whether or not -it were deep,—whether human love alone were great enough to work the -miracle of regenerating a nature into which worldliness had struck such -strong roots.</p> - -<p>The test was not long delayed. As the time for Earle's visit drew to -a close, he began to realize how decidedly he had suffered himself -to be drawn toward this girl, whom his judgment at first so greatly -disapproved, and whom it could not even yet altogether approve; -although he was not blind to the change in her wrought by his -influence,—a change which unconsciously flattered him, as any proof -of power flatters this poor human nature of ours. He found, somewhat -to his dismay, that he was more attached to her than he had been aware -of, but he had no intention of declaring his feeling. Judgment was -still too much arrayed against it. And this being so, he resisted the -temptation to prolong his visit, and adhered to the original date set -for his departure. Now, since this departure was not only to be from -Scarborough, but from America, Mr. Singleton was very anxious that it -should be prevented, and he watched with growing anxiety the intimacy -with Marion, from which he hoped so much.</p> - -<p>"My dear," he said to her one day when they were alone together, and -she had been singing for him, "I wish you would exert your influence -with Brian to keep him from going abroad. It would be much better that -he should remain here."</p> - -<p>"There can be no doubt of that," she replied. "But you mistake in -thinking that I have any influence with him. If I had, I would use it -as you desire."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid," he observed, "that you underrate your influence. I think -you have more than you suppose."</p> - -<p>"No," she said. "I have always been accustomed to influencing those -around me, and therefore I know very well when I fail to do so. I fail -with Mr. Earle. He has no respect for my opinion, as indeed"—with -unwonted humility—"why should he have?"</p> - -<p>The man of the world uttered a contemptuous laugh. "Do you really, with -all your cleverness, know so little of men as to fancy that respect for -a woman's opinion is a necessary part of her influence?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"With most men I suppose it is not," she answered; "but with Mr. Earle -it is. I am sure of that, and also sure that I should not care to -influence a man who had no respect for my opinion."</p> - -<p>"<i>That</i> opinion is not worthy of your good sense," said Mr. Singleton. -"It does not matter at all <i>how</i> one influences people, so that one -actually does manage to influence them. The important point is to -succeed."</p> - -<p>"Have you found it an easy thing to succeed with Mr. Earle?" asked -Marion, a little maliciously.</p> - -<p>"Very far from it," replied Mr. Singleton. "There is only one way to -influence him, and that is through his affections. For one to whom he -is attached, he will do much."</p> - -<p>The last words were so significant that Marion colored and said no -more. But she determined that she would test whether or not they were -true, since she had by this time little doubt of Earle's sentiments -toward her.</p> - -<p>She had not long to wait for an opportunity. The next morning Earle -asked if she would not go with him to complete a sketch that he was -making of a bit of woodland scenery near the house. "A morning's -work will finish it," he said. "And since I shall not have many more -mornings, if you care to come, I shall be very glad."</p> - -<p>"You know I always like to come," she answered. "It is interesting to -me to watch your work. I feel as if I were witnessing the process of -creation."</p> - -<p>"You are witnessing <i>a</i> process of creation," he said. "Art is a ray -of the divine genius which created nature, and, in its degree, it is -creative also. That is the secret of its great fascination."</p> - -<p>"It certainly seems to possess a great fascination for you," she said, -as he slung his color-box over his shoulder and they set forth.</p> - -<p>"Do you wonder at it?" he asked, with a quick glance.</p> - -<p>"No; I do not wonder at the fascination," she replied. "I only wonder -that you think it right to sacrifice everything else to it."</p> - -<p>"What do I sacrifice to it?" he asked. "A little money for which I have -no use. Is not that all?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "By no means all. You sacrifice the dearest wish -of your uncle, who is devoted to you—the power of giving him great -pleasure, and the power also of doing much good with the money you -despise. Have you ever thought of that?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," he answered, "I have thought of it all. I have seriously asked -myself if there is any duty demanding that I should comply with his -wishes, and I have decided that there is none. He is certainly attached -to me, but I think that his attachment rests very much on the fact that -he can not control me as he is accustomed to control most people. There -is no real congeniality of sentiment between us. He is a man of the -world; I am a man to whom the world counts very little. I can not feign -interest in the things which interest him, and he scorns all that most -deeply interests me. Under these circumstances, what pleasure to either -of us would be gained by closer association? And you know it is out of -my power to do him any real service."</p> - -<p>"I am not sure of that," said Marion. "I think you scarcely appreciate -either his strong attachment to you or his strong desire that you -should remain with him."</p> - -<p>"Has he been asking you to be his advocate?" said Earle, with a smile. -"It sounds very much as if he had."</p> - -<p>"He has been talking to me of the matter," she answered. "You know it -is very near his heart, and he speaks to me more freely than to you; -for, naturally, he is wounded by your refusal, and is too proud to -acknowledge to you how much he cares."</p> - -<p>"And he thinks, no doubt, that what you say will have a weight which -his words lack."</p> - -<p>"There is no reason why he should think so," said Marion, rather -proudly.</p> - -<p>They had by this time reached the place of their destination; and, -as he put down the portable easel which he carried, she turned away, -saying to herself that it was indeed true—there was no reason why -any one should think that her words had the least weight with this -immovable man. Some hot tears of mortification gathered in her eyes. -She had hoped for a different result, and the disappointment, from the -proof of her own lack of power, was greater than she had anticipated. -She bent down to gather some ferns on the bank of a little stream which -flowed through the glen, and when she rose Earle was standing beside -her.</p> - -<p>"I fear that perhaps you misunderstood my last words," he said, with -grave gentleness. "I did not mean to imply that my uncle was mistaken -in thinking that what you say would have great weight with me. He is -too shrewd not to be sure of that. I only gave him credit for choosing -his advocate well. For you must know that what you wish has great -influence with me."</p> - -<p>"Why should I know it?" said Marion, in a low tone.</p> - -<p>"Because," he answered, "you must know that I love you."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XVIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">A</span> very gratified man was Mr. Singleton when he heard how matters stood -between Marion and his nephew. Indeed, with regard to the latter, his -feeling was chiefly one of exultation. "Now I have you!" he said to -himself; and it was with difficulty that he refrained from uttering -this sentiment when Earle announced the fact of his engagement. What he -did say was:—</p> - -<p>"I am delighted, my dear boy—delighted! You could not have pleased me -better. Miss Lynde is a girl to do credit to any man's taste, and to -any position to which she may be raised. Her family is unexceptionable; -and as for fortune—well, you have no need to think of that."</p> - -<p>Brian smiled. "I have not thought of it," he said; "but I fear she may -think a little of the fact that I have not much to offer her. To become -the wife of a struggling artist is not a very brilliant prospect for -one of her ambition."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton frowned. So, after all, the thing had not settled itself, -but was to be fought over again! "You must surely be jesting when you -speak of such a prospect for her," he observed. "You must feel that -marriage brings responsibility with it; and that, since the future of -this charming girl is bound up with your own, you can no longer afford -to indulge in caprices."</p> - -<p>"I do not think that I have ever indulged in caprices," replied Earle. -"In settling my plan of life, I have followed what I believe to be -right, as well as what I believed to be best. And I have no intention -of changing it now. Marion understands that in accepting me, she also -accepts my life. I am sure of that."</p> - -<p>"<i>I</i> am by no means sure of it," thought Mr. Singleton; but he was wise -enough to say no more, and bide his time to speak to Marion.</p> - -<p>"My dear," he said to her, as soon as they were alone together, "you -know that the arrangement between Brian and yourself meets with my -warmest approval. But it will be of very little good to me personally, -unless you mean to use your influence—for you can no longer say that -you possess none—to induce him to yield to my wishes. Unless he does -so, he can expect nothing from me in the future. And that I should -regret for your sake now as well as his."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind," said Marion, who understood all that was implied -in this. "Be certain that if he does not yield to your wishes, it will -not be my fault. I shall use all the influence I possess to induce him -to do so."</p> - -<p>"In that case I have no fear," said the old man, gallantly. "Who could -resist you?"</p> - -<p>A little while before Marion would have echoed this with a profound -conviction of her own irresistible power; but now, though she did not -dissent from it, she had a lurking fear that Brian Earle might not -prove so elastic in her hands as his uncle hoped. As yet, by tacit -consent, the subject of their future life had been avoided; but she -knew that the time would come when it must be discussed, and she said -to herself with passionate resolution that he should not throw away the -fortune which was offered him, if it were in her power to prevent it.</p> - -<p>Had this resolution needed a spur, Mrs. Singleton's congratulations -would have given it. "I hope that you will be very happy," she said; -"and I think it is very good for me to hope it, for you step into my -place. Brian will not go abroad <i>now</i>."</p> - -<p>"We have not settled that as yet," replied Marion, who detected a -questioning tone in the last assertion.</p> - -<p>"I think that, in your place, I should settle it as soon as possible," -said Mrs. Singleton. "It will be pleasanter for all parties. Although, -of course, Brian's decision is a foregone conclusion."</p> - -<p>"You not only hope, you believe the contrary," thought Marion; "but I -will show you that you are mistaken."</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Earle, unconscious of the struggle before him, was thinking -how much he had misjudged Marion in believing her so worldly, since, -knowing his definite decision with regard to his life, she was yet -willing to share that life. The declaration which he had made was -entirely unpremeditated; but, once made, he did not regret it. How -indeed was it possible to regret that which brought immediately so much -happiness to himself and to Marion? And it was too much to expect, -perhaps, that he should ask whether or not this happiness rested on a -very substantial basis—whether there were not elements in it certain -to produce discord as time went on. All that was hard, haughty and -worldly in Marion seemed, for the time being, to have disappeared. -Helen herself could hardly have seemed more gentle and tender to the -man she loved.</p> - -<p>On the Sunday following their betrothal, he asked her if she would -go with him to church, and she readily assented. "I always liked -Catholicity," she said, as they took their way thither; "and I always -felt that if there was truth in any religion, it was in that. All the -others are but poor shams and imitations of it, and I have had an -instinctive scorn of them ever since I knew anything of the old faith. -I am glad, therefore, that you are a Catholic."</p> - -<p>"Since I am not an Agnostic," he said, laughing. "You would have had a -higher opinion of my intellectual strength if I had avowed myself that, -you know."</p> - -<p>She laughed too. "That was before I understood you," she said; "and -before I understood the grounds you had for your faith. But now I know -that you could be only what you are."</p> - -<p>"And when," he asked, in a tone suddenly grown grave and earnest, "will -you also be that?"</p> - -<p>"How can I tell?" she replied. "Should not faith be something more than -a mere matter of intellectual conviction?"</p> - -<p>"Faith is a gift of God," he said. "If you are willing to receive it, -it will not be denied to you."</p> - -<p>"I am willing now," she observed. "Always, heretofore, I have shrunk -from it. I have felt the fascination of Catholicity, but I have dreaded -what it would demand from me. But now I dread no longer. I am willing -to be what you are."</p> - -<p>He smiled slightly, and, as they had reached the church by this time, -extended his hand to lead her over the threshold. Then withdrawing it, -"There!" he said; "I have done my part—I have brought you within the -door. God must do the rest."</p> - -<p>It seemed to Marion, as she knelt by him during Mass, as if God were -doing this. Her heart opened to the influences around her as it had -never opened before. The Holy Sacrifice had a meaning for her which it -had never, up to this time, possessed; she forgot the plainness and -bareness of the chapel, the unfashionable appearance of the people, in -her consciousness of the Divine Reality before her on the altar. And -when the priest, addressing the people at the end of Mass, spoke in -plain and forcible language of the truths of faith, her mind replied by -an assenting <i>Credo</i>.</p> - -<p>But as he turned to preach, Father Byrne received a shock of unpleasant -surprise in perceiving Marion's face by Brian Earle's side. He had -not seen or heard of her since the occurrences which had ended -Helen's engagement. He had not been aware that she still remained in -Scarborough after her aunt's departure; but he had met Earle, and -liked the young man so much that this unexpected appearance beside him -of the girl who had destroyed her cousin's happiness, seemed to him -a conjunction that boded no good. The sight distracted him so much -that he hesitated over the opening words of his sermon. The hesitation -was only momentary: he took a firm grasp of his subject, and began; -but whenever his glance fell on those two faces in one of the front -pews, he said to himself, "Poor young man!" and asked himself if, -knowing what he did, he should offer a warning to the object of his -commiseration.</p> - -<p>After Mass, giving the question some thought, he decided that if the -opportunity for it arose, he would speak to Earle on the subject; but -that he would take no steps to make an opportunity, since it might -have been an accidental association, meaning little or nothing. And so -the matter might have passed without result, had not Earle presented -himself that afternoon at the pastoral residence. He had two motives -for the visit—one was to see Father Byrne, with whom he had been most -pleasantly impressed; the other, to ask for some book of instruction -to put into Marion's hands. The good Father was a little disturbed by -the appearance of his visitor: it seemed he was to be forced to deliver -his warning—for he had no intention of receding from his agreement -with his conscience. Therefore, after they had talked for some time on -various subjects, and a slight pause occurred, he was on the point of -beginning, when Earle anticipated him by speaking:—</p> - -<p>"I must not weary you by a long visit, Father," he said, "knowing that -Sunday is a day which makes many demands upon you. I have come not only -for the pleasure of seeing you this afternoon, but to ask your advice -on a matter of importance. I want a book which sets forth Catholic -doctrine in a clear and attractive manner, for one disposed toward the -Church. What work will best answer my purpose?"</p> - -<p>Father Byrne named a work familiar to most Catholics, and of wide -circulation; but Earle shook his head. "That will not do at all. I -want something of an intellectual character, and with the charm of -literary excellence. Else it would have no effect on the person for -whom I intend it."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps if you told me something about the person," suggested the -priest, "I could judge better what would be suitable."</p> - -<p>"I want the book," Earle answered, "for a young lady of much more than -ordinary intelligence, who has no Protestant prejudices to overcome, -and who, I think, only needs to be instructed to induce her to embrace -the Catholic faith."</p> - -<p>Father Byrne's face changed at the words "a young lady." "Surely," he -said, after an instant's hesitation, "you do not mean the young lady -who was with you in church this morning?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Earle, surprised by the tone even more than by the -question. "I mean Miss Lynde. Do you know her?"</p> - -<p>"I know her slightly, but I know <i>of</i> her very well," answered the -priest, gravely. "And I regret to say that I cannot imagine a more -unpromising subject for conversion. My dear Mr. Earle, I think that -you will waste your efforts in that direction. I hope I am not -uncharitable, but I have little confidence in the sincerity of Miss -Lynde's desire to know the truth."</p> - -<p>"Why have you no confidence?" asked Earle, shortly, almost sternly.</p> - -<p>The other looked distressed. It was a more unpleasant task than he had -anticipated which he had set himself, but he felt bound in conscience -to go through with it.</p> - -<p>"Because," he replied, "I know that the young lady has had ample -opportunity to learn all about the Faith if she had desired to do so. -She had been at school in a convent for some time, and she came here -with her cousin, Miss Morley, who is a devoted Catholic." He paused a -moment, then with an effort went on: "But it is not for this reason -alone that I distrust her sincerity. I chance to know that she acted -badly toward her cousin, that she was the cause of her engagement being -broken, and she behaved with great duplicity in the whole matter."</p> - -<p>"This is a very serious charge," said Earle. He held himself well under -control, but the priest perceived that he was much moved. "Do you speak -with positive knowledge of what you assert?"</p> - -<p>"As positive as possible, with regard to the facts," Father Byrne -answered. "Miss Morley broke her engagement because she heard the man -to whom she was engaged making love to her cousin. She generously -refrained from blaming the latter, but Mrs. Morley told me that Miss -Lynde had undoubtedly made deliberate efforts to attract her daughter's -lover. You will understand that I tell you this in confidence, and -nothing but my sincere interest in you would induce me to tell it at -all. You might readily hear it from others, however. It is, I believe, -a notorious fact in Scarborough."</p> - -<p>Earle was silent for a minute, looking down as if in thought, with his -dark brows knitted, and his pleasant countenance overcast. The last -words made him recall various hints and allusions of Mrs. Singleton's. -They had produced little impression upon him at the time—not enough -to cause him to inquire what they meant,—but now they came back with -a force derived from what he had just heard. With sudden clearness he -recalled that Marion seemed to shrink from any mention of her cousin, -and that he had seen her change color once or twice when some man was -alluded to by Mrs. Singleton in very significant tones. Even if it -had been possible to doubt the priest, who spoke with such evident -reluctance, these things recalled by memory gave added weight to all -that he said. Presently the young man looked up, and spoke with an -effort:—</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt you have meant kindly, Father, in speaking of this -matter; but, if you please, we will not discuss it further. To return -to the book—I see that I had better decide for myself what will be -suitable. Something of Newman's might answer, only he deals chiefly -with Anglican difficulties; or perhaps Lacordaire's great Conferences -on the Church might be best."</p> - -<p>"That is rather a—formidable work," said the Father, hesitatingly.</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Earle; "but so splendid in its logic, so luminous in -its style, that whoever reads it understandingly will need no other. -But I must not detain you longer."</p> - -<p>He rose as he spoke, shook hands with the priest—who was uncertain -whether or not to regret what he had done,—and took his departure.</p> - -<p>Once outside he said to himself that the thing to do now was to go -directly to Marion, and learn from her the true meaning of the story -which had so deeply disturbed him. He felt loyally certain that, as he -heard it, it could not be true,—that she could never willfully have -drawn her cousin's lover from his allegiance. At least he repeated -this to himself more than once. But in his heart was a lurking doubt -which he would not acknowledge,—a lurking recollection of the distrust -he had felt toward her at first, and which lately had faded from his -mind. Well, it would depend upon what she told him now whether this -distrust were to be revived or finally banished.</p> - -<p>It was late in the afternoon when he entered the grounds of the house -in which Mr. Singleton dwelt; and the long, golden sunshine streamed so -invitingly across emerald turf and bright flower-beds toward the green -depths of shrubbery in the old garden, that he turned his steps in that -direction, thinking it barely possible he might find Marion there, -since she was partial to a seat under an arbor covered with climbing -roses.</p> - -<p>Some instinct must have guided his steps; for Marion <i>was</i> there, -seated in the green shade, and so absorbed in reading that she did not -perceive his approach. He paused for a minute to admire the beautiful -picture which she made—a picture to delight an artist's eye,—asking -himself the while if what looked so fair could possibly be capable -of deceiving. It was a question that must be answered in one way or -another, and, tightening his lips a little, he came forward.</p> - -<p>She looked up with a slight start as he drew near, and the light of -pleasure that came into her eyes was very eloquent. "So you have found -me!" she said. "I thought that you might. I looked for you when I came -out, but did not see you anywhere."</p> - -<p>"I had gone into Scarborough," he answered. "I went to see"—he stopped -before saying "Father Byrne," with a sudden thought that it might not -be well for her to connect the priest with the information of which he -must presently speak—"to see a friend," he continued. "I wanted to -borrow a book. What have you there?"</p> - -<p>She held it out, smiling. "Helen gave it to me long ago," she said, -"but I never looked at it until to-day."</p> - -<p>Earle found that it was a translation of the admirable French -"Catechism of Perseverance," which is one of the best compendiums of -Catholic doctrine. "After all," he said, "I do not know that I can do -better than this, although I was thinking of a book of another kind for -you,—a book that would rouse your interest as well as instruct you."</p> - -<p>"I think I should prefer your choice," she said. "Helen had the best -intentions, but she forgot that what suited her would not be likely to -suit me."</p> - -<p>This repetition of Helen's name brought his attention back from the -book to the subject it had replaced in his mind. "Helen!" he repeated. -"You mean your cousin, Miss Morley?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. You have heard me speak of her. She is a Catholic. It was with -her that I came to Scarborough."</p> - -<p>"And why has she gone away and left you?"</p> - -<p>Something in the tone rather than in the words caused Marion to color -with a quick sense of apprehension. "My aunt took her away for change -of air and scene. They are wealthy, and can go where they like. I could -not go with them, and so Mrs. Singleton kindly asked me to stay with -her. That is very simple, is it not?"</p> - -<p>"Very," he answered. He looked down, and turned absently the leaves of -the Catechism. "But, since you were your cousin's guest, it seems to me -it would have been simpler if she had asked you to go with her."</p> - -<p>"There were reasons why she did not," said Marion. She hesitated a -moment, and then an impulse of candor came to her,—a quick instinct -that Earle must hear from herself the story which he had perhaps -already heard from others. "I will tell you what they were," she -continued. "It is a matter which it is disagreeable to me to recall, -but I should like to tell you about it."</p> - -<p>Then she told him. There is everything, as we know, in the point -of view from which a picture is regarded, or a story is told; so -it was not surprising that, as he listened, Earle felt a sense of -infinite relief. If this were all, she was not indeed altogether -free from blame—for she acknowledged that she had taken pleasure in -the perception of Rathborne's admiration,—but certainly she did not -deserve that charge of duplicity which the priest had made. It was an -unfortunate affair; but, feeling the power which she exercised over -himself, how could he wonder that another man had felt and yielded to -it?</p> - -<p>So, for the time at least, all his doubt was dissipated, and Marion, -satisfied with this result, deferred the decisive struggle yet to come.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XIX.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">But</span> it was not to be long deferred—that decisive struggle which -Marion clearly foresaw, and from which she shrank, notwithstanding Mr. -Singleton's confident assurance of her victory. It was a day or two -later that Earle said to her:—</p> - -<p>"Since I am going away soon, Marion, it will be well that we shall -settle all details of our future. Can you not make an effort and go -with me? What need is there, in our case, for long waiting, or for -submitting to a separation which would be very painful?"</p> - -<p>The confident assurance of his tone—as if dealing with a point settled -beyond all need of argument—made Marion's heart sink a little, but she -nerved herself to the necessary degree of resolution, and answered, -quietly:—</p> - -<p>"There will be no need for long waiting or for separation either, if -you will only consent to do what your uncle asks—to remain with him, -and fulfil the duty which most plainly lies before you." She paused a -moment, then added, in a softer tone, "You have refused to yield to his -request, will you not yield to <i>mine</i>?"</p> - -<p>Earle looked at her with eyes full of pained surprise. "<i>Et tu Brute!</i>" -he said, with a faint smile. "I thought you, at least, understood how -firmly my mind is made up on that subject—how impossible it is for me -to resign all my cherished plans of life for the sake of inheriting my -uncle's fortune."</p> - -<p>"But what is to prevent your painting as many pictures as you like and -still gratifying him?" she asked.</p> - -<p>"Because no man can serve two masters, in temporal any more than in -spiritual things. If I am to serve Art, I must do so with all my -strength, not in a half-hearted <i>dilettante</i> manner—but I am weary -of saying these things. I hoped that by this time everyone understood -them."</p> - -<p>"I understand them perfectly," replied Marion; "but I do not think you -are right. I think that, because you have never known the need or want -of money, you are throwing away a fortune for a mere caprice, and you -are condemning others as well as yourself to lifelong poverty."</p> - -<p>"Not to poverty," he observed; "though certainly to narrower means than -those my uncle possesses. It is for you to say whether or not you care -to accept the life which I offer. I can not change it—I do not believe -that even for you it would be best that I should."</p> - -<p>"You are very kind to settle what would be best for me so entirely in -accordance with your own tastes and will," she said, with her old tone -of mockery. "May I ask why you are led to such a belief?"</p> - -<p>"It is easily told," he answered, "and I will be perfectly frank in -the telling. We all have some one point where temptation assails us -with more force than at any other. With you, Marion, that point is an -undue value of wealth and of all the things of the world that wealth -commands,—things, for the most part, of great danger to one who -does value them unduly. The possession of wealth, therefore, would be -dangerous to you—more dangerous from the very strength of the passion -with which you desire it. Forgive me if this sounds odiously like -preaching, but it is true. I can not, then, change the whole intention -and meaning of my life—give up my study of art and sink into a mere -idle amateur—when by so doing I should gain nothing of value to -myself, while working harm rather than good to you. Tell me that you -believe I follow my conscience in this, and that you will be content -with what I offer you?"</p> - -<p>He held out his hand with a pleading gesture, but Marion would not -see it. What he had said angered her more deeply than if he had let -his refusal remain based solely on his own wishes. That he should -recognize <i>hers</i>, yet coolly put them aside, reading her the while a -moral lecture on their dangerous nature, filled her with a sense of -passionate resentment.</p> - -<p>"I might be content with what you offer," she said, "if it were not -that you could so easily offer more—you could so easily gratify me, -whom you profess to love, as well as the old man who loves you so well. -But you will not yield in the least degree to either of us. You follow -your own wishes, and declare mine to be mercenary and dangerous. The -difference between us is that I have known something of the poverty -you regard so lightly; and, while I might risk enduring it with a man -who had no alternative of escape from it, I do not think my prospect -of happiness would be great with a man who condemned me to it for the -gratification of his own selfishness."</p> - -<p>"Is that how the matter appears to you?" asked Earle. He paused for a -minute and seemed to consider. "You may be right," he said, presently; -"I may be acting selfishly—what man can be absolutely certain of -his own motives?—but, to the best of my judgment, I am doing what I -believe to be right. I can not yield to my uncle in this matter—not -even though he has secured you as his advocate. I am sure that if I -did yield, it would be worse for all of us. No, Marion; forgive me if -I seem hard, but you must take me as I am, or not at all. You must -consent to share my life as I have ordered it, or it is best that you -should not share it at all."</p> - -<p>She bent her head with the air of one who accepts a final decision. "It -is very good of you to put it so plainly," she said. "Your candor makes -my decision very easy. The matter to me stands simply thus: you decline -absolutely to make the least concession to my wishes, you sacrifice -my happiness relentlessly to your own caprice, and yet you expect me -to believe in the sincerity of your regard. I do not believe in it. I -believe, indeed, that you have some kind of a fancy for me; but you -think that, because I bring you nothing beside myself, you can make -your own terms and order my life as it pleases you—"</p> - -<p>"Marion!" cried Earle, shocked and startled. But she went steadily on:—</p> - -<p>"That, however, is a mistake. If I bring nothing, I have in myself -the power to win all things. I might give up all things for a man who -truly loved me, and who was poor by no fault of his own. But for a man -who loves me so little that he would condemn me uselessly to a sordid, -narrow life—for that man I have only one word: go!"</p> - -<p>She rose with a gesture, as if putting him from her; but Earle caught -her extended hand.</p> - -<p>"Marion!" he said, earnestly, "stop and think! You accuse me of -selfishness, but is there no selfishness in your own conduct? In asking -you to share my life as it is settled, I do not ask you to share -poverty: I only do not promise you wealth. Do you care nothing for me -without that wealth? Consider that I can only think you weigh me in the -scale with my uncle's fortune and without that fortune hold me of no -account."</p> - -<p>"You must think what you please," returned Marion. "I have told you -how the matter appears to me. If you care for me, you will accept your -uncle's generous offer. That is my last word."</p> - -<p>"Then we can only part," said Earle, dropping her hand. "It is evident -that the love of money is more deeply rooted in you than love of -me. God forgive you, Marion, and God bring you to some sense of the -relative value of things! I have the presumption to think that what -I give you is worth a little more than the fortune which you rate so -highly. Some day you may learn how little money can really buy of what -is best worth having in human life. In that day you may remember this -choice."</p> - -<p>"I shall never regret it," she answered, proudly.</p> - -<p>"I hope from my heart that you may not, but <i>I</i> shall long regret it. -For I believe that you have a noble nature, to which you are doing -violence. And I hoped that in the life to which I would have taken you, -that nobler nature would have conquered the one which finds so much -attraction in mercenary things."</p> - -<p>The nobler nature of which he spoke struggled a little to assert -itself, but was overborne by the lower and stronger nature—by anger, -disappointment, and wounded pride. What! she, who had expected to -sway and dominate all with whom she came in contact, to yield to -this man—to give up the strongest wish, the most earnest resolve of -her life? From her early youth embittered by adversity and galled by -poverty, she had said to herself, "Some day I will be rich!" And now -the opportunity to possess riches, and with riches the power for which -she longed, was placed within her reach, and yet was held back by the -selfish obstinacy of a man, who made his refusal worse by condemning -her wishes. At this moment she felt that anything was more possible -than to yield to him.</p> - -<p>"You are wasting words," she observed, coldly. "My attraction for -mercenary things concerns you no longer. Our folly is at an end. It -<i>was</i> folly I see, for you have no trust in me, nor any inclination to -please me; and where these things do not exist, love does not exist -either."</p> - -<p>She gave him no opportunity to reply had he intended to do so, for she -left the room abruptly with the last words.</p> - -<p>And there was no deliberation about her next step. She went at once -to Mr. Singleton. "I have come to tell you that your confidence in my -power over your nephew is misplaced," she said. "I have failed entirely -to influence him. He is going away."</p> - -<p>The old man, who was leaning back in his deep velvet chair, his -face against its soft richness, looking more than ever like a piece -of fine ivory carving, did not appear very much surprised by this -intelligence. He remained for a minute without speaking, regarding -intently the girl before him. Her beauty was truly imperial; for -excitement gave it a brilliance—a light to her eyes, a color to her -cheeks—which was almost dazzling.</p> - -<p>"What a splendid creature!" he said to himself; then he remarked aloud, -very quietly:—</p> - -<p>"And you are going with him?"</p> - -<p>"No," she answered. "Since he has no regard for my wishes in a matter -so important to me as well as to himself, I have declined to have -anything further to do with him."</p> - -<p>"Good!" said Mr. Singleton. His tone expressed not only approval, but -intense satisfaction. "I am glad that some way to punish him has been -found. But what is he made of that he can look at you and refuse to do -what you ask! Has he gone mad with obstinacy, or is he a man of ice?"</p> - -<p>"I do not know," she replied. "He cares only for himself and the -gratification of his own whims, I suppose. He does not deserve that -either you or I should think of him any more. And I," she added, more -sternly, "am determined that I will <i>not</i> think of him again. He has -gone out of my life forever. There only remains for me now to go out of -this house, with the most grateful memory, dear Mr. Singleton, of your -kindness."</p> - -<p>"No," said Mr. Singleton. He extended his hand and laid it on her arm, -as if he would detain her by force. "It is not for you to go, but for -him. And he shall go at once."</p> - -<p>"Not on my account." she said, haughtily. "<i>He</i> has a right here, I -have none."</p> - -<p>"You have the right that I ask you to stay," observed Mr. Singleton. -"He has no other than my invitation, and that will be withdrawn as -soon as I see him. Like yourself, I am done with him now forever. I -have borne much from him and hoped much from him; but I see that the -first was useless, and the last without any rational ground. This -offense—his conduct to you—I will never forgive. But I hope, my dear, -that you will suffer me to make what atonement for it I can. I consider -you as much my adopted daughter as if this marriage on which I set my -heart had taken place."</p> - -<p>"You are very good," replied Marion. A vision passed before her as she -spoke of all that this might mean; but she felt strangely dead toward -it, as if already the fortune she coveted had been robbed of half its -lustre.</p> - -<p>"Stay with me, then," said Mr. Singleton. "I can not part with you, if -Brian can. I want your society while I live, and I will provide for you -liberally when I die. Will you stay?—is that agreed upon?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she answered. "If you care for me I will stay. Nobody else does -care."</p> - -<p>Then suddenly her proud composure gave way. She burst into tears, and -made her escape from the room.</p> - -<p>Perhaps those tears hardened Mr. Singleton's resolve, or perhaps it -needed no hardening. After a few minutes he rang his bell, and sent the -servant who answered it to summon Brian Earle to him.</p> - -<p>The latter was on the point of leaving the house when he received the -message, but he immediately obeyed it, saying to himself as he laid -down his hat, "As well now as later." For he knew perfectly what was -before him; and Mr. Singleton's icy manner was no surprise to him when -he entered the room where Marion had brought her story so short a time -before.</p> - -<p>"I am informed by Miss Lynde," said Mr. Singleton, severely, "that your -engagement to her is at an end, for the reason that you refuse to yield -your wishes to hers as well as to mine, and she very wisely declines to -countenance your folly and selfishness by sacrificing her life to it. -Is this true?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly true," replied the young man, calmly. "Miss Lynde thinks me -not worth accepting without your fortune. I regret to say that this, to -my mind, betrays a nature so mercenary that I am not sorry a conclusive -test should have arisen, and ended an arrangement which certainly would -not be for the happiness of either of us."</p> - -<p>"That is how it appears to you, is it?" said Mr. Singleton. "Well, let -me tell you that, to me, your conduct is so utterly without reason or -excuse, so shameful in its selfish disregard of everyone's wishes but -your own, that I finally cast off all regard for you. Go your way, -study the art to which you have sacrificed not only me but the woman to -whom you pledged your faith; but remember that you have lost your last -chance with me. Not a sixpence of my money will ever go to you."</p> - -<p>"I have never wanted it," said Brian, proudly.</p> - -<p>"No," answered his uncle. "But in the days to come, when your need for -money increases, and you find that fame and fortune are not so easily -won as you imagine now, you <i>will</i> want it; you will curse your folly -then when it is too late; and you will think, perhaps, of the old man -who offered you so much for so little, and to whom you refused that -little."</p> - -<p>Angry as the speaker was, something in the tone of his last words -almost shook Brian's resolution. For a moment he asked himself if, -after all, he might not be the victim of a self-willed delusion; if his -uncle might not be right, and if it might not be his duty to yield. But -this was only for a moment. He had the faculty of seeing clearly and -deciding firmly once for all. He had long before this weighed every -aspect of a question which so importantly concerned his life, and his -final decision was based on many strong grounds. Those grounds he saw -no reason to reconsider now.</p> - -<p>"I am very sorry," he said, gravely, "for all that has happened,—most -sorry for any disappointment or pain I have caused you or another. -But there are many reasons why I cannot comply with your wishes; and, -since further discussion of the subject is useless, I will beg your -permission to leave you."</p> - -<p>"Leave me and leave my house!" said Mr. Singleton, emphatically. "It is -my duty to guard Miss Lynde from any possible annoyance, and to meet -you could only be an annoyance to her now. You will, therefore, be good -enough to go at once."</p> - -<p>"I will do so," replied Brian, rising. "God bless you, sir, and believe -that I am very grateful for all your kindness to me. I wish that I -could have repaid you better."</p> - -<p>Then, before his uncle could answer, he went away.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XX.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Brian</span> Earle had not been gone more than two or three weeks when the -report suddenly spread through Scarborough that Mr. Singleton was very -ill. And for once report was true. One among the many chronic maladies -from which he suffered took a turn for the worse, and the doctors shook -their heads, saying the case was very critical.</p> - -<p>Indeed it was more than critical. Those about the sick man knew that -his recovery—even his partial recovery—was impossible. Close to him -now was the dread Presence which care and skill had kept at bay so -long, and no one was more thoroughly aware of the fact than himself. He -met it with a grim philosophy, which is the only possible substitute -for Christian resignation. Of religious belief he had very little, -never having troubled himself to formulate the vague ideas which he had -received from a much attenuated Protestantism. But, such as they were, -they did not inspire him with terror. God would, no doubt, be merciful -to a man who was conscious of never having done anything dishonorable -in his life. This consciousness helped to support his philosophy, but -it is not likely that he gave it much thought. A subject which has not -occupied a place of importance in a man's consideration during life -will hardly do so even in the face of death.</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton was more interested in arranging his worldly affairs than -in preparing for the great change from time to eternity. His lawyer -was summoned, and a final and complete revision made of the important -document which would fulfill or blast the hopes of many people. -Concerning this document Mrs. Singleton was wild with curiosity; but -she could learn nothing, and her husband declined even to speculate -concerning their chances. "We shall know soon enough—perhaps too -soon," he said, with his usual philosophy, a little tinged by -despondency.</p> - -<p>Another person who felt some curiosity, mingled with an indifference -which surprised herself, was Marion Lynde. Who would take in the will -that place which Brian Earle had forfeited? And what would the latter -think now of the fact that he had thrown away a fortune rather than -give a promise, the fulfillment of which, as it now chanced, would -never have been exacted? "He would have had the money and his freedom -besides," she thought. "Does he recognize his folly now? Will he -recognize it when he hears the news that soon must be told him?"</p> - -<p>Of her own interest in this crisis, Marion did not take a great deal -of thought. She had no doubt that some legacy for herself would find a -place in Mr. Singleton's will, and no doubt also that in the time to -come she would be grateful for it. But she regarded the probability -just now with a dull indifference, which was the reaction from a -great disappointment. She had not only lost the only man who had ever -touched her heart, but also the fortune that might have been hers in -the entirety. And, after that great loss, could she rejoice over the -prospect of obtaining a small share of this fortune?</p> - -<p>No: to rejoice was impossible; but she felt that whatever the old man's -generosity gave would be welcome, since it would mean emancipation from -absolute dependence on relations for whom she had no cordiality of -feeling. No doubt the time would come when she would be very glad of -this, but just now it was difficult—in fact, impossible—to be glad of -anything.</p> - -<p>In this way the days, weighted with much pain for one and much -uncertainty of hope and fear for others, dragged their slow hours -away and the end came at last. Marion was still in the house—Mrs. -Singleton, who felt that her presence could no longer do any harm, had -begged her not to leave,—and she felt a thrill of awe and regret when -the words came from the sick chamber, "He is dying."</p> - -<p>So the old man who had showed nothing but kindness to her was passing -away—and how? Without a single heart near him that throbbed with -affection, without a Sacrament or a word of prayer! Marion had -associated too much with Catholics not to feel the horror of this, but -she also knew too much of Protestants to expect anything different. Yet -she could not help saying to Mrs. Singleton, "Has no clergyman been -sent for?"</p> - -<p>That lady looked surprised. "No," she answered. "Why should one be sent -for? No one would take the liberty of doing such a thing while Mr. -Singleton was conscious, and after unconsciousness had set in where -would be the good? Mr. Eustace would come and read prayers, no doubt, -if we asked him to do so; but what would be gained by it?"</p> - -<p>"Nothing, I suppose," said Marion. She had heard those prayers—which -are all that Protestantism offers,—and shuddered at the recollection. -Yet for the dying man to go forth into eternity without a word of -appeal in his behalf, seemed to her so terrible that she stole away -to her own room, opened a prayer-book which had been given her at the -convent, and, kneeling down, said for the first time in her life the -prayers for the dying which she found therein.</p> - -<p>And while she was saying them—those tender and infinitely touching -petitions, which call upon the Most High in solemn supplication for the -soul in its agony,—the soul for which she prayed passed away, and was -done with the things of earth forever.</p> - -<p>A day or two followed, of that strange, hushed quietness, yet of much -coming and going,—of the sense of a suspension of ordinary life, which -prevails in a house where Death has for the time taken possession. The -living are generally impatient of this time, and shorten it as far as -possible, especially where no deep sense of real grief is felt. But -Mr. Singleton, in death as in life, was too important a person for -every due propriety not to be observed. There were arrangements to be -made, friends to be summoned, and details of funeral and burial to be -settled. These things required time; and when it was finally settled -that the funeral would take place in Scarborough, but the body would be -carried for burial to the home of the dead man, there was a sense of -relief in the minds of all concerned.</p> - -<p>Marion accompanied Mrs. Singleton to the funeral in the Episcopal -church, which had so much pleased her taste on her first arrival -in Scarborough. It was as pretty as ever; but how little correct -architecture, stained glass or rich organ tones could give life to the -mockery of death which is called a burial-service, and which contains -no reference to the individual dead person whose body lies—one wonders -why—before a so-called "altar," where no sacrifice is offered, from -which no blessing is given! Even the glorious promises of St. Paul, -which the preacher reads with studied effect, fall upon the ear like -something infinitely distant; the heart instinctively longs for one -word of personal application, one cry for mercy and pardon on behalf of -the poor soul that, in mute helplessness, can no longer cry for itself. -But one listens in vain. There is not even an allusion to that soul. -The general hope of immortality—which can be applied in any way that -suits the listener—having been set forth, a hymn is sung, and, save -for a few formal prayers at the grave, all is over.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it was because she had so little religious sentiment to supply -for herself what was lacking that, as Marion listened, she felt her -heart grow sick with pity and disgust. "What is the possible good of -this!" she exclaimed mentally, with indignation. "If no prayer is to -be said for the soul, no blessing given to the body, why is it brought -here? What meaning is there in such empty formalism? It is a mockery, -nothing less; and if one cannot have what the Catholics give, I, like -the materialists, who are the only logical Protestants, would have -nothing."</p> - -<p>After the service, which impressed at least one observer in this -manner, the body was at once taken away. Mr. Singleton, of course, -accompanied it, but his wife remained behind; and it was understood -that immediately on his return the will would be read.</p> - -<p>Eagerness on this score no doubt kept Mr. Singleton from the delay -with regard to his return in which he might else have indulged, being -a man who had a constitutional objection to haste. But for once he -accomplished a very quick journey. On the third day after the funeral -he returned, and the will was opened by the lawyer who had drawn it up -according to the dead man's last instructions.</p> - -<p>There was a strain of intense curiosity and anxiety regarding this will -in the minds of all concerned. It was by this time generally known -that, toward the last, Brian Earle had fallen hopelessly out of his -uncle's favor; but no one felt able to conjecture with any certainty -who would take his place in the will, although every one cherished -a secret hope that it might be himself. There were several of these -would-be heirs—cousins more or less removed—of the dead man; but Tom -Singleton was, in the absence of Earle, the nearest relative, being -the son of a half-brother, while Earle was the son of Mr. Singleton's -only sister. The former, with all his easy-going quietness, felt that -it would be an outrage if he were not the heir; although, knowing his -uncle better than any one else, he knew also that he should not be -surprised by whatever grim caprice the will revealed.</p> - -<p>And such a caprice it did reveal, to the amazement and rage of everyone -concerned. Mr. Singleton remembered with a legacy everyone whom it was -proper that he should remember—the largest of these legacies being -fifty thousand dollars to Tom Singleton,—and then he bequeathed the -remainder of his fortune to his "adopted daughter," Marion Lynde.</p> - -<p>The disappointed heirs looked at one another with expressions that -baffle description. What! half a million to a girl who had no claim -upon it whatever, whose relationship to the old man was of the most -vague and distant description! They could hardly believe that he had -really been guilty of anything so infamous. They would have felt it -less an injury if he had endowed a college or a hospital.</p> - -<p>But one reflection seemed to occur to all; for, after the expressive -pause which said more than any words, almost every voice spoke -simultaneously, "The will won't stand! His mind was weak when he made -it. It's evidently a case of undue influence."</p> - -<p>The lawyer shook his head. "No, gentlemen," he said; "don't make a -mistake. This will can not be broken. My client took care of that, and -I took care also. As for his mind being weak, Mr. Singleton here knows -that up to the day of his death his mind was as clear and vigorous as -it ever had been."</p> - -<p>Tom Singleton, thus directly appealed to, bent his head. He had not -been one of the speakers, and, but for the fact that he had grown very -pale, showed little sign of emotion.</p> - -<p>"And, foreseeing of course that this disposition of his fortune would -cause disappointment," the lawyer went on, "Mr. Singleton was careful -to explain to me why he selected Miss Lynde for his heir. It seems that -she was for a time engaged to Mr. Brian Earle, whose name occupied in a -preceding will exactly the place which hers does here. The engagement -was broken in a manner which caused Mr. Singleton to blame his nephew -exceedingly, and the young lady not at all. So, as he told me, he -determined that she should lose nothing. The fortune which would have -been hers had she married Earle—should be hers in any event. This was -what he intended; and your disappointment, gentlemen, may be less if -you will remember that Mr. Brian Earle is the only person whom this -bequest to Miss Lynde deprives of anything."</p> - -<p>But, naturally, this was not much comfort to the disappointed heirs. -Each one felt that <i>he</i> should by right have taken Brian Earle's place, -and that a broken engagement hardly gave Marion Lynde a claim to the -fortune which had been bequeathed to her. There were many more angry -murmurs, and numerous threats of contesting the will; but the smile -with which the lawyer heard these was not very encouraging, nor yet his -calm assurance that they could find no better means of throwing away -the money which had been left to them.</p> - -<p>Finally they all dispersed, and Tom Singleton slowly took his way to -the house, where his wife and the fortunate heiress were awaiting -him. Never had he been called upon before to perform a duty from -which he shrank so greatly. He dreaded the violence of his wife's -disappointment, and he felt a repugnance to the task of informing Miss -Lynde of her inheritance. The lawyer had asked him to do so, and as one -of the executors of the will he could not refuse; but it was a task -which did not please him. If this girl, this stranger, had not come -into their lives, would not he be in Earle's vacated place? He could -not but feel that it was most probable.</p> - -<p>It would require a volume to do justice to the feelings which Mrs. -Singleton expressed when she heard the terrible news. She had not -only lost the fortune—<i>that</i> might have been borne,—but it had -gone to Marion Lynde, the girl whom she had discovered and brought -to the notice of the infatuated old man who was dead! This was the -insupportable sting, and its effect was all that her husband had -feared. He had prepared himself for the storm, however; and he bore its -outburst with what philosophy he could until Mrs. Singleton declared -her intention of going to upbraid Marion with her great iniquity. Here -he firmly interposed.</p> - -<p>"You will do nothing of the kind," he said. "Miss Lynde is not to blame -at all, and you will only make yourself ridiculous by charging her -with offenses of which she is not guilty. If she has schemed for this, -she concealed the scheming so successfully that it is too late now to -attempt to prove it. There is nothing to be done but to make the best -of a bad matter, and bear ourselves with dignity. I beg that you will -not see her until you feel able to do this. As for me, I must see her -at once."</p> - -<p>And, in spite of his wife's protest, he did so. When a servant came -to Marion with the announcement that Mr. Singleton desired to see her -in the drawing-room, she went down without any thrill of excitement -whatever. It was as she had imagined, then: the old man had left her a -legacy. This was what she said to herself. And vaguely, half-formed in -her mind, were the words, "Perhaps ten thousand dollars." She had never -dreamed of more than this, and would not have thought of so much had -not Mr. Singleton been of a princely habit of giving.</p> - -<p>Was it wonderful, then, that the shock of hearing what she had -inherited stunned her for a time? She could only gaze at the speaker -with eyes dilated by an amazement that proved her innocence of any -schemes for or expectations of this end. "Mr. Singleton," she gasped, -"it is impossible! There must be some great mistake."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton faintly smiled. "There is no room for mistake, Miss -Lynde," he said. "My uncle has left his fortune to you."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was at first almost impossible for Marion to realize that the desire -of her life was gratified in a manner so strange and so unexpected. -She seemed to be existing in a dream, which would presently dissolve -away after the manner of all dreams, and leave her in her old state of -poverty and longing. That Brian Earle had lost his fortune, and that -the old man now dead had not cared sufficiently for any of his other -heirs to leave it to them,—that this fortune was hers—hers absolutely -and alone,—was something that struck her as too wonderful, and, in a -certain sense, too awful, to be true. There flashed across her mind a -recollection of "being crushed beneath the weight of a granted prayer." -Was she to be crushed beneath the weight of this prayer of hers so -singularly granted?</p> - -<p>Certainly she felt herself in an isolation which was chilling to the -heart. The man she loved was gone—had parted from her in contempt; -and she felt sharply how much that contempt would be increased when he -heard that she possessed his inheritance. As for friends, where would -she turn to find them? For her uncle and his family she had never -cared; Helen was estranged—if not in heart, at least in fact; for -intercourse between them could not now be pleasant to either; and it -seemed a desecration of the name of friend to apply the term to Mrs. -Singleton. Yet it was to Mrs. Singleton, after all, that she had to -turn for social support and countenance at this crisis of her fortunes. -And it was the good sense and philosophy of Mr. Singleton which induced -his wife to see that she would gain nothing by following her declared -intention of having nothing more to do with the heiress.</p> - -<p>"People will only think that you are disappointed and envious," he -said; "and since the world never, under any circumstances, turns its -back on a rising sun, you will merely put yourself in a foolish and -awkward position. The thing to do is, as I have said before, to make -the best of a bad matter. And for us it might be a great deal worse. -Of course we have missed the fortune, but I don't realty think we ever -had a chance of it; and we are not paupers, you know. Now, it will be -a graceful thing for you to take up this girl. She will appreciate it, -I think, and it will prevent any undesirable gossip about her or about -us."</p> - -<p>"All that may be very true, Tom," Mrs. Singleton replied. "But I do not -see how I <i>can</i> force myself to have anything more to do with her. I so -despise her duplicity!"</p> - -<p>"Duplicity is a thing to be despised," observed Mr. Singleton, quietly; -"but I am not sure that Miss Lynde has been guilty of it. Let us give -her the benefit of a doubt. If, as you believe, she schemed for this -result, she most certainly did not expect it. I never saw any one show -greater surprise than she did when she heard the news."</p> - -<p>"She is a consummate actress. She might have affected that."</p> - -<p>"Not even the most consummate actress could have affected what she -exhibited. Her surprise amounted to incredulity. But, whether you -believe this or not, believe that it will be best for you not to throw -her off. There is nothing to be gained by that, and there may be a good -deal to lose."</p> - -<p>This view of the matter, together with her husband's unusual -seriousness, impressed Mrs. Singleton so much that she finally -consented to form an alliance, for purposes of mutual convenience, -with Marion. The latter received her overtures with a certain sense -of gratitude. She knew that they were interested, but she also knew -that without Mrs. Singleton she would be placed in a very difficult -position—would, in fact, appear in the eyes of the world as an -adventuress who had secured a fortune at the expense of the rightful -heirs. The countenance of those heirs was, therefore, very essential to -her.</p> - -<p>But this hollow compact for mutual convenience—how different was -it from associations in which affection or sympathy forms the tie! -Marion had fancied herself made in a mould strong enough to disregard -such feelings, but she now found her mistake. Her heart ached for the -affections she had lost—for Brian's strong love, and Helen's gentle -tenderness. She had sacrificed both, and by sacrificing them won the -fortune for which she had longed; but already she began to realize that -she had lost in the exchange more than she had gained. Already the -shining gold which had dazzled her was transforming itself into the dry -and withered leaves of the fairy legend.</p> - -<p>Her plans were formed to leave Scarborough. The associations of the -place were hateful to her, and it was decided that she should go with -Mrs. Singleton to the home of the latter, and then form arrangements -for her mode of life. But, since she was still a minor, these -plans were subjected to her uncle's modifications, and his consent -was necessary for them. This caused a delay which detained her in -Scarborough for some time, and brought to her knowledge a fact which -was destined to influence her future.</p> - -<p>This was the fact that Rathborne in his threat of enmity had uttered -no idle words. A few days after the contents of the will had become -known, while public interest respecting it was at its height, he met -Tom Singleton and said a few significant words:—</p> - -<p>"So Miss Lynde has won the fortune from you all! That is rather hard, -isn't it?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton shrugged his shoulders. "Everyone knew that my uncle was -a man of caprices. His will was certain to be a surprise, in one way or -another; and for myself, I have no right to complain. He remembered me -handsomely."</p> - -<p>"And is there no intention of contesting the will on the part of the -heirs?"</p> - -<p>"I hardly think so. Brian Earle and myself are the people most nearly -concerned, and we do not think of it."</p> - -<p>"You are sure about Earle?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly sure," said Mr. Singleton. "Why should a man go into a -lawsuit to gain what he might have had for a word?"</p> - -<p>"There might be several reasons," returned Rathborne. "I can imagine -one of great strength. But if you do not think of contesting the will, -another heir may come forward to do it."</p> - -<p>"No other heir would have a chance. If the will were set aside, Earle -and myself would inherit."</p> - -<p>"Not if the man's son should chance to be living."</p> - -<p>Singleton opened his eyes. "But the son is dead," he replied.</p> - -<p>"Is he?" said Rathborne, dryly. "Who knows it?—who can prove it? But, -of course, I spoke only of a probability."</p> - -<p>He moved away then, while his companion looked after him with rather a -blank and puzzled expression. "Now, what on earth can be known about -it?" he thought. "And what does he mean? Of course there never has been -any proof of George's death, that I know of; and if he <i>should</i> be -living—Miss Lynde might look out for storms then. But nothing could -be more improbable. My uncle evidently did not think it a matter to be -even considered. <i>He</i> must have had some certainty about it."</p> - -<p>Nevertheless, he mentioned to his wife what Rathborne had said, and -she with malicious intent repeated it to Marion. "It is the first -suggestion that has been made about George," she observed. "But if he -should chance to be living, I am afraid you would lose everything."</p> - -<p>"How could that be," said the young girl, "when he is not mentioned in -the will?"</p> - -<p>"Because, of course, he would contest it on the ground that his father -believed him dead when he made it, and also that a man has no right to -disinherit his son in favor of a stranger. I hope it may never come to -such a contest, for many disagreeable things would be said about you."</p> - -<p>"It would certainly never come to it, as far as I am concerned," -replied Marion, haughtily. "For if Mr. George Singleton appeared, I -should yield his inheritance to him without any contest at all."</p> - -<p>"Would you indeed?" asked Mrs. Singleton. She looked at her for a -moment with her head on one side, as if contemplating the possibility -of what it might mean for herself. "I don't think there is the least -danger that he will appear," she said presently; "and I had really -rather you had it than he. I always detested George."</p> - -<p>"Thanks for the implied compliment," said Marion, smiling faintly.</p> - -<p>She said no more on the subject, but, naturally enough, she thought -much. It was a new and startling suggestion, and seemed to derive added -force from the fact that Rathborne had made it. For she had never lost -the sense of his hostile influence—of the realization that she had -made an enemy of one who had the strength as well as the will to be -dangerous. And now she felt sure that if George Singleton were on the -earth this man would find him. "That is what he intends to do," she -said to herself; "and this is his way of letting me know it—of making -me understand that I hold my fortune on an uncertain tenure. Well, let -him do his worst. If I lose the fortune, nothing will be left me at -all; and that, no doubt, is what I deserve."</p> - -<p>This was a new conclusion for Marion, and showed how far she had -already traveled on the road of self-knowledge. Even now she began to -ask herself what there was which the money she had so eagerly desired -could purchase for her of enduring interest? Now that everything -was within her reach, she felt that she hardly cared to stretch out -her hands to grasp any object of which she had dreamed. Admiration, -pleasure, power,—all seemed to her like the toys which a sick child -regards with eyes of indifference. Was it the weakening of her heart or -the rousing of her soul which made them seem of so small account? She -did not ask herself; she only felt that Brian Earle's influence had for -a time lifted her into a region where she had breathed a higher air, -and gained a knowledge of ideals which made her own now seem false, -petty and unsatisfying.</p> - -<p>Would these ideals have attracted Marion had they been presented by -another person? That is difficult to say. Her nature had in it much -essential nobleness—Earle had been right in thinking it more warped -than really wrong,—and it might have responded in some degree to any -influence of the kind. But surely it is not without grave reason that -we are bidden to keep the heart with all diligence, since "out of it -are the issues of life." It had been necessary that Marion's heart -should be roused out of its cold indifference to all affection, before -she could grasp the meaning of the higher things of life—those things -which have their root and their end in eternity.</p> - -<p>It was one evening about this time that she chanced to be driving -late through the streets of Scarborough, and saw the Catholic church -open and several persons entering. A sudden impulse made her bid the -coachman stop. She was alone, having just left Mrs. Singleton at the -house of a friend; and she felt that before leaving Scarborough -finally—as it was her intention to do in a few days—she would like -to enter once more the sanctuary where she had felt herself drawn very -near to God. Since then the world had rushed in and overwhelmed her, -and she had no longer any intention of embracing the true faith. But -an attraction which could not be resisted drew her just now within the -threshold of the door to which Earle had last led her.</p> - -<p>She descended from her carriage, to the astonishment of a few loiterers -around the church gate, and in the rich twilight walked up the path -which led to the door. Music came from within, and as she pushed it -open a vision of celestial yet familiar brightness burst on her. The -altar was a mass of lights and flowers, and in the midst rose the -ostensorium on its golden throne. The priest, with his attendants, -knelt motionless before it, while from the organ-loft came the strains -of the "<i>O Salutaris Hostia</i>." Marion had been at the convent too long -not to know all that it meant. She knelt at once, as a Catholic might -have done; and indeed in her mind at that moment there was no sense of -doubt. From the uplifted Presence on the altar faith seemed suddenly -infused into her soul. Not only did all thought of questioning leave -her, but all memory of ever having questioned. She knelt like a child, -simply, humbly, involuntarily; and, with the same confidence as those -around her, breathed a petition for the things of which she had begun -to feel herself in need—for light on a path which was by no means -clear, and for some better guide than her own erring will.</p> - -<p>After Benediction she was one of the first to leave the church, with -a sense of peace which astonished her. "Why do I feel differently now -from what I did when I entered?" she said to herself as she drove -home in the soft dusk. "What power has touched me, and given me the -first repose of spirit that I have known in a long time? It is surely -strange, and impossible not to believe."</p> - -<p>But there it ended. Not yet had come the time when she would feel the -necessity of taking some practical step toward making this all-powerful -help her own; not yet had the proud spirit bent itself to acknowledging -its own inability to order its life. The very reason which not long -before had drawn her toward the Church—the fact that Earle belonged -to it—now repelled as strongly as it had attracted. The hour had not -yet struck when such earthly considerations would fall away before the -urgent demand of the soul, the need of the weak and the human for the -strong and the eternal.</p> - -<p> -<span style="margin-left: 1em;">"The cedars must fall round us ere we see the light behind;"</span><br /> -</p> - -<p>and not all of Marion's cedars had fallen yet.</p> - -<p>The next day a surprise, which was yet not altogether a surprise, -awaited her. She was quietly sitting in the room which had been -Mr. Singleton's—that small, pretty apartment behind the large -drawing-room, which still seemed full of the suggestion of his -presence,—when she heard a visitor ushered into the adjoining room, -and a minute later a servant appeared bringing her a card. She took it -and read the name of Paul Rathborne.</p> - -<p>It was a shock rather than an astonishment. She said to herself that -she had looked for this: she had known that he would come as the -bearer of ill news, if ill news were to be brought to her. For a moment -she remained silent looking at the bit of pasteboard which said so -much. Should she refuse to see him, should she deny him the pleasure -of triumphing over her, and force him to send through another channel -whatever news he brought? She was strongly tempted to this, but pride -in the first place—the pride of not wishing to let him imagine that -he had any power to move her—rejected the idea; and in the second -place she felt that she must know at once whatever he had to tell. -If she refused to see him, he would be capable of making her suffer -suspense for an indefinite length of time. Steadying her voice to quiet -indifference, therefore, she said to the servant: "Show Mr. Rathborne -in here."</p> - -<p>A minute later the curtains between the two rooms were drawn back, -and Rathborne entered. She rose and bowed slightly, looking more -princess-like than ever in her beauty and stateliness, and in the midst -of the luxury which surrounded her. No detail of her appearance or -her manner was lost upon the man who had come with his heart full of -bitterness toward her. And if an additional touch to this bitterness -had been needed, her haughtiness, and her air of calmly possessing a -place where she belonged, would have given it. The recollection of some -words of his was fresh in the minds of both as they looked at each -other. "I promise you that in the hour when your schemes are nearest -success, you will find them defeated by me." These had been his last -words to her. Was he come now to tell her that they were fulfilled? -This was the thought in her mind, but there was no sign of it in her -manner or her glance. She stood, composedly waiting for him to explain -the object of his visit; and it was he who had to speak first.</p> - -<p>"I have ventured to ask the honor of this interview, Miss Lynde," he -said—and, under its outward respect, she keenly felt the mockery of -his tone,—"in order to make a communication of importance to you. It -is true, I might have made it to your lawyer, but I thought it best -that I should be myself the bearer of such news to you."</p> - -<p>"I fully appreciate your motives," she replied, in her clear, -flute-like tones. "Pray spare yourself and me any apologies, and let me -know what possible news of importance can have fallen to you to bring -me."</p> - -<p>As she understood the underlying mockery in his voice, so he heard and -felt the scorn of hers. Her clear, brilliant glance said to him: "I -know that you have come here because you hope to humble me, but I shall -only show you how despicable I consider you." It stung him as she had -always had the faculty of stinging him, and roused his determination to -make his tidings as bitter to her as possible.</p> - -<p>"The news which I bring you," he said, "is most important to your -interest, since it is the intelligence that I am directed to bring suit -at once to set aside Mr. Singleton's will made in your favor, in order -that the estate may devolve to the natural heir."</p> - -<p>"Indeed!" she said, quietly, with admirable self-control. "And may I -beg to know who is the natural heir who proposes to enter into this -contest?"</p> - -<p>"An heir against whose claim you will find it impossible to fight," -he answered, with a ring of triumph in his voice;—"one who has been -supposed to be dead, but who has been roused, by the news that his -inheritance has been alienated from him, to prove that he is living. In -other words, my client is Mr. Singleton's only son, George Singleton."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> does not always follow that a thing is not a shock because one has -in a manner expected it. Marion suffered a severe shock when she found -her worst anticipations realized; for, although she had in a degree -anticipated it, knowing that Rathborne was not likely to have spoken -without some ground when he alluded to such a possibility, there had -still been the contrary assurance that Mr. Singleton had evidently -believed in his son's death, since there was not even an allusion to -him in the will. The intelligence just conveyed was, therefore, a -hard blow mercilessly struck; but she preserved her self-possession, -notwithstanding, in a remarkable manner.</p> - -<p>"This is a very extraordinary piece of news," she said. "I have been -under the impression that Mr. George Singleton was dead."</p> - -<p>Rathborne smiled. "Most people have been under that impression, -especially those who had very good reason for desiring that it should -be so," he answered. "But, so far from being dead, he has been living -in South America, and prospering fairly."</p> - -<p>"Living in South America, and yet he has already heard of his father's -death and the disposition of his father's property!—how has that -happened?"</p> - -<p>Despite himself, Paul Rathborne colored slightly, but his glance -met hers fully as he answered, "It has not happened by chance. Some -time ago a friend of mine who had been in South America mentioned -meeting a man there who, from his description, I felt sure must be Mr. -Singleton's missing son. The matter was then no interest or concern -of mine; for it was to be supposed that the father and son knew their -own affairs best. So I paid no attention to it. But a short time ago -it began to occur to me that it was rather hard that, while the son -was still living, strangers should be fighting for his inheritance. -Therefore I wrote to my friend (who had returned to South America) to -let Singleton know the state of affairs here. The latter immediately -wrote to me, saying that he would return to his father as soon as -possible, and meanwhile asking me to inform Mr. Singleton of his (the -son's) existence and well-being. This letter reached me just at the -time of Mr. Singleton's death. I immediately communicated this fact to -Mr. George Singleton, as also the facts with regard to the estate; and -I have just heard from him, authorizing me to contest the will at once."</p> - -<p>There was a brief pause, during which Marion asked herself what was her -best course of action; and out of the confusion into which her mind was -thrown, she could grasp only one clear idea—that she must be careful -how she committed herself to this man, who had come with the desire to -injure and triumph over her. Consequently, when she spoke it was to -say, quite calmly:—</p> - -<p>"I think that you have made a mistake in coming to me with this story -instead of going to my lawyer. I understand very well <i>why</i> you have -come; but now that you have accomplished the end you had in view, I beg -to refer you to him. For, of course, in a matter so important as this I -shall not think of acting without advice."</p> - -<p>"I am acquainted with your prudence," he said, with the mockery of his -tone somewhat more pronounced; "and am not, therefore, surprised to -find you so cautious. But I think it only right to warn you that your -caution will avail very little. No will which ignores a son in favor of -an absolute stranger can possibly stand."</p> - -<p>"That is a point which I do not care to discuss with you," she replied. -"But you will allow me to inquire if Mr. Singleton is in this country -or on his way here?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet. He will come if it is necessary; but I am at present -authorized to act for him."</p> - -<p>"You seem to have inspired him with a remarkable degree of confidence, -considering that you are an entire stranger to him."</p> - -<p>It was merely a chance shot, but something in the expression of -Rathborne's face gave her an idea like a flash of lightning.</p> - -<p>"It is to be supposed," she went on before he could speak, "that you -are convinced of the identity of this stranger with Mr. Singleton's -son?"</p> - -<p>"Do you imagine that if I were not—"</p> - -<p>"I imagine nothing," she interposed; "and as a lawyer you can not need -a reminder from me that it will be necessary for this person whom you -represent, fully to prove his identity with the son whom Mr. Singleton -believed to be dead."</p> - -<p>It was perfectly true, and Rathborne knew it; but he was none the less -astonished that she should have so clearly and immediately perceived it.</p> - -<p>"I always knew that she was shrewd as the devil," he said to himself, -while he observed aloud:—</p> - -<p>"Do not flatter yourself with any hope that it is an impostor who is -about to claim the fortune you have inherited. Nothing can be more -certain than that it is Mr. Singleton himself. To attempt to deny his -identity will only be to make yourself ridiculous, and to damage your -cause more than the plain facts have damaged it already. Your lawyer, I -am sure, will advise you better."</p> - -<p>"Let me again refer you to that lawyer, if this is all you have to say -to me," she answered, rising from her seat.</p> - -<p>He rose also; and as they stood for a moment face to face, it proved -impossible for him to restrain some words which rose to his lips, -brought there in double bitterness by the sight of her proud, calm -countenance.</p> - -<p>"I shall go to your lawyer," he said, "and I shall not rest until my -client has all his rights—the rights of which he would not have heard -for many a day but for me. When he is in full possession of them, I -will ask you to be good enough to remember a pledge that I gave you -once, and which I shall then have fully redeemed. I always endeavor to -pay my debts; and, as you are well aware, I owe you a very heavy debt -at present. I hope to repay it very soon—with interest."</p> - -<p>"I am well aware that you are a malicious and a dishonorable man," she -replied, calmly. "Because your treachery with regard to Helen recoiled -on yourself, you have determined to injure me. Do your worst. Nothing -that you could do would make you more despicable in my eyes than you -are at present. This is all that need be said between us. Will you go -now, or shall I be forced to leave you?"</p> - -<p>"I shall go at once," he answered; "but you will permit me to offer you -a little parting advice. Enjoy as much as possible the fortune which -you hold now, for your possession of it will be very short."</p> - -<p>With this last sting he went out from her presence; and she, -sinking into Mr. Singleton's deep chair, clasped her hands over her -painfully-beating heart, and looked with troubled eyes over the soft -landscape before her, of which she hardly perceived a feature.</p> - -<p>And so she was, after all, to lose the fortune for which she had -sacrificed everything else! It had by no means brought her the -satisfaction or happiness she had imagined, but it was all that -remained to her—the one good which she still grasped out of the wreck -she had already made of her life, and her life's best hopes. To lose -it now, to sink back again into poverty and dependence after one brief -taste of power and independence, that would be a bitter retribution -for the choice she had made when she sent Brian Earle away,—a bitter -retribution for the selfish vanity which had made Rathborne her enemy. -She shuddered a little at the recollection of that enmity. Bravely -as she had borne herself before him, it was a dismaying thought that -such a power and such a will to injure menaced her. She thought of -her proud self-confidence when from the quiet convent she had stepped -into the world: her belief in her own ability to mould life, events, -and people to her wishes. And now with what absolute failure she was -threatened!—with what complete and hopeless loss of all that she -desired!</p> - -<p>The next day her lawyer came with a grave face, and greeted her with an -air which was not lost upon her. "He thinks that it is all over with -me!" she said to herself; but, though her heart sank a little lower at -this proof of the weakness of her cause, she smiled on him brightly and -bravely enough.</p> - -<p>"I suppose," she began, "that you have seen Mr. Rathborne, who was -so kind as to pay me a visit yesterday in order to give me some -interesting intelligence?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, I have seen Mr. Rathborne," he answered; "and the news he brought -me was very unexpected and very serious."</p> - -<p>"What do you think of it?" she asked.</p> - -<p>The lawyer looked at her with surprise. The coolness of her tone and -the composure of her manner seemed to indicate that she by no means -appreciated the gravity of the danger which threatened her.</p> - -<p>"I think," he replied, "that such a contest will be ruinous to you. No -court will be likely to sustain a will which entirely disinherits a -man's own son. Candidly, my advice to you is to compromise at once."</p> - -<p>Marion did not say, "Advice should be asked before it is offered," but -her curling lip said so for her, and so did the manner in which she -ignored his suggestion.</p> - -<p>"Before taking up a contest over the will," she said, "would it not be -well to be quite sure that the person who proposes to contest it is -indeed Mr. Singleton's son?"</p> - -<p>Again the lawyer stared at her. Was it possible that he had not thought -of this?</p> - -<p>"Of course," he replied, "that is most essential; but it is very easily -done. Mr. George Singleton has but to show himself. There are numbers -of people who will recognize him."</p> - -<p>"Why does he not show himself, then? Why is he content with merely -writing to Mr. Rathborne instead of coming to look after his -inheritance himself?"</p> - -<p>"Because it is all that is essential at present—to give us warning and -take the necessary legal steps. He will, of course, appear later."</p> - -<p>"Let us demand that he appear at once," she said, with a decision of -tone and manner which more than astonished the lawyer. "I, for one, -distrust Mr. Rathborne utterly, and refuse most positively to transact -any business with him. If you can get the address of this reputed Mr. -Singleton, I beg that you will write to him, and say that we decline -to recognize his claim in any manner whatever until he shows himself -and establishes his identity. Then there will be time enough to talk of -contest or compromise. Am I not right in this?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly right," responded the stupefied man of business. Never (as -he afterward affirmed) had he been so surprised as by these energetic -instructions. He had come himself prepared to instruct; to find perhaps -unreasoning opposition, or hysterical complaining, which it would be -necessary to quiet and bring to some practical view of the case. But to -be met instead with this cool self-possession, these clear ideas and -precise directions, was little less than a shock to him. His own ideas -seemed to desert him as he sat and stared at the beautiful, resolved -face which confronted him.</p> - -<p>"Certainly you are right," he said again, after a moment. "The identity -of the claimant is the first thing to be established; but—I confess -that I am a little surprised by your thinking of this point. Why should -it occur to you to doubt whether the person claiming to be Mr. George -Singleton is really himself?"</p> - -<p>"Because," she answered, "in the first place I am sure (and you, no -doubt, are sure also) that his father believed him dead, else certainly -he would not have omitted his name entirely from his will. And he must -have had some reason for this belief. Again, as I have already told -you, I distrust Mr. Rathborne entirety. He would be perfectly capable -of bringing forth a false claimant."</p> - -<p>"My dear young lady, that is a very serious, a very shocking charge. -Mr. Rathborne is a—well, a sharp practitioner, perhaps; but I have no -reason to suspect that he would be guilty of a criminal act. Indeed I -have every reason to believe that he would <i>not</i>."</p> - -<p>"Your knowledge of Mr. Rathborne differs from mine, then," said Marion, -coldly. "I am certain that he would be guilty of any act which would -serve his purposes. And he has a motive for this which renders distrust -necessary. Therefore, I insist upon the appearance of Mr. Singleton and -the establishment of his identity before I will take any step whatever -toward noticing his claim."</p> - -<p>"It is only a measure of precaution," said the lawyer, "and very well -thought of. You have an uncommonly clear head for business for a young -lady. I will, then, write at once to George Singleton; but I do not -advise you to build any hope on the probability of his proving a false -claimant. This conduct is altogether characteristic of him; and I, for -one, had always a suspicion that he was not dead."</p> - -<p>"His father, however, must have had reason for believing him so."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps—and perhaps not. Mr. Singleton was a man of the strongest -passions, and his son had outraged him in every particular. When, after -a long course of disregarding and defying his father's wishes, the -young man left home with the avowed intention of never returning, I -know that Mr. Singleton declared that he should be as one dead to him. -He only kept his word when he made his will."</p> - -<p>"But do you not think that in such a case as that he would have -mentioned him, if only to declare that he disinherited him for good -cause?"</p> - -<p>"It was not necessary, and he might not have desired to do so. He was a -singular man and a very reticent one. Even I, who knew him so long and -so well, have no idea whether he had any knowledge of his son's fate or -not. And this fact makes me believe that it is more than likely that -George Singleton is alive and ready to claim his inheritance."</p> - -<p>"Let him come and do it, then," said Marion. "That is all."</p> - -<p>And in this decision she was sustained by those who as well as herself -were interested in upholding the will. Mr. Tom Singleton shook his -head, and agreed with the lawyer that such a course of conduct was -very characteristic of George Singleton; but he also declared that it -would be folly to run any risk of playing into the hands of a false -claimant. "And when a man has disappeared for ten or fifteen years from -the sight and knowledge of everyone who knew him, there is reason to -fear that, with a fortune at stake, he might be personated by some -one else," he said. "Such things have happened time and again. You -are quite right to insist that he shall show himself. If he is George -Singleton I shall know him in half a minute, and then we can decide -what to do."</p> - -<p>"It will prove to be George Singleton, I am sure," said his wife. "He -was always a malicious wretch, don't you know? And this is just like -him. But the puzzle to me is, how did he find out how things were in so -short a time?"</p> - -<p>"He had a self-constituted informant here," said Marion. "Mr. Rathborne -took pains to discover his whereabouts, and to let him know the news of -his father's death and the contents of his father's will, as soon as -possible."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Rathborne—oh, I understand!" said the lady. "Dear me, how many -malicious people there are in the world! And this is how he revenges -himself for your little flirtation with him, and for the loss of your -cousin's fortune! Well, my dear, I must say that you are likely to pay -heavily for what could not have been a <i>very</i> great amusement."</p> - -<p>Hot tears of mortification suddenly gathered in Marion's eyes. Surely -this was humiliation, to see her conduct as it looked in the eyes -of this shallow woman, and to be pitied (conscious that in the pity -there was a strain of exultation) for the downfall that awaited her -from Rathborne's revenge. If Helen knew, she might hold herself well -avenged; but, then, in Helen's gentle soul there was no room for any -revengeful sentiment.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was soon apparent that no one except Marion herself had any doubt -but that George Singleton was alive, and that it was himself and no -impostor, who was claiming his inheritance. "The whole thing is so -exactly like him!" said Mrs. Singleton. "If it were not malicious, it -would not be characteristic of George. He wants to give as much trouble -and disappoint as many people as possible."</p> - -<p>"He must possess an amiable and attractive character," said Marion, -faintly smiling. But as she smiled she said to herself that it was very -evident the arrangement she had entered into with Mrs. Singleton could -not stand. If the latter believed that it was only a question of time -till Mr. Singleton's son should appear, what further need was there for -her to conciliate and endure the girl who would soon have no power to -return her good offices? Instinctively Marion knew that she was asking -herself this question, and that it was best it should be answered at -once.</p> - -<p>"I have been thinking," she observed, aloud, "that since there seems so -much doubt about the result of this matter, it will not be well for me -to make any change in my life at present. Our arrangements had better -be deferred indefinitely; and meanwhile I will stay here until Mr. -Singleton arrives."</p> - -<p>Although Mrs. Singleton possessed considerable power of self-control, -she could not prevent her face from showing the relief she felt at -these words.</p> - -<p>"I suppose it will really be best," she said. "It would be very awkward -for us, as well as for you, if we took up your cause, and, as it were, -identified ourselves with it, and then—"</p> - -<p>"And then I relapsed back into my original insignificance," said -Marion. "Yes, I perceive. And, believe me, I have no desire to sail for -a time under false colors, or receive any attention which would be paid -only to Mr. Singleton's heiress. Moreover, if the business ends as you -evidently expect, I should have no power to return the obligation under -which you would have placed me. We will, therefore, say no more about -our plans, and I will quietly remain here."</p> - -<p>"But you can not remain alone, and I <i>must</i> get back home—"</p> - -<p>"Do not let me detain you a day," said Marion, haughtily. "I am not -rich in friends, but I can find some one to stay with me, so long as I -need a companion; and it is only a question of money."</p> - -<p>"Oh! yes, mere companions can be found in sufficient number—people -who will be delighted to come. But you ought to have some social -protection, some proper chaperon—"</p> - -<p>"If all were settled as we thought, that would be necessary," Marion -interposed; "but since I may, very likely, soon be deprived of the -consequence that Mr. Singleton's money gives me, and since social -protection and proper chaperonage are altogether superfluous for a girl -without fortune, I need not trouble myself about them in this short -interval of waiting."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Singleton said no more, but she confided to her husband her -opinion that Marion had given up all hope of being able to retain the -fortune. "And it has made her dreadfully bitter," she added. "You know -she always had a very cynical way of talking for such a young girl, but -now that is more pronounced than ever. Disappointment is going very -hard with her. I am almost sorry for her, although, of course, she has -no right to the money at all."</p> - -<p>"She has the right that its owner chose to give it to her," said -philosophical Mr. Singleton.</p> - -<p>But, although Marion put a bold front on the matter to Mrs. Singleton, -her heart really sank at the desolateness of her position. So long as -the fortune was still hers, she could buy a companion, as she could -buy anything else; but she saw in the eyes of everyone around her the -settled conviction that the fortune would be no longer hers. And then?</p> - -<p>Meantime, however, it was necessary to make some arrangement, since -Mrs. Singleton was eager to be gone; and, turning over in her mind -the list of her few acquaintances in Scarborough—for friends she had -none,—Marion was asking herself rather blankly to which one she could -appeal for advice and assistance in her dilemma, when a servant entered -with the announcement that a lady desired to see her.</p> - -<p>"A lady!" she repeated. "Who is she? Did she give no name or card?"</p> - -<p>The servant replied that the lady had given neither, but that, in his -opinion, she was a genuine visitor—not an agent for patent soap or -anything else of the kind.</p> - -<p>"I suppose I had better see her," said Marion, reluctantly; "but she -can not be a person of any importance, or she would have sent her name."</p> - -<p>She went down stairs, slowly, indifferently, with a sense of mental -lassitude altogether new to her, entered the drawing-room, and found -herself face to face with Helen. She uttered a cry as the sweet, -affectionate face she knew so well turned toward her, and the next -moment they were in each other's arms.</p> - -<p>"O Marion! I am so glad that you are glad to see me!" were Helen's -first words. "I was afraid that you might not be."</p> - -<p>"Afraid that I might not be glad to see <i>you</i>!" said Marion. "How could -that be?—what reason could I have? But, O Helen, dear Helen! how good -it is of you to be glad to see <i>me</i>!"</p> - -<p>"I know no reason why I should not be," replied Helen. "But I feared -that there might be some disagreeable recollection—something to -make you shrink from seeing me; so I thought I would spare you the -shrinking—I would let you have the shock at once. But it is no shock, -after all. The moment I saw your eyes, I knew you were glad."</p> - -<p>"Oh! my dear, how kind you are!" cried Marion. "Glad! What should I be -made of if I were not glad to see you—the most generous heart in all -the world! But when did you come back to Scarborough?"</p> - -<p>"Last night; and I would not write or let you know, because I wanted to -see you myself, without any warning. And so, Marion, your great desire -is accomplished—you have become rich since I went away!"</p> - -<p>"And am on the point of becoming poor again," said Marion, with a -smile. "Have you not heard that?"</p> - -<p>"No: I have heard nothing—but how can that be?—how can you become -poor again, unless you lose Mr. Singleton's fortune?"</p> - -<p>"That is just what is going to occur—at least everyone thinks so. It -is said that Mr. Singleton's son is alive, and that if he chooses to -contest the will, it can not stand."</p> - -<p>"O Marion! how sorry I am!"—the eloquent eyes said so indeed.—"To -think that you should have obtained what you wanted so much, only to -lose it at once! That is worse than if you had never possessed it."</p> - -<p>"And do you see no retribution in it, Helen?" asked Marion, very -gravely. "Did not you, too, want something very much—the happiness -that had been promised you all your life,—and did you not lose it -through my fault? Believe me, I have thought of this; and, thinking of -it, I can make no complaint."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry," said Helen, while a shade fell over her face, "that you -should speak again of <i>that</i>. I do not look at it quite as you do. -Happiness ought not to be our end in life.—I am not very wise, but I -know that, because I have faith to tell me so. No doubt I thought of it -too much; but even when I felt most about losing it, I was sure that -God must know best, and I did not really desire anything which was not -according to His will. How could one be so foolish as to do that? For -it certainly would not be happiness if it did not have God's blessing -on it."</p> - -<p>"O Helen! Helen!" exclaimed Marion. It was a cry of mingled wonder and -self-scorn. Somehow the simple words touched her more than the most -eloquent appeal of any preacher could have done. For it was Helen who -spoke,—Helen, who had just learned her wisdom in the hard school of -practical experience, and who spoke thus to the person against whom -her heart might have been most bitter. "My dear," she went on after -a minute, "you are so good that you make me ashamed. I have learned -lately—yes, even I—what you lost, and how much you must have suffered -in the loss. It was through my own fault and by my own choice that I -lost my happiness; but you were blameless as an angel, and yet you talk -like an angel about it—"</p> - -<p>"No, no," said Helen, quickly; "only like the most ordinary Catholic. -And that not without a struggle, Marion. Don't fancy me better than I -am."</p> - -<p>"I don't fancy: I know you to be like something angelic compared to -me," returned Marion, with a sigh. "Do you think that I ever asked -myself anything about the will of God? I never even thought of Him in -connection with my desires."</p> - -<p>"O Marion!"</p> - -<p>"It is true. Don't expect me to say anything else; for, with all my -faults, I was never a hypocrite, you know. I thought nothing of Him, -I asked nothing of Him, and now I have nothing to fall back upon. My -happiness, like yours, is gone—with the difference that <i>I</i> was not -worthy of it, whereas you were saved from a man who was not worthy -of <i>you</i>. And now the money for which I was ready to do anything and -sacrifice anything is in jeopardy, and no doubt will soon be gone."</p> - -<p>"Has it brought you satisfaction since you have had it, Marion?"</p> - -<p>"Do not ask me!" she said, sharply. "What is there in the world that -does bring satisfaction? But when I give it up, I shall have nothing, -absolutely nothing, left."</p> - -<p>"You will have God's providence," answered Helen, gently. "Trust -a little to that; and tell me something—all if you will—about -yourself,—about what has happened since we parted, and what your plans -for the future are."</p> - -<p>In past time, though Marion had always loved Helen, she had rather -despised her as a counselor; but now she felt it a relief beyond the -power of words to express, to open her heart, to tell her difficulties, -even to ask advice from one of whose affection and interest she was so -secure. For had she not lately learned how weary life can be when it -holds not a single friend, not one heart on which it is possible to -rely for disinterested aid or counsel? She told the story of her brief -engagement to Brian Earle, and did not resent the condemnation which -she read in Helen's eyes. Then a harder task was before her—to speak -of Rathborne's part in the appearance of George Singleton. She touched -on this as lightly as possible, but Helen quickly seized the fact.</p> - -<p>"And so it was Paul who found him!" she said. "I am sorry for -that,—sorry, I mean, that he should have taken such a part in what did -not concern him, from the motive which I fear actuated him."</p> - -<p>"He took pains to leave me in no doubt whatever about his motive," -observed Marion. "I have seen him only once, and then I bade him do his -worst—produce his client without loss of time. When he is produced, -if he is properly identified, my dream of riches will be over; for I -shall give up the estate without a contest. But I will not give it -up until I am certain that I shall not be resigning it to a false -claimant."</p> - -<p>"You do not think that Paul Rathborne would be guilty of fraud?" said -Helen quickly, in a pained tone; for the loyal heart was slow to resign -any one for whom it had ever cherished an affection or a trust.</p> - -<p>"You forget," said Marion, waiving the question whether or not she -believed Rathborne capable of fraud, "that this man is in South -America, and no one here has seen him. Mr. Rathborne has only -communicated with him by letters. Now, what would be easier than for -some unscrupulous man to write in George Singleton's name, if the -latter were dead? Such things are of common occurrence. But it would be -difficult to personate him so as to deceive the many people who have -known him; and that is why I will take no step, nor even consider the -matter, until <i>he has been produced</i>."</p> - -<p>"I suppose that is best," answered Helen. "And meanwhile what are you -going to do?"</p> - -<p>"I am going to stay here, with what patience I may. How I am to live -alone, I do not exactly see—for Mrs. Singleton is going away; but now -that I have you again, I have taken heart. You will recommend some one -to stay with me."</p> - -<p>"I will do better than that: I will take you home with me."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" said Marion, shrinking a little; "that can not be. It is -like you, dear Helen, to propose it; but I do not think my aunt would -like—stop! I know she would be kind, and try not to show what she -felt; but I should be aware of it—aware that she has no respect for me -in her heart, and I should be more ill at ease there than here. This -is my home for the present; it may not be so long, and I may never -have another. So let me keep it while I may. Find me some good, quiet -woman—you know everyone in Scarborough—to stay with me; and come -yourself whenever you can, and I shall be content."</p> - -<p>"There will be no difficulty in finding such a person as you want," -said Helen. "But I think my plan is best."</p> - -<p>Marion shook her head. "No," she insisted. "I abused your hospitality -once. I can never forget that; and I do not think that, kind and good -as she is, my aunt will ever forget it; so do not let us talk of my -going to you. Some day, perhaps, if I have no other refuge in the -world, I may come and ask you for a shelter, but not now."</p> - -<p>She was immovable in this, even when Mrs. Dalton seconded Helen's -invitation; and so they did what she asked—found a pleasant, quiet, -elderly lady to stay with her; and let her have her own way.</p> - -<p>It was a strange time, the period of waiting which followed—a kind of -interlude, a breathing space, as it were, between the rush of events -which had reached this conclusion, and other events which were to -follow and change life yet again, in what degree no one could say. It -seemed to Marion that she could hardly be said to live during these -weeks. She merely existed—in a state partly of expectation, partly -of that lassitude which follows a high degree of mental as well as -physical tension. She had passed rapidly through many experiences, many -intense emotions; and now, menaced by others of which she could not see -the end, she suddenly sank down to rest, like a soldier on the field of -battle.</p> - -<p>She had but two sources of pleasure during this time: one was Helen's -companionship, which she had never before valued or appreciated; the -other, the services of the Catholic church. The plain little chapel, -which had at first repelled her, began to seem to her like a true home -of the soul; religious influences sank more and more deeply into her -heart; and dimly, as new ideas shape and present themselves, there -began to dawn on her the meaning of Helen's simple words. "It certainly -would not be happiness if it did not have God's blessing on it," Helen -had said. Was it because no blessing of God had been on <i>her</i> happiness -that, in every form, it had so quickly eluded her grasp? She asked -herself this question, and when a soul has once asked it the answer is -not long in coming. But whether or not it will be heeded when it comes, -is too often a matter of doubt. Impressions pass quickly, the sway of -the world is hard to break, and who can tell how far the poor soul may -be swept into storm and darkness before it is brought safe into port at -last?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXIV.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">The</span> period of waiting ended very abruptly one day. It was by this time -soft, Indian-summer weather; and Marion was seated in the garden with -Helen one afternoon, mellow sunshine and brilliant masses of flowers -all around them, when a servant appeared with the intelligence that Mr. -Singleton was in the house and wished to see her.</p> - -<p>"Mr. Singleton!" she repeated, a little startled. "What Mr. Singleton?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Tom, ma'am," repeated the servant, who had been accustomed to -distinguish him in this manner during the life of the elder Mr. -Singleton.</p> - -<p>"Oh!" she said. And then she turned to Helen with a faint smile. "I -don't know whether I am relieved or disappointed," she observed. "I -thought it was the other."</p> - -<p>"But the other would hardly be likely to come without warning—and -alone," returned Helen.</p> - -<p>"That is very true. But I wonder what this Mr. Singleton can want—if -he has any news?"</p> - -<p>"You can only find out by going to see," said Helen.</p> - -<p>"Yes," assented Marion. She rose as she spoke, and made a few steps -toward the house, then paused and looked back like one who is taking a -farewell. "The crisis must be at hand," she said. "I feel as if I were -on the verge of a great change. When I see you again, Helen, I may be -dispossessed of all my riches."</p> - -<p>"Don't talk nonsense!" said Helen, in a matter-of-fact way. "How can -you be dispossessed in so short a time?"</p> - -<p>The other laughed. "'If 'twere done when 'tis done, then 'twere well it -were done quickly,'" she said, and so went on toward the house.</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton, who was awaiting her in the drawing-room, came forward -and shook hands very cordially. They had always been good friends, -and he had a very kind feeling toward the beautiful and comparatively -friendless girl. This kindness had now an emphasis, which she -perceived, together with something of compassion. She looked at him and -smiled.</p> - -<p>"Has the true heir appeared?" she asked; "and have you come to warn me -to prepare for abdication?"</p> - -<p>"How shrewd you are!" he said. But, in truth, he was much relieved -that she was shrewd enough to divine the object of his visit,—a visit -which it had required a considerable effort on his part to undertake. -"The true heir—if you consider him so—<i>has</i> appeared; but there is no -question of abdication for you. He will be very glad if you consent to -compromise, and so save him a contest over the will."</p> - -<p>She sat down in a chair conveniently near, looking a little pale. -Notwithstanding her question, she had not really anticipated such -positive assurance at once; and recognizing this, Mr. Singleton -regretted having been so abrupt.</p> - -<p>"I thought you expected it," he said; "but I see that you were not -quite prepared. I am sorry—"</p> - -<p>She put up her hand with a gesture which stopped his words. "There is -nothing for which to be sorry," she said. "Of course I expected it, -but perhaps not so immediately or so positively. But I don't mean to -be foolish: I intend to be quite cool and business-like. Mr. George -Singleton has arrived, then. Have <i>you</i> recognized him?"</p> - -<p>"Perfectly. He has changed very little, considering all things, and -there can be no question of his identity."</p> - -<p>"Are the other members of the family, and friends of the family, as -positive as yourself?"</p> - -<p>"Yes: no one has a doubt but that it is George. In fact, no one could -have a doubt who had ever known him. He was twenty years old when he -went away, and of a very marked personal appearance. The change of -sixteen years is by no means so great as might be imagined. Appearance, -manner, habits—all prove that he is George himself. Indeed I must be -quite frank and tell you that there is not even a peg on which to hang -a doubt of his identity."</p> - -<p>She looked at him for a moment in silence, her brow drawn together -by the earnestness with which she seemed trying to read his face. At -length she said, slowly: "I must trust your opinion; I have no one else -to trust. And I do not think you would deceive me."</p> - -<p>"I certainly would not," he answered, gravely. "Why should I? Putting -honor aside, I have nothing to gain by espousing George Singleton's -cause. As a matter of fact, I do not espouse it at all. I merely come -to you as a friend, and tell you that he is certainly the man he -claims to be. And, under these circumstances, I think your best plan -will be to compromise with him as speedily as possible."</p> - -<p>"Of that there is no question in my mind," she said, with her old air -of pride. "If I could, I would not retain the fortune of a man whose -son is living. Tell Mr. George Singleton that I will turn over his -father's estate to him as soon as may be."</p> - -<p>"But that," said Mr. Singleton, with energy, "can not be allowed. As -one of the executors of the will, I should protest against it. Whether -my uncle believed in the death of his son or not, we can not know, -neither can we know how he would have acted if he had certainly been -aware of his existence. All that we have to deal with is the simple -fact that he left his fortune to you without even mentioning his son's -name; and this being so, it is not demanded of you—it is neither just -nor right—that you should turn it all over to him."</p> - -<p>"But he is the natural and rightful heir to it, and no one shall ever -say of me that I grasped or held what rightfully belonged to another."</p> - -<p>"My dear young lady, you said a moment ago that you intended to be -quite cool and business-like in discussing this matter. Allow me, -then, to put it before you in its business-like aspect. You are at the -present time the lawful possessor of my uncle's fortune by his direct -bequest, and unless the courts set aside his will you must remain so. -The issue of an attempt to set aside the will is, of course, uncertain; -and the contest would be long, troublesome and costly to all concerned. -Recognizing these facts, George Singleton says that he is willing to -agree on a liberal basis of compromise. And, since my uncle certainly -wished you to have <i>all</i> his fortune why should you refuse to retain a -part of it?"</p> - -<p>"I have already told you, because in justice it belongs to his son; and -why should I keep a part any more than the whole of what is not justly -mine?"</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton had an air of saying to himself, "Heaven grant me -patience!" but, possessing a good deal of that quality, he said aloud: -"How in the name of common-sense can that be held to belong to George -Singleton which has been given to you? Honestly, if you divide with him -it is as much as you can be expected to do."</p> - -<p>"It is something I should despise myself for doing," she said, with a -sudden flush of color in her face. "You are very kind, Mr. Singleton, -and I really believe that you are considering my interest in this -matter. But you forget the position I occupy—that of an interloper who -has come in to take a fortune away from its natural heirs, and who, -no doubt, is held to have schemed to that end. <i>You</i> know better than -that, I am sure; but the world does not know better, and Mr. George -Singleton does not know better. Now, I shall be glad to prove that, -although I value wealth and desire wealth—why should I deny it?—I -would not acquire it at the cost of my self-respect. Since you say Mr. -Singleton's son is certainly living, I do not feel that I have any -right to keep his fortune any longer than I can put it out of my hands. -Pray be good enough to tell him so."</p> - -<p>"My dear Miss Lynde, I can not agree to tell him anything of the kind. -You must positively take time for consideration and advice."</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "I do not need time, and I shall certainly not seek -advice. I have already made up my mind what to do. Can you imagine -that I have not considered this in the weeks that I have been waiting? -If you decline to give my message to Mr. Singleton, I shall have to -communicate with him directly myself."</p> - -<p>"It would be best that you should communicate with him directly, if you -could by that means be brought to look at the matter in a reasonable -light, and see that there is no possible cause why it should not be -arranged on the basis of a liberal compromise. Half a million is surely -enough to divide."</p> - -<p>She put out her hands, as if to push the proposal from her. "I will not -hear of it," she said. "I will not seem to grasp money which is not -mine. Do not argue the point further, Mr. Singleton. I appreciate your -kindness, but I can not yield."</p> - -<p>"Well," he said reluctantly, "I am sorry for it. Believe me you are -making a great mistake, and one which, in the nature of things, you -must regret as time goes on. We are not young and impulsive forever, -and some day you will say, 'I had a right to my share of that fortune, -and I was wrong to give it up.'"</p> - -<p>"It may be," she answered; "but I can not keep it now—I can not! Where -is Mr. George Singleton?—where can I address him, if you will not take -my message to him? It is impossible for me to address him through his -lawyer."</p> - -<p>"He will have no use for a lawyer if you persevere in your intention," -said Mr. Singleton, shrugging his shoulders. "As for his address, he -is here in Scarborough, and quite ready to wait upon you at your -convenience, if you will receive him."</p> - -<p>She started. This was coming a little closer than she anticipated. And -yet, she asked herself, why not? "'Twere well it were done quickly," -and it seemed likely now to be done quickly enough. After a moment -she said, steadily: "There is no reason why I should not receive him -whenever he likes to come, since you assure me that he is really the -man he claims to be."</p> - -<p>"Of that there can be no doubt."</p> - -<p>"Then let him come—the sooner the better. But do not let him bring Mr. -Rathborne with him. That person I cannot receive."</p> - -<p>"I will come with him myself," said Mr. Singleton. "I should not have -thought of doing otherwise."</p> - -<p>She held out her hand to him with a grateful gesture. "You are very -good to me—very kind," she said. "I shall never forget it."</p> - -<p>"I wish you would let me be of some use to you, by taking my advice," -he answered.</p> - -<p>But when he went away it was with the reflection that women are surely -obstinate creatures; and, however charming they may be, they are, as -a rule, quite devoid of reason. Marion had proved immovable in her -resolution, as also in her determination not to take advice on it. -Once fully assured that the man purporting to be Mr. Singleton's son -was really so, her mind was made up what to do. She went back into the -garden like one moving in a dream, and told Helen the news.</p> - -<p>"The fairy tale is over," she said; "my fairy fortune is about to slip -away from me. Am I sorry? I think I am more apathetic just now than -either glad or sorry. It has not brought me one day of happiness, but -I know the world well enough to be aware that it is better to be rich -and unhappy than poor and unhappy. Poverty aggravates every other evil; -and yet I am not grieved to have the opportunity to prove that I am not -so mercenary as—some people doubtless believe me. Brian Earle will not -think that I have schemed for his inheritance when he learns that I -have voluntarily given it up to his cousin."</p> - -<p>Helen looked up with a keenness of perception which was rather -unusual in her soft eyes. "I think," she said, "that <i>that</i> is the -consideration which moves you chiefly. But is it altogether a right -consideration? Mr. Earle does not injure you by believing what is -untrue of you, but you will injure yourself by giving up everything, -and surely you are not bound to do so. If Mr. Singleton had not desired -you to have part at least of his fortune, he would never have left you -all of it."</p> - -<p>"One would think you had heard the arguments of the gentleman who has -just gone away," said Marion, smiling. "Dear Helen, don't make me go -over it all again. I fear that it is more pride than conscience which -makes me feel that I must resign the fortune. But I can never recover -my own self-respect until I have done so. And my own self-respect is -not another name for the respect of Brian Earle. If I were conscious -of being right I might not care that he thought ill of me; but my own -judgment echoes his. I have been willing to barter everything of value -in life for money, and now it is right enough that the money should -be taken from me. I feel as if by giving it up altogether I might -recover, not what I have lost—I do not dream of that,—but the right -to hope for some form of happiness again."</p> - -<p>Helen gravely shook her head. "You talk like a pagan," she said. "All -this sounds like propitiating gods, and sacrificing to fate, and things -of that kind. The fact is, you are trusting entirely to your own -judgment in the matter, and that is strange; for there seems to me a -point of conscience involved. Either you have a right to a part of this -fortune, or you have not. If you have, why should you give it away to -a man who does not ask it and does not need it? While if you have not -a right, there would be no more to be said about it; you would have -the consciousness of some firm ground under your feet, and no reason -hereafter for regret."</p> - -<p>"Helen, you astonish me!" said Marion, who certainly looked astonished -at this unexpected view of the case. "How on earth did you contrive to -get at the kernel of the thing in that manner?"</p> - -<p>"Why, there is nothing surprising in that," remarked Helen. "It is the -way any Catholic would look at it. Things like that never trouble us. -There is always a plain right or a plain wrong."</p> - -<p>"And where do you find the law or rule by means of which to tell what -is right and what is wrong?"</p> - -<p>"There is no difficulty in that," was the reply. "We have certain -very clear rules given us, and if there is any difficulty in their -application we know where to go to have the difficulty solved."</p> - -<p>"To a priest, I suppose?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, to a priest. You can not think that strange if you remember that -the priest is trained in the most special and careful manner, as -well as enlightened by God, in order to enable him to deal with such -difficulties."</p> - -<p>There was silence for a minute or two, while Marion, leaning back in -her chair, looked up at the deep-blue sky, and some golden boughs that -crossed it. Presently she said, in a meditative tone:—</p> - -<p>"There do not seem to be any difficulties to speak of in this case, -but I should not mind putting it before some one altogether outside of -it, and without any interest in it. Still, I could not go to a priest, -because I am no Catholic."</p> - -<p>"You are more of a Catholic than anything else," said Helen. "You know -that. And I think if you went to Father Byrne, and put the abstract -question to him, he would tell you what is right."</p> - -<p>"You forget that I have no right to go to him. It would be presumption -on my part. Why should I, who do not belong to his people, trouble him -with my personal affairs?"</p> - -<p>Helen smiled. "You don't know Father Byrne," she answered. "He is -always glad to serve any one. I know that, even as a friend, he would -gladly advise you. I will ask him, if you consent."</p> - -<p>"Ask him what?"</p> - -<p>"To see you and tell you what he thinks."</p> - -<p>"Helen, you should not tempt me to make myself a nuisance. Besides, -Father Byrne does not like me, and that renders me more reluctant to -trouble him."</p> - -<p>"What has put such an absurd idea into your head? Why should he not -like you?"</p> - -<p>"Why? Ah! who can answer such questions? But realty in this case there -is an easy answer. He thinks me an objectionable sort of girl; I used -to see it in his face when we met at your mother's house. He would look -at me sometimes with a mild but quite decided disapproval when I had -been saying something particularly frivolous or satirical; and I did -not blame him in the least. How could he approve of me? <i>You</i> are the -type of girl that he approves, and he is quite right."</p> - -<p>"Marion, I wish you would not say such things."</p> - -<p>"But they are true things. And, then, of course he knows the story of -how your engagement ended, and very likely thinks me worse than I am -in regard to that. Then I am worldly to the tips of my fingers; I have -inherited a fortune to which I have no right, and—well, there is no -good in going on. These are quite sufficient reasons why Father Byrne -does not like me, and why I should not trouble him."</p> - -<p>"All this is absolute nonsense; and I will prove that it is, if you do -not positively object. I will go to him and ask him to see you, and you -will find how quickly he will say yes."</p> - -<p>Marion laughed a little—a laugh without any merriment, only a kind -of sad self-scorn. "Upon my word," she said, "I am in so weak a frame -of mind that a straw might influence me; and this being so, it is a -comfort to trust to you, who will never lead any one wrong. Go to -Father Byrne, if you will; but don't be surprised if he declines to -have anything to do with me."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXV.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was without the least fear of Father Byrne's declining to have -anything to do with Marion that Helen went to him—and it was something -of a shock to her to find that Marion had been right in her opinion, -and that he very much disapproved of and distrusted that fascinating -young lady. He looked troubled at her request, and put out his lip in a -way he had when anything perplexed him.</p> - -<p>"My dear child," he said, hesitatingly, "I really don't see what I can -do for your cousin. She is not a Catholic, she does not come to me for -religious advice; and if she wants a worldly opinion, there are many -people who could give it much better and with much more propriety than -I."</p> - -<p>"She does not think so, Father, and neither do I. It is not merely a -worldly opinion, though it regards worldly matters; but a point where -conscience comes in, and she wants to know what is right."</p> - -<p>"But why come to me?" he asked. "Has she not her own spiritual guides?"</p> - -<p>"Marion!" said Helen. She laughed a little. "I cannot fancy Marion -regarding any Protestant as a spiritual guide; and since, as you say, -she is not a Catholic, she has none at all. But I believe that her -becoming a Catholic is only a question of time, and therefore she will -have confidence in your opinion."</p> - -<p>Father Byrne put out his lip still farther and shook his head. "I do -not know very much of the young lady," he replied; "but from what I -do know I should say that her ever becoming a Catholic is more than -doubtful."</p> - -<p>"I am afraid that you are prejudiced against her, Father," said Helen.</p> - -<p>"I think not," he answered, gravely. "Why should I be prejudiced -against any one? But I should profit very little by my experience -of the world if I did not learn to judge character from some -manifestations. I do not wish to say anything severe of your cousin, my -child, but she has not impressed me favorably."</p> - -<p>"Poor Marion!" said Helen. "She is and always has been her own worst -enemy. Nobody knows her as well as I do, Father—that is, nobody except -Claire;—and know how much good there really is in her. All that is -worse is on the surface; and she shows it so recklessly that people -think there is nothing else. But I see a great change in her of late, -and I think it would be well to encourage her in anything that draws -her nearer to religious influences. Therefore, if it is not asking too -much of you to see her and give her a little advice on this matter, -which is so important to her, I should be very glad."</p> - -<p>"Should you?" asked the good priest, smiling. "Well, to make you glad -in such an unselfish way I would do a good deal. There is really no -reason why I should not give Miss Lynde the counsel she asks, though it -is rather curious that she should seek it from me. You can bring her -to me whenever it is convenient for you; and, if she does not object, I -should wish you to be present at the interview."</p> - -<p>"She will not object," answered Helen; "and it is very good of you to -consent. I can bring her immediately, for I left her in the church -while I came to you. There is need for haste, because to-morrow -probably she will have to decide finally what she is to do."</p> - -<p>"Bring her, then, at once," said Father Byrne, with an air of -resignation. He felt, though he did not say, that his own people -troubled him quite sufficiently with their personal affairs, without -an outsider finding it expedient to throw upon him the very perplexing -burden of decision in an affair which involved the interests of others. -And Marion Lynde was the last person with whose affairs he would have -wished to be concerned in the least degree. If any one beside Helen had -come to him in her behalf, he would certainly have refused to do so; -but it was impossible for him to refuse Helen. It was not only that he -was attached to her, as, in one degree or another, every one who knew -her was; but he was specially touched by her interest in and kindness -to one who had certainly been the cause of much pain to her, if not of -serious injury. "If she had not the most generous heart in the world, -she would not vex herself about Miss Lynde's affairs," he said to -himself; "but since she does, I should not mind helping her a little."</p> - -<p>So it came to pass that Helen brought Marion from the church to -the pastoral residence adjoining, where they found Father Byrne -awaiting them in the plainly-furnished sitting-room, which had yet a -picturesque, monastic suggestion from the religious objects that were -its only adornments, and its latticed windows opening on depths of -verdure. The priest received them kindly; and then, with some inward -nervousness, though outward composure, Marion opened her subject.</p> - -<p>"I feel that I have no right at all to come to you, Father, and trouble -you with my private matters; but perhaps your kindness will lead you -to excuse me on the ground that there is no one else to whom I can go. -I have not many friends, and among them there is not one person whose -judgment in this case would not have an interested bias. Besides, I -should like to know what is the moral view of it—the really right -thing to do,—and you, if you will, can tell me that."</p> - -<p>"I can give you the view which would be presented to a Catholic," said -Father Byrne; "but you will not recognize anything binding in that."</p> - -<p>"I shall be bound by whatever you tell me is right," she answered, -simply. "I do not seek your advice without meaning to be guided by it, -else there would be no excuse for coming to you. I beg you to speak as -frankly as if you were addressing a Catholic."</p> - -<p>"Tell me, then," he said, "exactly the point on which you are in doubt."</p> - -<p>She told him briefly, but with great clearness; and he listened -attentively to all that she had to say before uttering a word. Then -when she paused he replied, with the air of one who is accustomed to -give prompt decisions:—</p> - -<p>"From what you tell me I think there can be no question but that you -are clearly entitled to retain a part of the fortune. Since it was the -desire of the testator that, under the circumstances of the supposed -death of his son, you should have all of it, we must believe that even -had he known his son to be living he would not have failed to leave -you a legacy. It would be entirely just and right, therefore, that you -should retain a part, while it is also right that you should resign the -bulk of the estate to its natural heir."</p> - -<p>Helen directed a triumphant glance toward Marion, which said, "You -see how entirely Father Byrne is of my opinion!" but Marion did not -perceive it. She was looking down with rather a disappointed air.</p> - -<p>"I should prefer to give it all up," she said—"to keep nothing."</p> - -<p>Father Byrne spread out his hands with a gesture very familiar to those -who knew him well. "There is nothing to prevent that," he observed. "It -would not be wrong; but, if you will permit me to say so, it would be -foolish. Why should you wish to defeat entirely the kind intentions of -the dead man in your behalf?"</p> - -<p>"I can hardly explain," she answered, "without going into personal -details, which would not interest you. About the manner in which I -received this money, my conscience is clear enough; for I did nothing -to induce Mr. Singleton to make such a will, and no one was more -surprised by it than I. But—before that—" she hesitated, paused, then -with an effort went on: "Everything might have been different if I had -acted differently at an earlier period. I made a very deliberate and -mercenary choice then. It led to this disposition of Mr. Singleton's -fortune; and now I feel that there is retribution, punishment, -whatever you like to call it, in the circumstances that are taking -it away from me. That makes me reluctant to keep any of it. I should -feel as if I were still being paid for—what I lost. I express myself -obscurely, but I hope that you understand me."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he replied, "I think that I do. You feel as if this fortune had -been bought at a certain price, and therefore it has lost value in -your eyes. That is purely a matter of feeling, with which the abstract -question involved has nothing to do—unless there is some point on -which your conscience accuses you of wrong-doing."</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "There is none directly touching the money. But, -indirectly, the money was the root of everything—of a choice which has -brought me no happiness."</p> - -<p>"And you think, perhaps, that by resigning it you may recover what you -have lost?"</p> - -<p>She colored vividly. "No," she said quickly, almost indignantly. "I -have no thought of the kind. That choice is made irrevocably. I can -recover nothing but my own self-respect."</p> - -<p>Father Byrne looked a little puzzled. "I fail to see," he said, "how -your self-respect has been lost by having a fortune left you which you -declare you did nothing to secure. But that is a question for yourself -alone, since it is evidently a matter of feeling. The moral point I -have answered to the best of my ability."</p> - -<p>"You think that I ought to retain part of this fortune?"</p> - -<p>"I cannot go so far as to say that you <i>ought</i>. There is no moral -obligation binding you to do so, as far as I am aware of the -circumstances. I can only say that it is clearly right for you to do -so—if you think fit."</p> - -<p>Evidently after this there was no more to be said; and Marion rose to -take leave, saying a few words of sincere thanks for the kindness with -which he had received her. "It has been very good of you to advise me," -she said, gratefully. "I shall never forget it."</p> - -<p>"I only hope that the advice may be of some use to you," answered -Father Byrne. "But it will be better if you ask God to guide and direct -you."</p> - -<p>"Well, are you satisfied?" asked Helen, when they found themselves -outside. "Have you decided what to do?"</p> - -<p>"Not yet," said Marion. "I have only been told what I may do, and I -must take a little time to decide whether or not I will do it."</p> - -<p>"Then you have really gained nothing by going to Father Byrne," Helen -continued, in a disappointed tone.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes! I have gained a great deal," the other said quickly. "I seem -to feel myself standing on firm ground—to know just what I ought to do -and what I ought not, what is permitted and what is not. The question -still remains, however, whether or not to do what is permitted."</p> - -<p>"I can't see that you have gained much," replied Helen, with a sigh.</p> - -<p>But Marion felt that she had gained much when she faced the question -alone, as all important questions must at last be faced. She had been -assured that there was no reason why she should not retain a part of -the money which had come into her possession; and she said to herself -that even Brian Earle—indeed Brian Earle of all men—would recognize -the authority of the voice which had so assured her. She need not hold -herself grasping and mercenary if she did this—if she kept a little -of the fortune that its possessor had given to her in its entirety. So -much, therefore, was clear. But there could be no doubt that she would -prefer to give it all up—to close forever the passage in her life -which had been so bitter, and in the end so humiliating; to disprove by -a magnificent act of generosity all the charges of scheming which she -felt sure had been made against her, and to know that Brian Earle would -learn that none of his uncle's money remained in her hands.</p> - -<p>But if she gratified herself in this manner what was before her? -Not only the old dependence, but a dependence which would be doubly -embittered by the resentment with which her relatives were sure to -regard the step which she thought of taking. "My uncle will never -forgive me," she thought. "He will say that I had no right to -throw away the means to help myself, and fall back on his already -overburdened hands. That is true. It will be bitter as death to do so. -And yet how can I keep this money? Oh, if I only had been spared the -necessity of such a choice! If it was wrong to desire wealth so much, -surely I am punished for it, since what it has brought on me is worse -than the poverty from which I have escaped. That, at least, was simple; -I had only to endure it. But this is fraught with serious consequences, -that go beyond myself and touch other people. What shall I do—ah! what -shall I do?"</p> - -<p>She was walking up and down her chamber, all alone in the silence of -the night. Suddenly, as she wrung her hands with the silent force of -her inward appeal, Father Byrne's last words recurred to her memory: -"It will be better if you ask God to guide and direct you." She stopped -short. Was there any hope that God would really do this if she ventured -to ask Him? It proved how much of an unconscious pagan she was that -such a question should have occurred to her. But the imperative need at -this moment for some guidance, stronger even than that to which she had -already appealed, seemed to answer the question. She sank on her knees -and lifted her heart to Him who hears all petitions, begging, simply, -earnestly, like a child, to be directed into the course right and best -to pursue.</p> - -<p>The next morning Marion's companion—a quiet, elderly widow—noticed -that she was more than usually restless; that she settled to no -occupation, but wandered from the house to the garden and back again; -from room to room and window to window, as if in expectation of some -event. Mrs. Winter was not a person easily "fidgeted:" she bore this -for some time without remark, but at length she was driven to say, "You -are looking for some one this morning?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Marion, promptly. "I am looking for two people, and I -have very important business to settle when they come. That makes me a -little restless. I wish it were over." Then she laughed a little. "It -is not every day, however, that one has a chance to see a dead man," -she said. "That should prove interesting."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Winter looked startled. "A dead man!" she repeated. "How—what do -you mean?"</p> - -<p>"I mean," replied Marion, calmly, "that it is a case of the dead -alive. You have not heard, then? If you went out into Scarborough, -I fancy you would hear very quickly. Mr. Singleton's son, who was -supposed to be dead, has proved to be very much alive, and I am -expecting a visit from him to-day."</p> - -<p>"My dear Miss Lynde!"—the good woman fairly gasped—"what a piece of -news! And how quietly you take it! Mr. Singleton's son alive! Good -Heavens! In that case, who will have the property?"</p> - -<p>"That is what we are going to settle," said Marion. "It strikes me that -a son should inherit his father's estate; do you not think so?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know," answered Mrs. Winter, more than ever confounded by -this cool inquiry. "Usually—oh! yes, I suppose so," she added after a -minute. "But in this case—the young man was so wild that his father -cast him off, did he not?"</p> - -<p>"I never heard the story clearly from any one who had authority to tell -it," answered Marion. "I do not know what occurred between father and -son, but I am quite sure that Mr. Singleton believed his son to be dead -when he made the will in which he left me his fortune."</p> - -<p>"Then, my dear, if I may ask, what do you mean to do?"</p> - -<p>"What is right and honest," said Marion, with a faint smile. "Wish me -courage, for there is the door-bell!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXVI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">The</span> first thing of which Marion was conscious when she entered the -drawing-room was that a pair of bold, bright and keen dark eyes were -instantly fastened on her. The owner of these eyes was a tall and -very striking-looking man, whose originally brunette skin was so -deeply bronzed by exposure to a tropical sun that he scarcely had the -appearance of a white man at all; but whose clear-cut features at once -recalled those of old Mr. Singleton, whose whole aspect was so unusual -and so remarkably handsome that it would have been impossible for him -either to personate or be mistaken for any one else. Marion recognized -this even while Mr. Tom Singleton was in the act of stepping forward to -take her hand, and said to herself that no one who had ever seen this -man once could doubt whether or not he was the person he assumed to be.</p> - -<p>"How do you do this morning, Miss Lynde?" said Mr. Singleton, who tried -to conceal a certain awkwardness under more than his usual geniality -of manner. "I hope we have not disturbed you too early, but I had your -permission to present my cousin, Mr. George Singleton."</p> - -<p>"Not my permission only, but my request," observed Marion, looking -at the tall, handsome stranger, who bowed. "I am very glad to see Mr. -George Singleton—at last."</p> - -<p>"You are very good to say so," replied that gentleman, easily. "I -assure you that, so far from expecting you to be glad to see me, I feel -as apologetic as possible about my existence. Pray believe, Miss Lynde, -that I mean to give you as little trouble as possible. I have no doubt -we can soon arrive at an amicable arrangement."</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt of it," said Marion, calmly. "But you will allow me to -say how sorry I am that any arrangement should be necessary,—that your -father was not aware of your existence when he made his will."</p> - -<p>Mr. George Singleton shrugged his shoulders. "I am by no means certain -that my father believed me to be dead," he answered. "At least he had -no special reason for such a belief. He had indeed not heard from or -of me in a long time, because that was thoroughly settled when we -parted. I threw off his control, and he washed his hands of me. But I -hardly thought he would ignore me completely in his will. No doubt he -had a right to do so, for I had ignored every duty of a son; but he -should have remembered that he also had something to answer for in our -estrangement. However, that is neither here nor there. What I mean to -say is that the consciousness of my shortcomings will make me easy to -deal with; for I feel that my father was in great measure justified -when he selected another heir."</p> - -<p>This cool, careless frankness was so unexpected that for a moment -Marion could only look at the speaker with a sense of surprise. He was -so totally unlike what she had imagined! His bold, bright glance met -hers, and, as if divining her thoughts, he smiled.</p> - -<p>"Don't expect me to be like other people, Miss Lynde," he continued. -"Tom here will tell you that I never was. Even as a boy I was always a -law unto myself—a wild creature whom nothing could tame or restrain. -Perhaps it is because I am still something of a wild man that I see no -reason why we should not discuss and settle this business between us in -a friendly manner. I have only the most friendly sentiments for you, -being aware that my coming to life is rather hard lines for you."</p> - -<p>Marion could not but respond to his smile and what seemed to be the -genuine though somewhat blunt friendliness of his manner. Yet when she -spoke her tone was slightly haughty.</p> - -<p>"Pray do not think of me," she said. "The fact that your father left -his fortune to me was the greatest surprise of my life,—a surprise -from which I have hardly yet recovered. Naturally, therefore, it will -be no great hardship to give it up."</p> - -<p>"But I don't ask you to give it up," replied the tall, dark man, -hastily. "There is enough to divide, and I assure you I am not a -grasping fellow. Ask Tom if I am."</p> - -<p>Mr. Tom Singleton smiled. "If so," he observed, "you must have changed -very much."</p> - -<p>"I haven't changed a particle. I did not give a thought to my father's -fortune when I left him: I was thinking only of freedom, of escape -from irksome control. And I hardly gave it a thought during the years -that I have been out yonder, thoroughly satisfied with my own mode of -life. I should not be here now but for the fact that a lawyer—what is -his name?—took the trouble to write and inform me that my father was -dead and I disinherited. Naturally one does not like to be ignored in -that way; so I replied, directing him to contest the will. But since -I have come, heard the circumstances of the case, and—and seen you, -Miss Lynde, I perceive no reason for any such contest. We'll settle the -matter more simply, if you say so."</p> - -<p>"Seen you Miss Lynde!" It sounded simple enough, but the eyes of this -wild man, as he called himself, emphasized the statement so that Marion -could not doubt that her beauty might again secure for her an easy -victory—if she cared for it. But she did not suffer this consciousness -to appear in her manner or her voice as she replied:—</p> - -<p>"We can settle it very simply, I think. Shall we now put aside the -preliminaries and proceed to business?"</p> - -<p>"Immediately, if you desire," answered Mr. Singleton. He bent forward -slightly, pulling his long, dark moustache with a muscular, sunburned -hand, while his brilliant gaze never wavered from Marion's face. His -cousin also looked at her, apprehensively as it seemed, and gave a -nervous cough. She met his eyes for an instant and smiled gravely, then -turned her glance back to the other man.</p> - -<p>"I am very sure, Mr. Singleton," she said, "that your father must have -left his fortune to me under a wrong impression of your death. If -this were not so he certainly left it under a false impression of my -character. To retain money of which the rightful heir is living, is -something of which I could never be guilty if every court of law in -the land declared that the will should stand. Your father's fortune, -then, is yours, and I will immediately take steps to resign all claim -of mine upon it."</p> - -<p>"But I have not asked you to resign more than a portion of it," -answered Singleton, impetuously. "It is right enough that you should -have half, since my father gave you the whole."</p> - -<p>"You are very generous," she said, with a proud gentleness of tone; -"but it is quite impossible for me to keep the half of your fortune. -Your father would never have left it to me but for circumstances which -need not be entered into—he wished to punish some one else. But he -could never have wished to disinherit his son. I am certain of that. -He liked me, however—I think I may say as much as that; he was very -kind to me, and I believe that even if he had known of your existence -he might have remembered me with a legacy; do you not think so?" She -turned, as she uttered the last words, to Mr. Tom Singleton.</p> - -<p>"I am sure of it," replied that gentleman.</p> - -<p>"Believing this, I am willing to take what he would have been likely to -give. It is rather difficult, of course, to conjecture what the exact -amount would have been, but it seems to me that he would probably have -left me about ten thousand dollars."</p> - -<p>Both men uttered a sharp exclamation. "Absurd! You must certainly take -more than that," said George Singleton.</p> - -<p>"Remember that you are giving up half a million," remarked his cousin.</p> - -<p>But Marion shook her head. "It is with extreme reluctance," she said, -"that I have decided to take anything. Mr. Singleton is aware that my -intention yesterday was to keep nothing, but I have been advised to the -contrary by one whose opinion I respect; and so I have determined to -take what I think your father, under ordinary circumstances, might have -given one with no claim upon him, but in whom he had taken an interest."</p> - -<p>"But why should you fix upon such a paltry sum?" demanded George -Singleton. "There was nothing niggardly about my father. He was cold -and hard as an icicle, but he always gave like a prince."</p> - -<p>"That would have been a very generous bequest to one who had touched -his life as slightly as I had," remarked Marion, "and who had no claim -upon him whatever—"</p> - -<p>"He calls you his adopted daughter in his will."</p> - -<p>"He was very good to me," she replied, simply, while tears came to her -eyes. "But I think he only said that to make such a disposition of his -fortune seem more reasonable. Your cousin here has perhaps told you, or -at least he can tell you, all the circumstances—how your father was -disappointed in some one else on whom he had set his heart."</p> - -<p>"Brian Earle," said George Singleton, carelessly. "Yes, I know."</p> - -<p>"Well, he thought that I had been disappointed too; and so—partly from -a generous impulse to atone for the disappointment, and partly from -a desire to punish one who had greatly angered him—he made <i>me</i> his -heir. But it was all an accident, a caprice, if I may say so; and if he -had lived longer he would have undone it, no doubt."</p> - -<p>"You did not know my father if you think so," said the son, quietly. -"He had caprices perhaps, but they hardened into resolutions that -never changed. Who should know that better than I? No, no, Miss Lynde, -this will never do! I can not take a fortune from your hands without -litigation or any difficulty whatever, and leave you only a paltry ten -thousand dollars. It is simply impossible."</p> - -<p>"It is altogether impossible that I can retain any more," answered -Marion. "As I have already said, I would prefer to retain none at all; -and if I consent to keep anything, it can only be such a moderate -legacy as might have been left me."</p> - -<p>"As would <i>never</i> have been left to you! My father was not a man to do -things in that manner. What was your legacy, Tom?"</p> - -<p>"Fifty thousand dollars," replied Mr. Tom Singleton.</p> - -<p>"Something like that I might agree to, Miss Lynde, if you will insist -on the legacy view of the matter; but I should much prefer to simply -divide the fortune."</p> - -<p>"You are certainly your father's son in generosity, Mr. Singleton," -said Marion. "But believe me you are wasting words. My resolution is -finally taken. I shall make over your fortune to you, retaining only -ten thousand dollars for myself. That is settled."</p> - -<p>It was natural, however, that neither of the two men would accept this -settlement of the case. Both declared it was manifestly unjust, and -each exhausted his powers of argument and persuasion in trying to move -Marion. It was a singular battle; a singular turn in an altogether -singular affair;—and when at last they were forced to go without -having altered her resolution, they looked at each other with a sense -of baffled defeat, which presently made George Singleton burst into a -laugh.</p> - -<p>"By Jove!" he said, "this is a reversal of the usual order of things. -To think of a disinherited man, instead of having to fight for his -rights, being forced to beg and pray that his supplanter will keep a -fair share of the inheritance! What makes the girl so obstinate? Has -she money besides?"</p> - -<p>"I don't believe that she has a sixpence," replied his cousin.</p> - -<p>"Then what on earth, in the name of all that is wonderful, is the -meaning of it? She does not look like a fool."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton laughed. "Miss Lynde," he said, "is about as far from -being a fool as it is possible to imagine. We all thought her at first -very shrewd and scheming, and there is no doubt but that she might have -wound your father round her finger without any trouble at all. She is -just the kind of a person he liked best: beautiful, clever—<i>he</i> never -fancied fools, you know,—and she charmed him, without any apparent -effort, from the first. But if she schemed for any share of his fortune -it was in a very subtle way—"</p> - -<p>"In the light of her conduct now, I don't see how it is possible to -believe that she ever schemed at all," interposed the other.</p> - -<p>"I <i>don't</i> believe it," said Tom Singleton; "although the fact remains -that, in choosing between Brian and his uncle, she stood by the latter."</p> - -<p>"There might have been other than mercenary considerations for that. -I can't imagine that this splendid creature ever cared about marrying -Brian."</p> - -<p>Mr. Singleton did not commit himself to an opinion on that point. -He said, diplomatically: "It is hard to tell what a woman does care -to do in such a case, and Miss Lynde by no means wears her heart on -her sleeve. Well, the long and short of the matter was that Brian -obstinately went away, and that your father made this girl his -heir—for the very reasons she has given, I have no doubt. She was most -genuinely astonished when I told her the news, and my belief that she -had ever schemed for such a result was shaken then. But from something -she said to me yesterday I think she is afraid that such a belief -lingers in people's minds, and she is determined to disprove it as -completely as possible. Hence her quixotic conduct. I can explain it in -no other way."</p> - -<p>"She is a queer girl," observed George Singleton, meditatively; "and so -handsome that I don't wonder she knocked over my father—who was always -a worshiper of beauty,—and even that solemn prig, Mr. Brian Earle, -without loss of time."</p> - -<p>"She knocked over another man here in Scarborough, who has a hand -in her affairs at present," said Mr. Singleton, significantly. "Did -it ever occur to you to wonder why that fellow Rathborne should -have interested himself to look you up and notify you of your lost -inheritance?"</p> - -<p>"Why should I wonder over anything so simple? Self-interest prompted -him, of course. If there had been a contest over the will, he might -have pocketed a considerable slice of the fortune."</p> - -<p>"Well, I suppose that influenced him; but his chief reason was a desire -to do Miss Lynde an ill turn, and so revenge himself for her having -trifled with his feelings."</p> - -<p>"You are sure of this?" asked George Singleton, with a quick look out -of his dark, flashing eyes.</p> - -<p>"Perfectly sure. Everyone in Scarborough knows the circumstances. He -considered himself very badly used, I believe—chiefly because he was -engaged to Miss Lynde's cousin; and the latter, who is something of -an heiress, broke the engagement. He fell between two stools, and has -never forgiven her who was the cause of the fall."</p> - -<p>"The wretched cad!" said George Singleton, emphatically. "As if -anything that a woman could do to a man would justify him in such -cowardly retaliation! I am glad you told me this. I will end my -association with him as soon as may be, and let him know at the same -time my opinion of him—and of Miss Lynde."</p> - -<p>"Do be cautious, George. I shall be sorry I told you the story if you -go out of your way to insult the man in consequence. No doubt he <i>was</i> -badly used."</p> - -<p>The other laughed scornfully. "As if that would excuse him! But I -don't believe a word of it. That girl is too proud ever to have taken -the trouble to use <i>him</i> badly. But a man might lose his head just by -looking at her. What a beauty she is!"</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXVII.</p> - - -<p>"<span class="letter">A</span><span class="uppercase">nd</span> now the question is—what am I to do?" It was Marion who asked -herself this, after the departure of the lawyer, who, with some -remonstrance, had taken her instructions for drawing up the necessary -papers to transfer to George Singleton his father's fortune. It was -not with regard to the act itself that the lawyer remonstrated—<i>that</i> -he thought just and wise enough,—but with regard to the sum which the -heiress of the whole announced her intention of retaining.</p> - -<p>"You might just as well keep fifty or a hundred thousand dollars," he -declared. "Mr. Singleton is willing to relinquish even so much as half -of the fortune; and it is absolute folly—if you will excuse me—for -you to throw away a comfortable independence, and retain only a sum -which is paltry in comparison to the amount of the fortune, and to your -needs of life."</p> - -<p>"You must allow me to be the best judge of that," Marion replied, -firmly.</p> - -<p>And, as she held inflexibly to her resolution, the lawyer finally -went away with the same baffled feeling that the Singleton cousins -had experienced. "What fools women are when it comes to the practical -concerns of life!" he said, from the depths of his masculine scorn. -"They are always in one extreme or the other. Here is this girl, who, -from what I hear, must have been willing to do anything to secure the -fortune, now throws it away for a whim without reason!"</p> - -<p>Meanwhile Marion, left face to face, as it were, with her accomplished -resolve, said to herself, "What am I to do now?"</p> - -<p>It was certainly a necessary question. To remain where she was, living -with the state of Mr. Singleton's heiress, was impossible; to go to her -uncle, who would be incensed against her on account of the step she had -taken, was equally impossible; to stay with Helen, however much Helen -in her kindness might desire it, was out of the question. Where, then, -could she go?—where should she turn to find a friend?</p> - -<p>Marion was pacing up and down the long drawing-room as she revolved -these thoughts in her mind, when her attention was attracted by her -own reflection in a mirror which hung at the end of the apartment. She -paused and stood looking at it, while a faint, bitter smile gathered on -her lip. Her beauty was as striking, as indisputable as ever; but what -had it gained for her—this talisman by which she had confidently hoped -to win from the world all that she desired? "I have been a fool!" she -said, with sudden humility. "And now—what remains to me now?"</p> - -<p>It almost seemed as if it was in answer to the question that a servant -at this moment entered, bringing the morning mail. Marion turned over -carelessly two or three papers and letters, and then suddenly felt a -thrill of pleasure when she saw a foreign stamp and Claire's familiar -handwriting. She threw herself into a chair and opened the letter.</p> - -<p>It was dated from Rome. "I am at last in the city of my dreams and -of my heart," wrote Claire; "pleasantly settled in an apartment with -my kind friend Mrs. Kerr, who knows Rome so well that she proves -invaluable as a <i>cicerone</i>. Already I, too, feel familiar with this -wonderful, this Eternal City; and its spell grows upon me day by day. -Now that you have gained your fairy fortune, dear Marion, why should -you not come and join me here? I have thought of it so much of late -that it seems to me like an inspiration, and I can perceive no possible -reason why you should not come. Pray do. It would make me so happy to -see you, and I am sure you would enjoy many things which form part of -our life here. Having lived abroad many years with her husband (who -was an artist), Mrs. Kerr has a large cosmopolitan acquaintance, and -her <i>salon</i> is constantly filled with pleasant and interesting people. -Come,—Marion, come! I find every reason why you should, and none -why you should not. Have I not heard you say a thousand times that -you wanted to see this world, and do not I want to see you and hear -all about the magical change that so short a time has made in your -fortunes? Write, then, and tell me that you will come. Helen has had -you for months, and it is my turn now."</p> - -<p>"Ah, how little she knows!" Marion thought with a pang as she read the -last words. The letter dropped from her hand into her lap; she felt -as if she hardly cared to read further. Would Claire desire to see -her if she knew the story of all that had happened since they parted? -There was no one else in the world from whose judgment Marion shrank -so much, and yet this summons seemed to her more of a command than an -invitation. It came as an answer to her doubts and indecision. "What -shall I do?—where shall I go?" she had asked herself. "Come to me," -Claire answered from across the sea; and it seemed to her that she had -no alternative but to obey—to go, even though it were to meet Claire's -condemnation.</p> - -<p>That condemnation would be gentle, she knew, though perhaps unsparing. -Helen's affection had indeed returned to her in a degree she could -never have expected; but it is impossible that the stronger nature can -depend upon the weaker, and she knew it was for Claire's unswerving -standards and Claire's clear judgments her heart most strongly yearned.</p> - -<p>So the way opened before her, and when she saw Helen next she announced -her intention of going abroad to join Claire. "It seems the best—in -fact, it is the only thing I can do," she said. "And Claire is good -enough to want me. She fancies me still in possession of what she calls -my fairy fortune—not knowing how fairy-like indeed it has proved,—and -writes as if expense would be no consideration with me. But a mode -of life which is not too expensive for her surely will not be too -expensive for me with my ten thousand dollars. So I shall go."</p> - -<p>"I suppose it is best," said Helen, wistfully; "and if it were not for -mamma I would go with you."</p> - -<p>The tone was a revelation to Marion of all that the tender, submissive -heart was suffering still. "Why should your mother object?" she asked, -quickly. "Come, Helen—come with me; and when we find Claire, let us -try to forget everything but the pleasure of being together again."</p> - -<p>"I should like it," replied Helen, "but it is not possible. I know how -long mamma has looked forward to the pleasure of having me with her, -and I can not go away now for my own selfish satisfaction, leaving her -alone. Besides, I doubt if running away from painful things does much -good. It is better to face them and grow resigned to them, with the -help of God."</p> - -<p>"I am sure that God must help <i>you</i>," cried Marion, "else you could -never learn so many wise and hard things."</p> - -<p>Helen looked at her with a little surprise in her clear blue eyes. "Of -course He helps me," she answered. "When does He not help those who ask -Him?"</p> - -<p>"O Helen! if I only had your faith!" exclaimed Marion, with positive -pain in her voice. "How easy it would make things!"</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Helen, with her sweet smile, "it does make things easy."</p> - -<p>But before Marion could complete her preparations for departure, she -was obliged to see Mr. George Singleton again and yet again. He came -in the first place to remonstrate forcibly against her intentions with -regard to the fortune, and found her society sufficiently attractive to -induce him to pay inordinately long visits after he had discovered that -his remonstrances were vain. "He is certainly very unconventional," -Marion observed after one of these visits. "He does not strike one -so much as violating social usage, as being ignorant of and holding -it in contempt. In essential things he is a gentleman; but that his -father—one of the most refined and fastidious of men—should have had -a son who is half a savage, strikes me as very strange."</p> - -<p>Young Singleton did not hesitate to speak of himself as altogether -a savage, and to declare that the strain of wild lawlessness in his -nature had brought about the estrangement between his father and -himself. "Of course I am sorry for it all now," he said frankly to -Marion; "but I don't see how it could have been avoided, we were so -radically different in disposition and tastes. My father was a man -to whom the conventionalties of life were of first importance, who -held social laws and usages as more binding than the Decalogue; while -I—well, a gypsy has as much regard for either as I had. I irritated -and outraged <i>him</i> even when I had least intention of doing so; and he, -in turn, roused all the spirit of opposition in <i>me</i>. I do not defend -my conduct, but I think I may honestly say that he had something for -which to blame himself. We were miserable together, and it ended as -you know. He said when we parted that he had no longer a son, and I -took him at his word—perhaps too literally. And that being so, Miss -Lynde—his renunciation of me having been complete, and my acceptance -of it complete also,—I really do not think that I have a right to come -and take all his fortune."</p> - -<p>"I am sorry if you have scruples on the subject, Mr. Singleton," Marion -answered, quietly. "They ought to have occurred to you before you moved -in the matter; now they are too late. I can not possibly accept the -odium of holding a man's fortune when his own son is alive and has -claimed it."</p> - -<p>"But you know that I have always said I should be satisfied with part—"</p> - -<p>Marion lifted her hand with a silencing gesture. "I know," she said, -"that the affair is finally settled, and not to be discussed anymore. -I am satisfied, and that ought to satisfy you. Now let us talk of -something else. Are you aware that I am going abroad?"</p> - -<p>"No," he replied, quickly, with a startled look. "Where are you going?"</p> - -<p>"To Rome. I have a friend who is at present living there, and I am -going to join her."</p> - -<p>"But why?"</p> - -<p>The point-blank question was so much in character with the speaker that -Marion smiled.</p> - -<p>"Why?" she repeated. "Well, I have nothing to keep me in this country, -I am fond of my friend, and I wish to see the world—are not those -reasons enough?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps so," he answered. He was silent for a moment, staring at her -with his large, dark, brilliant eyes in a manner which tried even her -self-possession. Then he asked, abruptly: "When are you going?"</p> - -<p>"As soon as I can arrange my affairs. That sounds like a jest, but it -is not: I really have some affairs to arrange. They will not occupy me -very long, however. I shall probably leave in a week or ten days."</p> - -<p>"Oh—I thought you might be going to-morrow!" said Mr. Singleton, with -an air of relief.</p> - -<p>After that he was a daily visitor,—such an open, persistent, -long-staying visitor, that all Scarborough was soon on tiptoe -of expectation. What did it mean? What would be the end of this -sensational affair? Would the legitimate heir of the fortune marry the -girl who had given it up without a contest? People began to say that -Miss Lynde had been shrewd, and had known very well all the time what -she was about.</p> - -<p>Miss Lynde, on her part, felt as if she would never reach the end of -the difficulties which seemed to evolve out of one another, according -to a process of evolution with which we are all familiar. Had her -passionate desire for wealth created a sort of moral Frankenstein, -which would continue to pursue her? When, after a struggle known only -to herself, she had decided to resign the fortune, she had thought that -she cast away all perplexities arising out of it; but now it appeared -that she had resigned only the money, and that the difficulties -and perplexities remained. For, as clearly as any one else, she -perceived—what indeed George Singleton made no effort to conceal—the -object of his constant and assiduous attentions. The fortune she had -given up was to be offered her again: she would again be forced to make -a difficult choice.</p> - -<p>For all that has been written of Marion Lynde has been written to -little purpose if any one imagines that wealth had lost its glamour -in her eyes, or that her old ambitions were dead within her. They had -been for a time subdued,—for a time she had realized that one might be -crushed by the weight of a granted prayer; but the old desires and the -old attraction still remained strong enough to prove a potent force in -the hour of temptation.</p> - -<p>And she began to feel that it might be a temptation to regain in the -most entire manner the fortune she had resigned; to cast one glance of -triumphant scorn at Rathborne, who had fancied himself scheming for her -downfall; to receive Mrs. Singleton's cousinly congratulations; and, -above all, to prove to Brian Earle how easily she could console herself -for his desertion—how readily another man offered the homage he had -withdrawn. Yes, all these things were temptations; for the sway of the -world, of natural inclinations and passions, was still strong in this -soul, which had leaned toward higher things without embracing them.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXVIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Marion</span> did not in the least relax her preparations for departure, and -she gave no sign to Mr. Singleton of perceiving the end which he had in -view. They progressed very far toward intimacy in the course of their -long interviews; but it was an intimacy which Marion regulated, and -to which she gave its tone, preserving without difficulty command of -the situation. Yet even while she commanded it, an instinct told her -that the hour would come very soon when this man would assert himself; -when her time of control would be over, and the feeling that betrayed -itself in his eyes and voice would find expression in a manner beyond -her power to regulate. Nevertheless, she was hardly prepared for the -declaration when it came one day, abruptly and without anticipation on -her part.</p> - -<p>"I think, Miss Lynde," said Singleton, "that it is time you and I -understood each other—or, at least, that I understood <i>you</i>; for I am -pretty sure that you understand <i>me</i> thoroughly. You know perfectly -well that I am in love with you. Do you intend to marry me?"</p> - -<p>"Mr. Singleton!" exclaimed Marion, startled and considerably -discomposed. "Do I intend—" she repeated. "How could I possibly have -any intention in—in such a matter? That is a very extraordinary way of -speaking."</p> - -<p>"Is it?" said Singleton. "But you do not expect an ordinary way of -speaking from me; for do you not make me understand every day how much -of a savage I am? What can I do except ask your intentions? For you -cannot say that you do not know I am in your hands to be dealt with as -you like."</p> - -<p>"I know nothing of the kind," she answered, hastily. "Why should I know -it? I have been glad that we should be friends, but beyond that—"</p> - -<p>"Do not talk nonsense!" he interrupted, somewhat roughly. "You are too -clever a woman not to have been aware from the first that there was no -friendship about it. As soon as I saw you, I made up my mind that I -would marry you if you would agree to it. And why should you not agree? -It will settle all difficulties about the fortune, and I am not really -a bad fellow at heart. I assure you of that."</p> - -<p>"I think I know very well what kind of fellow you are," said Marion, -smiling in spite of herself. "Certainly not one who is formed on a very -conventional model. I like you very much—I am sure you know that,—but -I have no intention of marrying you."</p> - -<p>It cost her something of an effort to say this—to put away, finally as -it were, the glittering prize that life had cast in her way. But, thus -brought face to face with the necessity for decision, she found that no -other answer was possible to her. Yet the form of words that she chose -did not convey her meaning in an unalterable sense to the man watching -her with such keen, brilliant eyes.</p> - -<p>"You have no intention of marrying me!" he repeated. "Does that mean -that you will not form any such intention—that you will not take the -subject into consideration?"</p> - -<p>"There is no reason why I should," she replied. "It is best that you -should think no more of it."</p> - -<p>"I can not agree to that," he said. "On the contrary, it seems to me -best, from every point of view, that I should continue to think of it, -and endeavor to bring it to pass. I warn you that I am not a man who -is easily daunted. Unless you intend to marry some one else, I shall -continue my efforts to induce you to marry me."</p> - -<p>"Not if I tell you there is no use in such efforts?" said Marion.</p> - -<p>"You can not possibly tell whether there would be use in them or not," -he persisted, "unless you are decided with regard to some other man. If -so, I hope you will tell me."</p> - -<p>"There is no other man in question," she said, coldly. "I may surely be -supposed to know my own mind without being bound to any one."</p> - -<p>"And I know mine," he replied, "so positively that, until you are bound -to some one else, I shall not relinquish the hope of inducing you to -marry me. I give you fair warning of that."</p> - -<p>"Really, Mr. Singleton," said Marion, who hardly knew whether to be -vexed or amused, "you are a very singular person. Are you not aware -that a man must abide by the woman's decision in such a matter as this?"</p> - -<p>"I am not so uncivilized as you imagine," he answered. "Of course I -know it. But everywhere and always he has the right of endeavoring to -change that decision if he can. And I have a double reason for desiring -to change yours. I not only want to marry you, but I also want you to -have your share of my fortune."</p> - -<p>"I have no share in it," she said, haughtily—for surely such a -persistent suitor as this promised to be very troublesome;—"you know -that well, and you know also that I have forbidden you to speak of it -to me."</p> - -<p>"Henceforth I will endeavor to obey you," he answered, with the -courtesy which now and then contrasted oddly with the usual abruptness -of his manner. "But you can not forbid me to think of it—nor of you."</p> - -<p>"I hope," she said, "that when I go away you will very soon cease to -think of me."</p> - -<p>He smiled. "Do you think," he asked, "that I shall not follow you? The -way to Europe is as open to me as to you."</p> - -<p>"But if I forbid it?" she cried, with a sudden sense of dismay.</p> - -<p>"You have no right to forbid it," he answered, quietly. "I have no -intention of accompanying you, and I have surely been guilty of nothing -which could lead you to disown my acquaintance should we meet in Rome -or elsewhere."</p> - -<p>Marion fancied that after his declaration, and the refusal with which -it had been met, George Singleton would leave Scarborough, since he had -certainly no business to detain him there. But that gentleman proved -himself to be of another opinion. He not only remained in Scarborough, -but he continued his visits with the same regularity which had -characterized them before. Partly vexed, partly amused, Marion, -nevertheless, took precautions to guard against any embarrassing -renewal of his suit. She ceased to receive him alone, and whenever it -was possible she turned him over to Helen for entertainment. To this -he apparently did not object in the least. He had hardly met Miss -Morley before, and her soft gentleness charmed him. It was the type of -womanhood best suited to his own passionate, impulsive nature; and he -yielded to its influence with an <i>abandon</i> that surprised himself.</p> - -<p>"You have no idea what an effect you have upon me," he said to her on -one occasion. "When I come into your presence I am like a cat that is -smoothed the right way—you put me into harmony and accord with all the -world."</p> - -<p>It was impossible not to laugh at the frankness of this assertion, as -well as the homeliness of the comparison. "I am very glad to hear that -my presence has a good effect upon you," said Helen; "although I do not -know why it should be so."</p> - -<p>"I suppose some people would call it magnetism," he answered; "but I -think it is simply owing to the fact that your nature is so placid -and gentle that you exercise a calming influence upon the passions of -others."</p> - -<p>"My nature is not so placid and gentle as you imagine, perhaps," she -said, with something of a shadow stealing over her face. "I have -passions too."</p> - -<p>"Have you?" he asked, rather incredulously. "Well, if so they must -be of a very mild order, or else you understand managing them in a -wonderful manner. I wish you would teach me how to manage mine."</p> - -<p>She looked at him with her blue eyes, and shook her head. "I am afraid -you would not care to learn the only thing that I could teach," she -said.</p> - -<p>"Why not? I think that I should like to learn anything that you would -teach."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps, then, if our acquaintance lasts long enough, I may take you -at your word some day," she replied, smiling.</p> - -<p>In saying this she thought herself very safe; for she had little idea -that their association would outlast the day on which Marion left -Scarborough. She knew that the latter had been offered the opportunity -of regaining her lost fortune in the most legitimate and satisfactory -way, and had little doubt but that the matter would end by her -accepting George Singleton.</p> - -<p>"For Marion was never meant to be poor," she said to herself; "and he -really seems to have a great deal of good in him—much more than one -could have fancied. And he takes her treatment of him very nicely. It -is kind of him to seem to like my society, instead of finding me a -dreadful bore."</p> - -<p>She said as much as this to Marion, who laughed. "There is very good -reason for his not finding you a bore," Marion replied. "He enjoys your -society much more than mine—it suits him better. I can see that very -plainly. In fact, the thing is, that he and I are too much alike to -assimilate well. We are both too fiery, too impulsive in our natures -and strong in our passions. You are the counteracting influence that we -need. Instinct tells him so, as experience tells me."</p> - -<p>"Marion, what utter nonsense!"</p> - -<p>"So far from that, the very best sense, my dear. There is only one -person who has a more beneficial influence upon me than you have. That -is Claire, and I am going to her. If Mr. Singleton is wise he will stay -with you."</p> - -<p>"If I thought you were in earnest in saying such a thing as that, you -would really provoke me," said Helen, gravely.</p> - -<p>"Then you may be sure that I am not in earnest," cried Marion; "for I -would do anything sooner than provoke you. No man in the world is worth -a single vexed thought between you and me."</p> - -<p>It was a few days after this that, everything being at last -settled, she finally left the place where she had gained and lost a -fortune,—where she had sounded some depths of experience and learned -some lessons of wisdom that could not soon be forgotten.</p> - -<p>"Marion," said Helen the evening before her departure, "I am going to -have a Mass said for my intention to-morrow morning—and, of course, -that means you. Will you not come to the church?"</p> - -<p>"With pleasure," answered the other, quickly. "Indeed I am not so -absolutely a heathen but that I meant to go, in any event. I am setting -out anew in life, as it were; and I should like to ask God to bless -this second beginning, as I certainly did not ask Him to bless the -first."</p> - -<p>"Then you will be at the church at eight o'clock?" said Helen. "And -afterward breakfast with me, so that you will not need to return here -before meeting your train. I should like the last bread that you break -in Scarborough to be broken with me."</p> - -<p>"It shall be exactly as you wish," observed Marion, touched by the -request, which meant more, she knew, than appeared on the surface. For -it was not only that Helen wished to renew the link of hospitality—not -only that she desired, as she said, that the last bread broken by -Marion in Scarborough should be broken with her in token of their -renewed amity,—but she wished to show to all the world that had so -curiously watched the course of events in which the beautiful stranger -was concerned, that their friendly and cousinly relations were -unchanged. All this Marion understood without words.</p> - -<p>Eight o'clock the next morning found her in the church. As she -acknowledged, she had asked no blessing of God on her former beginning -of life—that life which had come to such utter failure in every -respect; and in the realization of this failure much of her proud -self-confidence had forsaken her. She had asked only that opportunity -should be given, and she had felt within herself the power to win all -that she desired. Opportunity <i>had</i> been given, and she had ended by -losing everything, saving only the remnant of her self-respect and -Helen's generous affection. These thoughts came to her with force as -she knelt in the little chapel, knowing that she was going forth to -a new life with diminished prospects of worldly success, but with a -deeper knowledge of herself, of the responsibilities of existence, and -of the claims of others, than she had possessed before.</p> - -<p>Then she remembered how she had knelt in this same place with Brian -Earle, and felt herself drawn near to the household of faith. It had -been an attraction which had led to nothing, because it had been -founded on human rather than on divine love. Now that the human love -was lost, had the divine no meaning left? The deep need of her soul -answered this; and when she bent her head as the priest at the altar -offered the Holy Sacrifice, it was with a more real act of faith and -worship than she had made on that day when it seemed as if but a step -divided her from the Church of God.</p> - -<p>Mass over, she went to say a few words of farewell to Father Byrne, and -then accompanied Helen home. It had been a long time since she entered -her aunt's house; and the recollections of her first coming into it, -and of the welcome which had then met her, seemed to rush upon her as -she crossed the threshold. "If it were only to do over again!" she -thought, with a pang. When they sat down to breakfast she glanced at -the place which she had so often seen Rathborne occupy, and thought -that but for her Helen might never have been undeceived, might never -have suffered with regard to him. "At least not in the way she has -suffered," she said to herself. "In some way, however, she must have -suffered sooner or later. Therefore perhaps it is best as it is—for -her. But that does not excuse me. If only I might be permitted to make -some atonement!"</p> - -<p>But atonement is difficult to make in this world, either for our -mistakes or our wrong-doing. The logic of life is stern indeed. From -certain acts flow certain consequences as inevitably as conclusions -proceed from premises or night follows day. It is vain to cry out that -we had no such end in view. The end comes despite our protests, and we -are helpless in the face of that which springs from our own deed.</p> - -<p>These reflections had in great measure become familiar to Marion, -especially with regard to the pain she had brought upon Helen. She had -been forced to realize clearly that what it would have been easily -possible for her to avoid, it was absolutely impossible for her to -repair. To Helen's own goodness, generosity and gentleness she owed -the relief that had come to her on the subject. Nevertheless, she -longed greatly for some means of repairing the injury she had done, the -suffering she had caused, and—was it an inspiration which suddenly -seemed to suggest to her such a means?</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXIX.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Breakfast</span> over, they went into the familiar sitting-room—for there -was still an hour or two before Marion's train was due,—and it was -there that Helen said, with a smile: "Mr. Singleton is coming to see -you off: I met him yesterday evening after I left you, and he announced -his intention of doing so; so I asked him to come here and accompany -us to the train. Of course there is no <i>need</i> of him: the boys will do -all that is necessary; but I thought it would look better. People have -talked so much about you both, that I would like them to have a public -proof that you are really on very good terms."</p> - -<p>"You think of everything, Helen," said Marion. "What a wise little head -you have!"</p> - -<p>"Do you think it is the head?" asked Helen. "I think it is the heart. -One feels things rather than thinks them—at least I do."</p> - -<p>"I know you do," said her cousin. "It is your heart in the first place; -but you must not underrate your head, which certainly has something to -do with it."</p> - -<p>Helen shook the appendage in question. "Not much," she answered. "I -have never fancied that my strong point was in my head."</p> - -<p>"Head or heart, you are seldom wrong," said Marion, "when it comes to -a practical decision. Whereas I—you know I have been very vain of my -cleverness, and yet I am always wrong—no, don't contradict me; I mean -exactly what I say, and I have the best possible reason for meaning -it. But, Helen, let me ask one favor of you. When Mr. Singleton comes, -leave me alone with him for a few minutes. Now mind, <i>only</i> for a few -minutes. I have something to say to him, but it will take only a little -time to say it."</p> - -<p>"That will be easily arranged," said Helen, who would not suffer -herself even to look a question.</p> - -<p>So when Mr. Singleton presently arrived, she spirited herself and her -mother out of the room in the most unobtrusive manner possible, leaving -the young man alone with Marion.</p> - -<p>The latter did not waste one of the minutes for which she had asked. -She plunged without preface into the subject on which she desired -to speak. "Mr. Singleton," she began, abruptly, "I am going to say -something very unconventional; but you who are so unconventional -yourself will pardon me, I am sure. Briefly, I am going to recall to -your mind something that you said when—when we had our last private -conversation. You then declared your intention of following me abroad, -is it not so?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," answered Singleton, with composure; "I did, and I meant what I -said. You will soon see me over there."</p> - -<p>"I think not—I hope not," she said, quickly; "for I am sure that you -have too much self-respect to persecute a woman with attentions which -can lead to nothing. And I tell you in the most positive manner that -they can only bring you disappointment."</p> - -<p>"You can not be sure of that," he observed, with a touch of his former -obstinancy. "Women have sometimes changed their minds."</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "Not women who feel as I do. Listen, and I will -tell you the whole truth about myself, since there is no other way of -convincing you. I will not deny that what you offer is in some degree -a temptation to me—I am worldly enough and unworthy enough for that; -and it has been a temptation, too, to suffer you to follow me, and -keep, as it were, the chance open, in case I should find that it was -the best life offered me. But I know this would be wrong; for I cannot -deceive myself into fancying that there is any doubt whatever about my -feelings. If my heart were empty, you might in time fill it. But it is -not—I will be perfectly frank with you at any cost to myself,—another -man has long since filled it."</p> - -<p>There was a pause after these words—words which it cost Marion very -much to utter. To acknowledge even to herself the fact which they -expressed was hard enough; but to acknowledge it to another, to this -man who sat regarding her steadily with his dark, brilliant eyes, was -harder still. But in courage, at least, she was not deficient, and her -own eyes met his without drooping.</p> - -<p>"You see now why I can not let you follow a false hope in following -me," she continued, when after a moment he had still not spoken. "I may -be mercenary in some degree, but I am not mercenary enough to marry you -for the sake of your fortune, when I love another man. I have tried to -crush this love, and it humiliates me to acknowledge it; but I have -incurred the humiliation in order to be perfectly frank with you, and -to keep you from making a great mistake."</p> - -<p>The last words seemed to touch him suddenly. His whole face—a face -which showed every passing emotion—changed and softened. "Believe me," -he said, "I appreciate your frankness, and I see no humiliation in your -confession. It is good of you, however, to suffer the pain of making it -in order to save me from what you think would be a mistake."</p> - -<p>"I <i>know</i> that it would be a mistake—a mistake in every way," she -said, earnestly. "And I have made so many mistakes already that I -cannot add another to the list. Believe me, if you succeeded in -persuading me to marry you, it would be a mistake which we would both -regret to the end of our lives. For we do not suit each other at all. -When you marry you ought to select a woman different altogether from -what I am: a woman gentler, yet with more moral strength."</p> - -<p>"That may be," he answered, in a meditative tone; "but, then, no other -woman can be the one to whom my father has left his fortune, who has -generously given it back to me, and with whom I should like to share -it."</p> - -<p>"That is a feeling which I can understand, and which does you credit," -she said. "But do you not see that I could hardly accept your suit on -such a ground as that? It would have been better to have kept your -fortune than to do that. No, Mr. Singleton: I beg you to think no more -of this; I beg you not to follow me with any such thought in your mind. -Promise me that you will not."</p> - -<p>She leaned toward him in her earnestness, and held out her hand with a -gesture of entreaty. George Singleton had something chivalrous in his -nature, under all his brusque exterior; and taking the little hand he -raised it to his lips.</p> - -<p>"The confidence that you have placed in me," he said, "makes it -impossible that I can do anything to annoy you. Your request is a -command. I shall not follow you."</p> - -<p>Her eyes thanked him. "Now I can go in peace, because I shall not have -to think that I am misleading any one. However hard or lonely my path -in life may be, I want henceforth to keep my conscience clear. I have -tasted the bitterness of self-reproach, and I know what it is. Yes, you -will stay. You have duties here now, and—and I hope it will not be -long before you will find happiness."</p> - -<p>He had no opportunity to reply, if he had been inclined to do so. -Helen, remembering Marion's urgent request that the minutes allowed for -her "few words" might be short, was heard approaching. Her clear, sweet -voice gave some orders in the hall, and then she entered the room.</p> - -<p>"I grieve to say, Marion, that it is almost time for you to go," she -announced. "Ah, how sad parting is!"</p> - -<p>Half an hour later, when Marion was borne away from Scarborough, her -last backward glance showed her Helen and Singleton standing side by -side on the station platform, waving her an adieu; and if she smiled at -the sight, it cannot be denied that she also sighed. With her own hand -she had closed the door of a possibly brilliant destiny; and, naturally -enough, it had never looked so bright as when she said to herself, -"That is over finally and forever."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXX.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was with little pause for sight-seeing on the way that Marion made -her journey to Rome. A few days in Paris constituted her only delay; -then, flying swiftly down through Italy—reserving until later the -pleasure of seeing the beautiful historic cities which she passed—she -did not stop again until she found herself within the walls of Rome.</p> - -<p>And not even the fact of entering by means of a prosaic railway could -lessen the thrill with which she realized that she was indeed within -the city of the Cćsars and the Popes—the city that since the beginning -of historic time has been the chief center of the earth, the mistress -of the world, and the seat of the apostolic throne. It was strange -to feel herself in this place of memories, yet to step into a modern -railway station, resounding with noise and bustle; but even Rome was -forgotten when she found herself in Claire's arms, and Claire's sweet -voice bade her welcome.</p> - -<p>What followed seemed like a dream—the swift drive through populous -streets, with glimpses of stately buildings and narrow, picturesque -ways; the passing under a great, sounding arch into a court, where the -soft splash of a fountain was heard as soon as the carriage stopped; -the ascent of an apparently interminable flight of stone steps, and -pausing at length on a landing, where an open door gave access to an -ante-chamber, and thence through parting curtains to a long <i>salon</i>, -where a pretty, elderly lady rose to give Marion greeting. This was -Claire's kind friend and chaperon, Mrs. Kerr, who said to herself, as -she took the young stranger's hand, "What a beautiful creature!"</p> - -<p>Marion, on her part, was charmed, not only with Mrs. Kerr, but with -all her surroundings. The foreign aspect of everything enchanted her; -the Italian servants, the Italian dishes of the collation spread for -her, the soft sound of the language,—all entered into and made part -of her pleasure. "O Claire!" she said, when presently she was taken to -the pretty chamber prepared for her. "I think I am going to be so happy -with you—if only you are not disgusted with <i>me</i>, when you hear the -story I have to tell you!"</p> - -<p>Claire laughed, as she bent and kissed her. "I have not the least fear -that I shall be disgusted with you," she said. "You might do wrong -things, Marion—things one would blame or censure,—but I am sure that -you will never do a mean thing, and it is mean things which disgust -one."</p> - -<p>"Ah!" said Marion, with a sigh, "do not be too sure. I am not going -to possess your good opinion on false pretenses, so you shall hear -to-morrow all that has happened since we parted. Prepare your charity, -for I shall need it."</p> - -<p>And, indeed, on the next day Claire heard with the utmost fullness -all that had occurred since the two parted at their convent school. -As far as the Rathborne incident was concerned, Marion did not spare -herself; and, although Claire looked grave over her self-accusation, -she was unable to express any regret that, even at the cost of Helen's -suffering, the engagement of the latter to Rathborne should have been -ended. "I saw the man only once," she said, "but that was enough to -make me distrust him thoroughly. He has a bad face—a face which shows -a narrow and cruel nature. I always trembled at the thought of Helen's -uniting her life to his. There seemed no possible prospect of happiness -for her in such a choice. So I am glad that at almost any cost the -engagement—entanglement, or whatever it was—has been ended. And I can -not see that your share in it was so very heinous."</p> - -<p>"That is because I have not made it clear to you, then," answered -Marion. "I, too, always distrusted the man, but I liked his admiration, -his homage; it was my first taste of the power for which, you know, I -always longed. Indeed, Claire, there are no excuses to be made for me; -and if the matter ended well for Helen—as I really believe it did,—I -am still to blame for all her suffering; and you do not think that evil -is less evil because good comes of it?"</p> - -<p>"I certainly do not think that," said Claire. "But you had no evil -intention, I am sure: you never <i>meant</i> to hurt Helen."</p> - -<p>"No, I did not mean to do so, but I was careless whether she suffered -or not. I thought only of myself—my own vanity, my own amusement. -Nothing can change that, and so I have always felt that it was right I -should suffer just as I made her suffer. Retribution came very quickly, -Claire."</p> - -<p>"Did it?" asked Claire. Her soft, gray eyes were full of unspoken -sympathy. "Well, suffering is a great thing, dear; it enables us to -expiate so much! Tell me about yours—if you like."</p> - -<p>"I feel as if I had come here just to tell you," said Marion. And -then followed the story of her engagement to Brian Earle, her anger -because he would not comply with his uncle's wishes, their parting, her -unexpected inheritance of Mr. Singleton's fortune, Rathborne's revenge -in finding the lost heir, her surrender of the fortune to him, and her -rejection of his suit.</p> - -<p>"So here I am," she observed in conclusion, with a faint smile, "like -one who has passed through terrible storms: who has been shipwrecked -and has barely escaped with life—that is, with a fragment of -self-respect. I am so glad I had strength to give up that fortune, -Claire! You know how I always desired wealth."</p> - -<p>"I know so well," said Claire, "that I am proud of you—proud that you -had the courage to do what must have cost you so much. But I always -told you that I knew you better than you knew yourself; and I was sure -that you would never do anything unworthy, not even to gain the end -you had so much at heart. But, Marion"—her face grew grave,—"I have -something to tell you that I fear may prove unpleasant to you. Brian -Earle is here."</p> - -<p>"Brian Earle here!" repeated Marion. She became very pale, and for a -moment was silent. Then she said, proudly, "I hope no one will imagine -that I suspected this. I thought he was in Germany. But it will not be -necessary for me to meet him."</p> - -<p>"That must be for you to decide," said Claire, in a somewhat troubled -tone. "He comes to see us occasionally—he is an old friend of Mrs. -Kerr's—but, if you desire it, I will ask her to let him know that it -will be best for him to discontinue his visits."</p> - -<p>"No," said Marion, with quick, instinctive recoil; "for that would be -to acknowledge that I shrink from seeing him. If I <i>do</i> shrink, he -shall not be made aware of it. Perhaps, when he knows that I am here, -he will desire to keep away. If not, I am—I will be strong enough to -meet him with indifference."</p> - -<p>Claire looked at her steadily, wistfully; it seemed as if she -were trying to know all that might be known. "If you do not feel -indifference," she said, gently, after a moment, "is it well to -simulate it?"</p> - -<p>"How can you ask such a question?" demanded Marion, with a touch of -her old haughtiness. "It is not only well—it is essential to my -self-respect. But I do not acknowledge that it will be simulation. Why -should I be other than indifferent to Brian Earle? As I confessed to -you a few minutes ago, I suffered when we parted, but that is over now."</p> - -<p>"You care for him no longer, then?"</p> - -<p>"Is it possible I could care for a man who has treated me as he has -done? For I still believe that it was his duty to have remained with -his uncle, and if—if he had cared for me at all he would have done so."</p> - -<p>"But perhaps," said Claire, "he perceived that passionate desire of -yours for wealth, and thought that it would not be well for you to have -it gratified. I can imagine that."</p> - -<p>"You imagine, then, exactly what he was good enough to say," replied -Marion, dryly. "But I suppose you know enough of me to be also able -to imagine that I was not very grateful for such a form of regard. He -talked like a moralist, but he certainly did not feel like a lover, and -so I let him go. I am not sorry for that."</p> - -<p>"Then," said Claire, after a short pause of reflection, "I cannot see -any reason why you should avoid meeting him. There may be a little -awkwardness at first; but, if you have really no feeling for him, that -will pass away."</p> - -<p>"I should prefer to avoid such a meeting, if possible," answered -Marion; "but if not possible, I will endure. Only, if you can, give me -warning when it is likely to occur."</p> - -<p>"That, unfortunately, is what I can hardly do," said Claire, in a -tone of regret. "Our friends have established a habit of dropping in, -without formality, almost any evening; and so we never know who is -coming, or when."</p> - -<p>"In that case there is, of course, nothing to be done. I can only -promise that, whenever the occasion occurs, I will try to be equal to -it."</p> - -<p>"I have no doubt of that," answered Claire.</p> - -<p>But she looked concerned as she went away, and it was evident to Mrs. -Kerr that she was more than usually thoughtful that evening. As she had -said, their friends in Rome found it pleasant to drop informally into -their pretty <i>salon</i>. Artists predominated among these friends; so it -was not strange that she watched the door, thinking that Brian Earle -might come, and conscious of a wish that he would; for Marion, pleading -fatigue, declined to appear on this first evening after her arrival; -and Claire said to herself that if Earle <i>did</i> come, it would give her -an opportunity to tell him what meeting lay before him, and he could -then avoid it if he chose to do so. When, as the evening passed on, it -became at length clear that he was not coming—and there was no reason -beside her own desire for expecting him,—Claire thought, with a sigh, -that events must take their course, since it was plainly out of her -power to direct them.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXXI.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">And</span> events did take their course, when, a few evenings later, Marion -suddenly saw Earle entering the <i>salon</i>, where three or four visitors -were already assembled. She herself was at the farther end of the room, -and somewhat concealed by a large Oriental screen, near which she was -seated. She was very glad of this friendly shelter when she felt her -heart leap in a manner which fairly terrified her, as, glancing up, she -saw Earle's face in the doorway. Her own emotion surprised her far more -than his appearance; she shrank farther back into the shadow to conceal -what she feared might be perceptible to others, and yet she could not -refrain from following him with her eyes.</p> - -<p>What she saw was this—that, even while greeting Mrs. Kerr, his -glance wandered to Claire; that his first eager step was taken in her -direction; and that his face, when he took her hand, was so eloquent of -pleasure and tender admiration that it made Marion recall some words he -had spoken when they first knew each other in Scarborough. "She charmed -me," he had said then of Claire; "she is so simple, so candid, so -intent upon high aims." Every word came back with sudden distinctness, -with sudden, piercing meaning and weight, in the light of the look on -Earle's face.</p> - -<p>"He is in love with Claire!" said Marion to herself. "Nothing could -be more natural, nothing more suitable. There is no struggle <i>here</i> -between his heart and his judgment, as was the case with me. She seems -to be made for him in every respect. Why did I not think of it sooner, -and why did not Claire tell me that he had transferred his affection to -her? Did she want me to see for myself, or did she think that I should -not see? But there is no reason why I should care—none whatever."</p> - -<p>Even while she repeated this assurance to herself, however, the sinking -of her heart, the trembling of her hands, belied it, and frightened her -by the evidence of a feeling she had not suspected. Surely, among the -mysteries of our being, there is none greater than the existence and -growth of feelings which we not only do not encourage, but of which we -are often in absolute ignorance until some flash of illumination comes -to reveal to us their strength.</p> - -<p>Such a flash came now to Marion. She had assured herself that she had -put Brian Earle out of her heart, and instead she suddenly found that, -during the interval in which she had condemned it to darkness and -silence, her feeling for him had increased rather than lessened. And -she was now face to face with the proof that he had forgotten her—that -he had found in Claire the true ideal of his fancy! She felt that it -was natural, she acknowledged that it was just, but the shock was -overpowering.</p> - -<p>Fortunately, she happened at that moment to be alone—a gentleman who -had been talking to her having crossed the room to ask Mrs. Kerr a -question. Seeing him about to retrace his steps, a sudden instinct of -flight—of flight at any cost of personal dignity—seized Marion. She -felt that in another instant Claire would point her out to Earle, that -he would be forced to come and address her. Could she bear that?—was -she able to meet him as indifferently as she desired to do? Her beating -pulses told her no; and, without giving herself time to think, she -rose, lifted a <i>portičre</i> near her, and passed swiftly and silently -from the room.</p> - -<p>Claire, meanwhile, glanced up at Earle; and she, too, met that look of -tender admiration which Marion perceived. It was not the first time -she had met it, but it was the first time that a consciousness of its -possible meaning flashed upon her. She did not color at the thought, -but grew instead suddenly pale, and glanced toward the corner of the -room where Marion at that instant had made her escape; but Claire did -not perceive this, and, with the sense of her presence, said to Earle:—</p> - -<p>"You have probably not heard that my friend Marion Lynde is here?"</p> - -<p>He started. "Miss Lynde <i>here</i>—in Rome!" he asked. "No, I had not -heard it. Why has she come?"</p> - -<p>"To see and to be with me," answered Claire, calmly. "You know, -perhaps, that we are great friends."</p> - -<p>"I have heard Miss Lynde speak of you," he said, regaining -self-possession; "and if the friendship struck me as rather a strange -one, knowing little of you as I did then, you may be sure that it -strikes me now as more than strange. I have never met two people in my -life who seemed to me to have less in common."</p> - -<p>"Pardon me!" returned Claire. "You think so because you do not know -either of us very well. We have really a great deal in common, and I -doubt if any one in the world knows Marion as well as I do."</p> - -<p>He looked at her with a sudden keen glance from under brows somewhat -bent. "Are you not aware that I had at one time reason to fancy that I -knew Miss Lynde quite well?" he asked.</p> - -<p>"Yes," said Claire, with frankness; "I know. She has told me of that. -But in such a relation as the one which existed between you for a time, -people sometimes learn very little of each other. And I think that -perhaps you did not learn very much of her."</p> - -<p>"I learned quite enough," he replied,—"all that was necessary to -convince me that I had made a great mistake. And there can be no doubt -that Miss Lynde reached the same conclusion. That, I believe, is all -that there is to say of the matter." He paused a moment, then added, -"If she is here, I hope it will not be unpleasant to her to meet me; -since I should be sorry to be banished from this <i>salon</i>, which Mrs. -Kerr and yourself make so attractive."</p> - -<p>"There is no reason for banishment, unless you desire it," said Claire. -"Marion does not object to meeting you. But I think that there are -one or two things that you ought to know before you meet her. Are you -aware, in the first place, that she has given up your uncle's fortune?"</p> - -<p>"No," he answered, very much startled. "Why has she done so?"</p> - -<p>"Because Mr. Singleton's son appeared, and she thought that he should -in justice possess his father's fortune. Do you not think she was -right?"</p> - -<p>"Right?—I suppose so. But this is very astonishing news. You are -positively certain that George Singleton, my uncle's son, is alive?"</p> - -<p>"I am certain that Marion has told me so, and I do not suppose she is -mistaken, since she has resigned a fortune to him. People are usually -sure before they take such a step as that."</p> - -<p>"Yes," he assented, "but it seems almost incredible. For years George -Singleton has been thought to be dead, and I was under the impression -that my uncle had positive reason for believing him so. This being the -case, there was no reason why he should not leave his fortune as he -liked, and I was glad when I heard that he had left it to Miss Lynde; -for the possession of wealth seemed to be the first desire of her -heart."</p> - -<p>"Poor Marion!" said Claire, gently. "You might be more tolerant of -that desire if you knew all that she has suffered—suffered in a way -peculiarly hard to her—from poverty. And she has surely proved in -the most conclusive manner that, however much she desired wealth, -she was not prepared to keep it at any cost to her conscience or her -self-respect."</p> - -<p>"Did she, then, resign <i>all</i> the fortune?"</p> - -<p>"Very nearly all. She said that she reluctantly retained only a few -thousand dollars."</p> - -<p>"But is it possible that George Singleton did not insist upon -providing for her fitly? Whatever his other faults, he was not -mercenary—formerly."</p> - -<p>"Mr. Singleton must have tried every possible argument to induce her -to keep half the fortune, but she refused to do so. I think she felt -keenly some reflections that had been thrown on her by Mr. Singleton's -relatives, and wished to disprove them."</p> - -<p>Earle was silent for a minute. He seemed trying to adjust his mind to -these new views of Marion's character. "And you tell me that she is -here—with you?"</p> - -<p>"I was about to say that she is in the room," Claire answered; "but I -do not see her just now. She was here a few minutes ago."</p> - -<p>"Probably my appearance sent her away. Perhaps she would rather not -meet me."</p> - -<p>"She assured me that she did not object to meeting you; and, unless -you give up our acquaintance, I do not see how such a meeting can be -avoided; for she has come to stay in Rome some time."</p> - -<p>"Well," said Earle, with an air of determination, "I certainly have -no intention of giving up your acquaintance. Be sure of that. And it -would go hard with me to cease visiting here in the pleasant, familiar -fashion Mrs. Kerr and yourself have allowed me to fall into. So if Miss -Lynde does not object to meeting me, there assuredly is not the least -reason why I should object to meeting her."</p> - -<p>Claire would have liked to ask, in her sincere, straightforward -fashion, if all his feeling for Marion was at an end; and she might -have done so but for the recollection of the look which had startled -her. She did not acknowledge to herself in so many words what that look -might mean; but it made her instinctively avoid any dangerous question, -and she was not sorry when at this point their <i>tęte-ŕ-tęte</i> was -interrupted.</p> - -<p>But Marion did not reappear; and when Claire at length went to seek -her, she found that she had retired. Her room was in partial darkness, -so that her face could not be seen, but her voice sounded altogether as -usual when she accounted for her disappearance.</p> - -<p>"I found that I was more tired than I had imagined by our day of -sight-seeing," she said. "I grew so stupid that flight was the only -resource. Pray make my excuses to Mr. Gardner. I vanished while he went -across the room, and I suppose he was astonished to find an empty chair -when he returned."</p> - -<p>"Do you know that Mr. Earle entered just at the time you left?" asked -Claire, who had her suspicions about this sudden flight.</p> - -<p>"Did he?" said Marion, in a tone of indifference. "Fortunately, it is -not necessary to make my excuses to him. There is no more reason why -he should wish to see me than why I should wish to see him. Another -time will answer as well to exchange some common-places of greeting. -Good-night, dear! Don't let me detain you longer from your friends."</p> - -<p>"I am so sorry you are tired! Hereafter we must be more moderate in -sight-seeing," observed Claire.</p> - -<p>As she went out of the room she said to herself that she must wait -before she could decide anything with regard to the feelings of these -two people. Was their alienation real and complete? One seemed as -cold and indifferent as the other. But did this coldness only mask -the old affection, or was it genuine? Claire had some instincts which -seldom misled her, and one of these instincts made her fear that the -indifference was more genuine with Earle than with Marion. "That would -be terrible," she said to herself: "if <i>he</i> has forgotten and <i>she</i> has -not. If it were only possible that they would tell the simple truth! -But that, I suppose, cannot be expected. If I knew it, I would know how -to act; but as it is I can only wait and observe. I believe, however, -that Marion left the room because he appeared; and if his presence has -such an effect on her, she certainly cares for him yet."</p> - -<p>Marion was already writhing under the thought that this very conclusion -would be drawn—perhaps by Earle himself,—and determining that she -would never again be betrayed into such weakness. "It was the shock of -surprise," she said in self-extenuation. "I was not expecting anything -of <i>that</i> kind, and it naturally startled me. I know it now, and it -will have no such effect a second time. I suppose I might have looked -for it if I had not been so self-absorbed. Certainly it is not only -natural, but very suitable. They seem made for each other; and I—I do -hope they may be happy. But I must go away as soon as I can. That is -necessary."</p> - -<p>It was several days after this that the meeting between herself and -Earle took place. She had been with Claire for some hours in the -galleries of the Vatican, and finally before leaving they entered the -beautiful Raphael Loggia—that lovely spot filled with light and color, -where the most exquisite creations of the king of painters glow with -immortal sunshine from the walls. As they entered and paced slowly down -its length, a figure was advancing from the other end of the luminous -vista toward them. Marion recognized this figure before Claire did, -and so had a moment in which to take firm hold of her self-possession -before the latter, turning to her quickly, said, "Yonder comes Mr. -Earle."</p> - -<p>"So I perceive," replied Marion, quietly. "He has not changed -sufficiently to make an introduction necessary."</p> - -<p>The next moment they had met, were shaking hands, and exchanging -greetings. Of the two Marion preserved her composure best. Earle was -surprised by his own emotion when he saw again the face that once had -power to move him so deeply. He had said to himself that its power was -over, that he was cured in the fullest sense of that which he looked -back upon as brief infatuation; but now that he found himself again in -Marion's presence, a thrill of the old emotion seemed to stir, and for -a moment rendered him hardly able to speak.</p> - -<p>Conventionalities are powerful things, however, and the emotion must be -very strong that is not successfully held in check by them. Claire went -on speaking in her gentle voice, giving the others time to recover any -self-possession which they might have lost.</p> - -<p>"We just came for a turn in this beautiful place before going home," -she said to Earle. "They are my delight, these <i>loggia</i> of the Vatican. -All the sunshine and charm of Italy seem to meet in the divine -loveliness of the frescos within, and the beauty of the classic gardens -without. A Papal audience is never so picturesque, I am sure, as when -it is held in one of these noble galleries."</p> - -<p>Earle assented rather absently; then saying, "If you are about to go -home, I will see you to your carriage," turned and joined them. It was -a singular sensation to find himself walking again by Marion's side; -and the recollection of their last parting returned so vividly to his -mind that when he spoke he could only say, "My poor uncle's life was -much, shorter than I imagined it would be, Miss Lynde."</p> - -<p>"Yes," replied Marion, quietly. "His death was a great surprise to -everyone. I am sure you did not think when you parted from him that his -life would be numbered only by weeks."</p> - -<p>"I certainly did not think so," he answered, with emphasis. Then he -paused and hesitated. Conversation seemed hedged with more difficulties -than he had anticipated. His parting with his uncle had been so closely -connected with his parting from Marion, that he found it a subject -impossible to pursue. He dropped it abruptly, therefore, and remarked: -"I was greatly surprised to learn from Miss Alford that my cousin -George Singleton is alive, and has returned from the wild regions in -which he buried himself."</p> - -<p>This was a better opening. Marion replied that Mr. Singleton's -appearance had astonished everyone concerned, but that his identity was -fully established. "Indeed," she added, "I do not think there was a -doubt in the mind of any one after he made his personal appearance."</p> - -<p>"And you gave up your fortune to him?" said Earle, with a sudden keen -glance at her.</p> - -<p>She colored. "I did not feel that it was <i>my</i> fortune," she answered, -"but rather his. Surely his father must have believed him dead, else he -would never have made such a disposition of his property."</p> - -<p>"That was my impression—that he believed him dead. But it is difficult -to speak with certainty about a man so peculiar and so reticent as my -uncle. You will, perhaps, pardon me for saying that, since he had left -you his fortune, I do not think you were bound to resign it all."</p> - -<p>"I suppose," said Marion, somewhat coldly, "that I was not bound to -resign any of it: I had, no doubt, a legal right to keep whatever the -law did not take from me. But I am not so mercenary as you believe. I -could not keep what I did not believe to be rightfully mine."</p> - -<p>Despite pride, her voice trembled a little over the last words; and -Earle was immediately filled with self-reproach to think that he had -wounded her.</p> - -<p>"So far from believing you mercenary," he said gravely, "I think that -you have acted with extraordinary generosity,—a generosity carried, -indeed, beyond prudence. Forgive me for alluding to the subject. I only -regret that my uncle's intentions toward you have been so entirely -frustrated."</p> - -<p>"I have the recollection of his great kindness," she said, hurriedly. -"I know that he desired to help me, therefore I felt it right to keep -something. I did not leave myself penniless."</p> - -<p>"You would have been wrong if you had done so," remarked Earle; "but -it would have been better still if you had kept a fair amount of the -fortune."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no!" she replied; "for I had no claim to any of it—no claim, I -mean, of relationship. I was a stranger to your uncle, and I only kept -such an amount as it seemed to me a kind-hearted man might give to a -stranger who had wakened his interest. Mr. George Singleton was very -kind, too. He wished me to keep more, but I would not."</p> - -<p>"I understand how you felt," said Earle; "and I fear I should have -acted in the same manner myself, so I really cannot blame you. I only -think it a pity."</p> - -<p>The gentleness and respect of his tone touched and pleased her. She -felt that it implied more approval and sympathy than he liked to -express. Unconsciously her eyes thanked him; and when they parted a -little later in one of the courts of the Vatican, each felt that the -awkwardness of meeting was over, and that there was no reason why they -should shrink from meeting again.</p> - -<p>"I have wronged her," said Earle to himself as he strolled away. "She -is not the absolutely mercenary and heartless creature I had come to -believe her. I might have known that I was wrong, or Miss Alford would -not make a friend of her. Whoever <i>she</i> likes must be worthy of being -liked."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXXII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">It</span> was soon apparent to Marion that Claire's talent was as fully -recognized by the artists who made her circle now, as it had been by -the nuns in the quiet convent she had left. They praised her work, they -asked her judgment upon their own, and they prophesied a great future -for her—a future of the highest distinction and the most solid rewards.</p> - -<p>"I knew how it would be, Claire," Marion said one day, as she sat in -the studio of the young artist watching her at work. "I always knew -that <i>you</i> would succeed, whoever else failed. Do you remember our last -conversation together—you and Helen and I—the evening before we left -school, when we told one another what we desired most in life? <i>I</i> said -money; well, I have had it, and was forced to choose between giving it -up or giving up my self-respect. I have found out already that there -are worse things than to be poor. Helen said happiness—poor, dear -Helen! and the happiness of which she was thinking slipped out of her -fingers like a vapor. But you, Claire,—<i>you</i> chose something worthy: -you chose success in art, and God has given it to you."</p> - -<p>"Yes," observed Claire, meditatively, "I have had some success; I feel -within myself the power to do good work, and my power is recognized by -those whose praise is of value. I feel that my future is assured—that -I can make money enough for all my needs, and also the fame which it -is natural for every artist to desire. But, Marion, do you know that -with this realization has come a great sense of its unsatisfactoriness? -There are days in which I lay down my brushes and say to myself '<i>Cui -bono?</i>' as wearily as the most world-weary man."</p> - -<p>"Claire, it is impossible!"</p> - -<p>Claire smiled a little sadly as she went on mixing her colors. "It is -very possible and very true," she said. "And I suppose the moral of it -is that there is no real satisfaction in the possession of any earthly -ideal. We desire it, we work for it, and when we get it we find that it -has no power to make us happy. We three, each of us in different ways, -found that out, Marion."</p> - -<p>"But there was no similarity in the ways," replied Marion. "Mine was an -unworthy ideal, and Helen's a foolish one; but yours was all that it -ought to be, and it seems to me that you should be perfectly happy in -the attainment of it."</p> - -<p>"And so I am happy," said Claire. "Do not mistake me. I am happy, -and very grateful to God; but I cannot pretend to a satisfaction in -the attainment of my wishes which I do not find. There is something -lacking. Though I love art, it does not fill the needs of my nature. I -want something more—something which I do not possess—as an object, an -incentive—"</p> - -<p>She broke off abruptly, and Marion was silent for a moment from sheer -astonishment. That Claire should feel in this way—Claire so calm, -so self-contained, so devoted to her art, so ambitious of success in -it—amazed her beyond the power of expression, until suddenly a light -dawned upon her and she seemed to see what it meant. It meant—it -<i>must</i> mean—that Claire in her loneliness felt the need of love, and -the ties that love creates. Friends were all very well, but friends -could not satisfy the heart in the fullest sense; neither could the -pleasure of painting pictures, nor the praise of critics, however warm. -Yes, Claire desired love—that was plain; and love was at hand for her -to take—love that Marion had thrown away.</p> - -<p>"It is just and right," said the latter to herself. "I have nothing to -complain of—nothing! And she must not think that I will regret it. I -must find a way to make her understand this." After a minute she spoke -aloud: "Certainly you have surprised me, Claire; for I did think that -<i>you</i> were happy. But I suppose the moral is, as you say, that the -attainment of no object which we set before ourselves is able to render -us thoroughly satisfied. But your pictures are so beautiful that it -must be a pleasure to paint them."</p> - -<p>"Genius is too great a word to apply to me," remarked Claire, quietly. -"But it <i>is</i> a pleasure to paint; I should be ungrateful beyond measure -if I denied that. I have much happiness in it, and I am more than -content with the success God has granted me. I only meant to say that -it has not the power to satisfy me completely. But that, I suppose, -nothing of a purely earthly nature can have."</p> - -<p>"Do you think not?" asked Marion, rather wistfully. This is "a hard -saying" for youth to believe, even after experience has somewhat taught -its truth. Indeed the belief that there may be lasting good in some -earthly ideal, eagerly sought, eagerly desired, does not end with -youth. Men and women pursue such delusions to the very end of life, -and lie down at last in the arms of death without having ever known -any lasting happiness, or lifted their eyes to the one Ideal which can -alone satisfy the yearning of their poor human hearts.</p> - -<p>This glimpse of Claire's inmost feeling was not forgotten by Marion. It -seemed to her that it made matters plain, and she had now no doubt how -the affair would end as regarded Earle. She said again to herself, "I -must go away;" but she knew that to go immediately would be to betray -herself, and this she passionately desired not to do. Therefore she did -what was the next best thing—she avoided Earle as much as possible, -so markedly indeed that it would have been impossible for him to force -himself upon her even if he had desired to do so. She persevered in -this line of conduct so resolutely that Claire began to think that -some conclusions she had drawn at first were a mistake, and that the -alienation between these two was indeed final.</p> - -<p>But Marion's success cost her dearly. It was a severe discipline -through which she was passing—a discipline which tried every power of -her nature, in which there was a constant struggle to subdue everything -that was most dominant within her. Passion that had grown stronger -with time, selfishness that demanded what it desired, vanity that -smarted under forgetfulness, and pride that longed to assert itself in -power,—all of these struggled against the resolution which kept them -down. But the resolution did not fail. "After having thrown away my -own happiness by my own fault, I will die before I sacrifice Claire's," -she determined. But it was a hard battle to fight alone; and, had she -relied solely upon her own strength, might never have been fought at -all, or at least would have ended very soon. But Rome is still Rome, -in that it offers on every side such spiritual aids and comforts as no -other spot of earth affords.</p> - -<p>If Marion had begun to find mysterious peace in the bare little chapel -of Scarborough, was she less likely to find it here in these ancient -sanctuaries of faith, these great basilicas that in their grandeur -dwarf all other temples of earth,—that in their beauty are like -glimpses of the heavenly courts, and in their solemn holiness lay on -the spirit a spell that language can but faintly express? It was not -long before this spell came upon her like a fascination. When the heavy -curtains swung behind her, and she passed from the sunlight of the -streets into the cool dimness of some vast church; when through lines -of glistening marble columns—columns quarried for pagan temples by the -captives of ancient Rome—she passed to chapels rich with every charm -of art and gift of wealth,—to sculptured altars where for long ages -the Divine Victim had been offered, and the unceasing incense of prayer -ascended,—she felt as if she asked only to remain and steep her weary -heart and soul in the ineffable repose which she found there.</p> - -<p>She expressed something of this one day to Claire, when they passed out -of Santa Maria Maggiore into the light of common day; and Claire looked -at her, with a smile in her deep grey eyes.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, in her usual quiet tone, "I know that feeling very -well. But it is not possible to have only the comfort of religion: we -must taste also the struggle and the sacrifice it demands. We must -leave the peace of the sanctuary to fight our appointed battle in the -world, or else we must make one great sacrifice and leave the world -to find our home and work in the sanctuary. I do not think that will -ever be your vocation, Marion, so you must be content with carrying -some of the peace of the sanctuary back with you into the world. Only, -my dear"—her voice sank a little,—"I think if you would take one -decisive step, you would find that peace more real and enduring."</p> - -<p>"I know what you mean," answered Marion, thoughtfully. "I cannot tell -why I have delayed so long. I certainly believe whatever the Catholic -Church teaches, because I am sure that if she has not the truth in -her possession, it is not on earth. I am willing to do whatever she -commands, but I am not devotional, Claire. I cannot pretend to be."</p> - -<p>"There is no need to pretend," returned Claire, gently; "nor yet to -torment yourself about your deficiency in that respect. Yours is not -a devotional nature, Marion; but all the more will your service be of -value, because you will offer it not to please yourself, but to obey -and honor God. Do not fear on that account, but come let me take you to -my good friend, Monsignor R——."</p> - -<p>"Take me where you will," said Marion. "If I can only retain and make -my own the peace that I sometimes feel in your churches, I will do -anything that can be required of me."</p> - -<p>"I do not think you will find that anything hard will be required of -you," observed Claire, with a smile that was almost angelic in its -sweetness and delight.</p> - -<p>And truly Marion found, as myriads have found before her, that no -path was ever made easier, more like the guiding of a mother's hand, -than that which led her into the Church of God. So gentle were the -sacramental steps, and each so full of strange, mysterious sweetness, -that this period ever after seemed like a sanctuary in her life—a spot -set apart and sacred, as hallowed with the presence of the Lord. She -had willingly followed the suggestion of the good priest, and gone into -a convent for a few days before her reception into the Church. This -reception took place in the lovely convent chapel, where, surrounded -by the nuns, with only Claire and Mrs. Kerr present from the outer -world, it seemed to Marion as if time had indeed rolled back, and she -was again at the beginning of life. But what a different beginning! -Looking at the selfish and worldly spirit with which she had faced the -world before, she could only thank God with wondering gratitude for the -lesson He had taught so soon, and the rescue He had inspired.</p> - -<p>When she found herself again in Claire's <i>salon</i>, with a strange -sense of having been far away for a great length of time, one of the -first people to congratulate her on the step she had taken was Brian -Earle. He was astonished when Claire told him where Marion had gone, -and he was more astonished now at the look on her face as she turned -it to him. Although he could not define it, there was a withdrawal, -an aloofness in that face which he had never seen there before. Nor -was this an imagination on his part. Marion felt, with a sense of -infinite relief, that she <i>had</i> been withdrawn from the influence he -unconsciously exerted upon her; that it was no longer painful to her -to see him; that the higher feeling in which she had been absorbed -had taken the sting out of the purely natural sentiment that had been -a trouble to her. She felt a resignation to things as they were, -for which she had vainly struggled before; and, even while she was -withdrawn from Earle, felt a quietness so great that it amounted to -pleasure in speaking to him.</p> - -<p>"Yes," she said, in answer to his congratulation, "I have certainly -proved that all roads lead to Rome. No road could have seemed less -likely to lead to Rome than the one I set out on; but here I am—safe -in the spiritual city. It is a wonder to me even yet."</p> - -<p>"It is not so great a wonder to me," he replied. "I thought even in -Scarborough that you were very near it."</p> - -<p>She colored. The allusion to Scarborough made her realize how and why -she had been near it then, but she recovered herself quickly. "In a -certain sense I was always near it," she said, quietly. "I never for a -moment believed that any religion was true except the Catholic. But no -one knows better than I do now what a wide difference there is between -believing intellectually and acting practically. The grace of God is -absolutely necessary for the latter, and why He should have given that -grace to <i>me</i> I do not know."</p> - -<p>"It is difficult to tell why He should have given it to any of us," -observed Earle, touched and surprised more and more. Was this indeed -the girl who had once seemed to him so worldly and so mercenary? He -could hardly credit the transformation that had taken place in her.</p> - -<p>"I have never seen any one so changed as Miss Lynde," he said later to -Claire. "One can believe any change possible after seeing her."</p> - -<p>Claire smiled. "You will perhaps believe now that you only knew her -superficially before," she replied. "There is certainly a change—a -great change—in her. But the possibility of the change was always -there."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXXIII.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">Soon</span> after this Claire said to herself that if these two people were -ever to be brought together again it could only be by her exertions. -Left to themselves, it became more and more evident that such an event -would never occur. And Claire had fully arrived at the conclusion that -it would be the best thing which could occur; for she had no doubt of -the genuineness of Marion's regard for Earle; and, while she recognized -the attraction which she herself possessed for the latter, she believed -that, underlying this, his love for Marion existed still.</p> - -<p>"But, whether it does or not, his fancy for <i>me</i> can come to nothing," -she thought; "and the sooner he knows it, the better. I should be glad -if he could know it at once. If such a thing must be stopped, there -should be no delay in the matter."</p> - -<p>It was certainly no fault of Claire's that there was any delay. Earle's -manner to herself rendered her so nervous, especially when Marion was -present to witness it, that she could hardly control her inclination to -take matters in her own hand, and utter some words which it would be -contrary to all precedent for a woman to utter until she has been asked -for them. But her eagerness to make herself understood at last gave -her the opportunity she so much desired.</p> - -<p>One evening Earle inquired about a picture on which she was engaged, -and of which he had seen the beginning in an open-air Campagna sketch. -She replied that she was not succeeding with it as she had hoped to do; -and when he asked if he might not be permitted to see it, she readily -assented.</p> - -<p>"For, you know, one is not always the best judge of one's own work," -he remarked. "You may be discouraged without reason. I will give you a -candid opinion as to the measure of your success."</p> - -<p>"If you will promise an altogether candid opinion, you may come," she -answered; "for you were present when I made the sketch, and so you can -tell better than any one else if I have succeeded in any measure at -all."</p> - -<p>"To-morrow, then," he said,—"may I come to-morrow, and at what hour?"</p> - -<p>Claire hesitated for a moment, and then named an hour late in the -afternoon. "I shall not be at leisure before then," she said.</p> - -<p>She did not add what was in her thoughts—that at this hour she might -see him alone, since Mrs. Kerr and Marion generally went out at that -time to drive. It was, she knew, contrary to foreign custom for her to -receive him in such a manner; but, strong in the integrity of her own -purpose, she felt that foreign customs concerned her very little.</p> - -<p>The next day, therefore, when Earle arrived, he was informed that the -ladies were out, except Miss Alford, who was in her studio, and would -receive him there. A little surprised but very much pleased by this, -he followed the servant to the room which Claire used as a studio when -she was not studying in the galleries or in the studio of the artist -who was her master.</p> - -<p>It was a small apartment, altogether devoted to work, and without any -of the decorations which make many studios show-rooms for bric-a-brac -rather than places for labor. Here the easel was the chief article of -furniture, and there was little else beside tables for paints and a -few chairs. All was scrupulously clean, fresh and airy, however; and, -with Claire's graceful figure in the midst, it seemed to Earle, as he -entered, a very shrine of art—art in the noble simplicity which suits -it best.</p> - -<p>Claire, with her palette on her hand, was standing before the easel. -She greeted him with a smile, and bade him come where he could command -a good view of the painting. "Now be quite candid," she said; "for you -know I do not care for compliments."</p> - -<p>"And I hope you know that I never pay them—to you," he answered, as he -obeyed her and stepped in front of the canvas.</p> - -<p>It was a charming picture, a typical Campagna scene—a ruined medićval -fortress, in the lower story of which peasants had made their home, -and round the door of which children were playing; a group of cattle -drinking at a flag-grown pool; and, stretching far and wide, the solemn -beauty of the great plain. The details were treated with great artistic -skill, and the sentiment of the picture expressed admirably the wild, -poetic desolation of this earth, "<i>fatiguée de gloire, qui semble -dédaigner de produire</i>."</p> - -<p>"You have succeeded wonderfully," said Earle, after a pause of some -length. "How can you doubt it? Honestly, I did not expect to see -anything half so beautiful. How admirably you have expressed the spirit -of the Campagna!"</p> - -<p>"Do you really think so?" asked Claire, coloring with pleasure. "Or, -rather, I know that you would not say so if you did not think so, and -therefore I am delighted to hear it. I wanted so much to express that -spirit. It is what chiefly impresses me whenever I see the Campagna, -and it is so impossible to put it in words."</p> - -<p>"You have put it here," said Earle, with a gesture toward the canvas. -"Never again doubt your ability to express anything that you like. You -will be a great painter some day, Miss Alford; are you aware of that?"</p> - -<p>She shook her head, and the flush of pleasure faded from her face as -she turned her grave, gentle eyes to him. "No," she answered, quietly, -"I do not think I shall ever be a great painter; and I will tell you -why: it is because I do not think that art is my vocation—at least, -not my <i>first</i> vocation."</p> - -<p>"Not your first vocation to be an artist?" he said, in a tone of the -greatest astonishment. "How can you think such a thing with the proof -of your power before your eyes? Why, to doubt that you are an artist in -every fibre of your being is equivalent to doubting that you exist."</p> - -<p>"Not quite," she answered, smiling. "But indeed I do not doubt that I -am an artist, and I used to believe that if I really could become one, -and be successful in the exercise of art, I should be perfectly happy. -Now I have already succeeded beyond my hopes. I cannot doubt but that -those who tell me, as you have just done, that I may be a painter in -the truest sense if I continue to work, are right. And yet I repeat -with the utmost seriousness that I do not think it is my vocation to -remain in the world and devote myself to art."</p> - -<p>Earle looked startled as a sudden glimpse of her meaning came to his -mind. "What, then," he said, "do you believe to be your vocation?"</p> - -<p>Claire looked away from him. She did not wish to see how hard the blow -she must deliver would strike.</p> - -<p>"I believe," she said, quietly, "that it is my vocation to enter the -religious life. God has given me what I desired most in the world, but -it does not satisfy me. My heart was left behind in the cloister, and -day by day the desire grows upon me more strongly to return there."</p> - -<p>"But you will not!" said Earle, almost violently. "It is impossible—it -would be a sacrifice such as God never demands! Why should He have -given you such great talent if He wished you to bury it in a cloister?"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps that I might have something to offer to Him," answered Claire. -"Otherwise I should have nothing, you know. But there can be no -question of sacrifice when one is following the strongest inclination -of one's heart."</p> - -<p>"You do not know your own heart yet," said Earle. "You are following -its first inclination without testing it. How could the peace and charm -of the cloister fail to attract you—you who seem made for it? But—"</p> - -<p>Claire's lifted hand stayed his words. "See," she said, "how you bear -testimony to what I have declared. If I 'seem made' for the cloister, -what can that mean save that my place is there?"</p> - -<p>"Then is there no place for pure and good and lovely people in the -world?" asked Earle, conscious that his tongue had indeed betrayed him.</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes!" she answered; "there are not only places, but there are also -many duties for such people; and numbers of them are to be met on all -sides. But there are also some souls whom God calls to serve Him in the -silence and retirement of the cloister, who pine like homesick exiles -in the world. Believe me I am one of those souls. I shrank from leaving -the convent where I had been educated, to go out into the world; but I -knew what everyone would say: that I was following a fancy—an untried -fancy—if I stayed. So I went; and, as if to test me, everything -that I desired has been given me, and given without the delays and -disappointments that others have had to endure. The world has shown me -only its fairest side, yet the call to something better and higher has -daily grown stronger within me, until I have no longer any doubt but -that it is God's will that I shall go."</p> - -<p>Earle threw himself into a chair, and sat for a minute silent, like one -stunned. He felt as if he had heard a death-warrant read—as if he was -not only to be robbed individually, but the world was to be robbed of -this lovely creature with her brilliant gift.</p> - -<p>"What am I to say to you?" he cried at length, in a half-stifled voice. -"This seems to me too horrible for belief. It is like suicide—the -suicide of the faculties, the genius that God has given you,—of all -the capabilities of your nature to enjoy,—of all the beauty, the -happiness of life—"</p> - -<p>He paused, for Claire was regarding him with a look of amazement and -reproach. "You call yourself a Catholic," she said, "and yet you can -speak in this way of a religious vocation!"</p> - -<p>"I do not speak of religious vocations in general," he answered. "I -only speak of yours. There are plenty of people who have nothing -special to do in the world. Let <i>them</i> go to the cloister. But for -you—you with your wonderful talent, your bright future—it is too -terrible an idea to be entertained."</p> - -<p>"Do you know," she said gravely, "that you not only shock, you -disappoint me greatly? How can you be a Catholic and entertain such -sentiments?—how can you think that only the useless, the worn-out, the -disappointed people of this world are for God? I have been told that -Protestants think such things as that, but they are surely strange for -a Catholic to believe."</p> - -<p>"I do not believe them," he said; "I am sure you know that. But when -one is awfully shocked, one does not measure one's words. You do not -realize how close this comes to me—how terrible the disappointment—"</p> - -<p>She cut him short ruthlessly. "I realize," she said, with a sweet -smile, "that you are very kind to have such a good opinion of me—to -believe that the world will really sustain any loss when such an -insignificant person as I leave it for the cloister."</p> - -<p>"Insignificant!" he repeated, with something like a groan. "How -little you know of yourself to think that! But tell me, is your mind -unalterably made up to this step?—could <i>nothing</i> induce you to change -it?"</p> - -<p>Her eyes met his, steady and calm as stars. "Nothing," she answered, -firmly but gently. "When God says, 'Come,' one must arise and go. There -is no alternative. As a preparation, He fills one with such a distaste -for the world, such a sense of the brevity and unsatisfactoriness of -all earthly things, that they no longer have any power to attract."</p> - -<p>"Not even human love?" he asked, almost in a whisper.</p> - -<p>She shook her head. "Not when weighed against divine love," she -answered.</p> - -<p>In that answer everything was said, and a silence fell, in which Claire -seemed to hear the beating of her heart. Would he be satisfied with -this and go away without forcing her to be more explicit, or would he -persist in laying on her one of the most painful necessities which can -be laid upon a woman? As she waited with anxiety for the solution of -this question, Earle was having something of a struggle with himself. -The impulse was strong with him to declare unreservedly what he felt -and what he had ventured to hope; but an instinct told him not only -that it would be useless, but that he would inflict needless pain upon -Claire, and mar their friendship by a memory of words that could serve -no possible purpose. He knew that she understood him; he recognized the -motive which had made her speak to him of a purpose that he felt sure -had been spoken of to no other among her associates and friends; and he -was strong enough to say to himself that he would keep silence—that -she should know no more than she had already guessed of the pain which -it cost him to hear her resolution.</p> - -<p>When he presently looked at her, it was with a face pale with feeling, -but calm with the power of self-control. "Such a choice," he said, "it -is not for me or for any other man to combat. I only venture to beg you -not to act hastily. It would be terrible to take such a step and regret -it."</p> - -<p>Claire smiled almost as a cloistered nun might smile at such words. "Do -you think that one ever takes such a step hastily? No: there is a long -probation before me; and if I have spoken to you somewhat prematurely, -it was only because I thought I should like you to know—"</p> - -<p>"I understand," he said, as she hesitated. "It is well that I should -know. Do not think that I am so dull as to mistake you in the least. I -am honored by your confidence, and I shall remember it and you as long -as I live. Now"—he rose—"I must bid you good-bye. I think of leaving -Rome for a time. I have a friend in Naples who is urging me to join him -in a journey to the East. Can I do anything for you in the Holy Land?"</p> - -<p>"You can pray for me," said Claire; "and believe that wherever I may be -I shall always pray for you."</p> - -<p>"What better covenant could be made?" he asked, with a faint smile. And -then, in order to preserve his composure, he took her hand, kissed it, -and went hastily away.</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">CHAPTER XXXIV.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">And</span> so for Earle those Roman days ended, with the brief dream which he -had indulged of finding in Claire's heart a response for the feeling -that had arisen in his own. Yet no disappointment can be very keen -when hope has not been very great, and Earle was well aware that he -had never possessed any ground for hope. Kind and gentle as Claire had -been, he was always conscious of something about her which seemed to -set her at a remote distance,—an indefinable manner which had made -him once call her "a vestal of art." He understood this now, but he -had felt it before he understood it, and so the blow was not as heavy -as it might have been if this underlying instinct had not existed. A -vestal!—the expression had been well chosen; for there was indeed -a vestal-like quality about her,—a vestal-like charm, which seemed -to inspire thoughts of cloisteral tranquillity, and keep the fires -of human passion at bay. This exquisite quality had been her chief -attraction to Earle: its very unlikeness to the nature which had -fascinated him, and from which he had recoiled, making its charm the -greater; but even while it attracted, he had felt that it removed her -from him and made hope wear the guise of presumption.</p> - -<p>Now all hope was finally at an end; and, since it is in human nature to -resign itself to the inevitable, the wound might be said to carry its -own cure. Earle was aware of this, and he left Rome in no melodramatic -spirit whatever; but feeling it best to go, in order to recover -that calm and healthy control of himself and his own feelings which -had been lacking with him since he first met Marion in Scarborough. -As we know that nature abhors a vacuum, it is probable that his -attachment to Claire arose partly from the disappointment of that prior -attachment—from the need of the heart to put another object in the -place of that which had been dethroned; but, leaving all analysis of -the kind for the future, he quietly accepted the pain of the present -and went away.</p> - -<p>Marion had not the least doubt of the reason of his going, although -no word fell from Claire on the subject. She said to herself that she -was sorry—that she had hoped to know that Claire and himself were -happy together, since they suited each other so well; but, although she -was sincere in thinking this, there could be no doubt that, despite -herself, she felt his departure to be a relief—that it relaxed a -strain in which she held herself,—and that if a blank followed, a -sense of peace, of release from painful conflict, also came. "I suffer -through my own fault," she reflected; "therefore it is quite right that -I should suffer." And such acceptance robbed the suffering of half its -sting.</p> - -<p>Two or three tranquil months followed—months during which the -influences that surrounded her sank deep into Marion, and seemed to be -moulding over again the passionate, impulsive nature. Claire was one -of the foremost of these influences, as Marion herself was well aware; -and more than once she thought that she would be content if she might -spend her life near the friend who had always seemed to her the voice -of her better self. She had begun to study art—having a very fair -talent,—and one day as she sat working at a study she said to Claire, -who was painting busily on the other side of the room:—</p> - -<p>"If I can ever grow to be anything of an artist, what a pleasure it -will be for us to live and work together! I cannot think of anything I -should prefer to that."</p> - -<p>Claire smiled a little. "Nevertheless," she said, "there may be -something that you will prefer as time goes on, although our -association is very pleasant—as pleasant to me as to you."</p> - -<p>"Is there anything that <i>you</i> would prefer?" asked Marion; for -something in the tone of the other struck her with surprise.</p> - -<p>Claire did not answer for a moment. Then she said, quietly: "Yes. I -must be frank with you. There is something I should prefer even to your -companionship, even to art. I should prefer to go back to the convent -that I have never ceased to regret."</p> - -<p>Marion's brush dropped from her hand. She was astonished beyond -measure, for it was the first intimation she had received of such a -feeling on Claire's part. "Go back to the convent," she cried, "and -give up you art!—Claire, are you mad?"</p> - -<p>"Very sane, my dear," answered Claire, smiling. "I have disliked to -tell you about it, because I knew you would be sorry. I am sorry, too, -that it should be necessary for us to part; but I grow daily more -certain that my vocation lies not in the world but in the cloister."</p> - -<p>"I am more than sorry—I am shocked!" said Marion. "With your -talent!—why, all the artists whom we know say that your future is -certain to be a brilliant one. And to bury that in a cloister!—Claire, -it should not be allowed!"</p> - -<p>Claire remembered what other voice had said this, almost in the same -words; but she was no more moved by it now than she had been then.</p> - -<p>"Who should prevent it?" she asked. "If you, for instance, had the -power, would you venture to prevent it—to say that any soul should -serve the world instead of serving God?"</p> - -<p>"That is not a fair way to put it. Cannot people serve God in the world -as well as in the cloister?"</p> - -<p>"Surely yes, if it is their vocation to do so. But if one has a -vocation for the religious life—if that imperative call is heard, -which cannot be realized except by those who hear it, bidding one arise -and go forth,—then one <i>cannot</i> serve God as well in the world as in -the cloister."</p> - -<p>"But, Claire, may you not imagine this call? I cannot believe that God -would have given you such a talent if He had not meant you to make the -most of it. Think how much good you might do if you remained in the -world—how much money you might make, as well as how much fame you -might win!"</p> - -<p>"My dear," said Claire, with gentle solemnity, "how much will either -money or fame weigh in the scales of eternity? I want to work for -eternity rather than for time; and I am, happily, free to do so—to go -back to the cloister, where I left my heart. Do not make it painful -for me. Try to reconcile yourself to it, and to believe that God makes -no mistakes."</p> - -<p>"I cannot be reconciled," said Marion. "It is not only that I cannot -bear to give you up—that I cannot bear for you to resign the success -of which I have been proud in anticipation,—but I am selfish, too. I -think of my own life. You are my one anchor in the world, and I have -been happy in the thought of our living together, of our—"</p> - -<p>Her voice broke down in tears. It was indeed a blow which fell more -heavily than Claire had reckoned on. Feeling assured herself what would -be the end for Marion, she overlooked the fact that Marion herself had -no such assurance. In her disappointment and her friendlessness she -had come to Claire as to a secure refuge, and lo! that refuge was now -about to fail her. Emotion overpowered her—the strong emotion of a -nature which rarely yields to it,—and for some minutes she was hardly -conscious that Claire's tender arms were around her, and Claire's -tender voice was bidding her take comfort and courage.</p> - -<p>"I am not going to leave you immediately, nor even soon," that voice -said; "and I should certainly not leave you, under any circumstances, -until I saw you well placed and happy. Dear Marion, do not distress -yourself. Let us leave things in God's hands. He will show us what is -best."</p> - -<p>"I am a wretch to distress <i>you</i>," said Marion, struggling with her -tears. "But you must not believe me more selfish than I am. Do you -think I should only miss you as a convenience of my life? No, it is -<i>you</i>, Claire—your influence, yourself—that I shall miss beyond all -measure. No one in the world can take your place with me—no one!"</p> - -<p>"But there may be a place as good for some one else to take," said -Claire. "Do not fear: the path will open before you. If we trust God -He will certainly show us what to do. Trust Him, Marion, and try to be -reconciled, will you not?"</p> - -<p>"I will try," Marion answered; "but I fear that I never can be. You see -now, Claire, how strong a hold the world has on me. If I were good, if -I were spiritual-minded, I should be glad for you to do this thing; but -as it is, my whole feeling is one of vehement opposition."</p> - -<p>"That will not last," said Claire. "I have seen it often, even in -people whom you would have called very spiritual-minded; but it ended -in the belief that whatever God wills is best. You will feel that, too, -before long."</p> - -<p>Marion shook her head sadly, but she would not pain Claire by further -words. She felt that her resolution was immovable, however long it -might be before it was executed. "So there is nothing for me but to try -to resign myself," she thought. "I wish it were <i>my</i> vocation that I -might go with her; for everything that I care for seems to slip from my -grasp."</p> - -<p>Apart from resigning herself in feeling, there was also a practical -side of the question which she was well aware must be considered. Where -was she to go, with whom was she to live when Claire had left her, and, -like a weary dove, flown back to cloister shades? She considered this -question anxiously; and she had not arrived at any definite conclusion, -when one day a letter came which made her utter a cry of surprise and -pleasure.</p> - -<p>"This is from Helen," she said, meeting Claire's glance; "and what I -hoped and expected has come to pass—she has promised to marry Mr. -Singleton."</p> - -<p>"Helen!" exclaimed Claire, in a tone of incredulity. "Why, I thought he -wanted to marry you."</p> - -<p>Marion laughed. "That was a mistake on his part," she said, "which -fortunately did not impose upon me. Perhaps he was a little in -love—the circumstances favored such a delusion,—but I am sure his -ruling motive for asking me to marry him was to give me that share of -the fortune which he could not induce me to take in any other way. I -really did not suit him at all. I saw before I left that Helen <i>did</i> -suit him, and I hoped for just what has come to pass. O Claire, you -don't know how happy it makes me! For I feel now as if I had in a -measure atoned to Helen for the pain I caused her about that wretched -Rathborne."</p> - -<p>"How?" asked Claire, smiling. "By making over Mr. Singleton and his -fortune to her? But I am afraid you can scarcely credit yourself with -having done that."</p> - -<p>"Only indirectly, but it is certain that if I had accepted him he could -not be engaged to her now. I am so glad—so very glad! He is really a -good fellow, and Helen will be able to do a great deal with him."</p> - -<p>"Is he a Catholic?"</p> - -<p>"She says that he has just been received into the Church. But here is -the letter. Read it for yourself. I think she is very happy."</p> - -<p>Claire read the letter with interest, and when she had finished, -returned it, saying, "Yes, I think she is certainly very happy. -Dear Helen! how we always said that she was made for happiness! And -now God seems to have given it to her in the form of great worldly -prosperity—the very prosperity that <i>you</i> lost. Are not His ways -strange to us?"</p> - -<p>"This is not at all strange to me," replied Marion. "What I lost would -have ruined me; what Helen has gained will have no effect upon her, -except to make her more kind and more charitable. She is one of the -people whom prosperity cannot harm. Therefore it is given her in full -measure. But it certainly would have been singular if I could have -foreseen that after I had gained my fortune it would pass into Helen's -hands, and that by a simple process of retribution. For if matters had -remained as they were between Rathborne and herself, there could have -been no question of this. And they would have so remained but for me."</p> - -<p>"You should be very grateful," said Claire, "that you have been allowed -to atone so fully for a fault that you might have had to regret always. -<i>Now</i> it can be forgotten. Helen says she will be married in April, -does she not?"</p> - -<p>Marion turned to the letter. "Yes, in April—just after Easter. Claire, -let us beg her to come abroad for her wedding journey, and join us?"</p> - -<p>"With all my heart," said Claire. "They can come here for a little -time, and then we can go with them to Switzerland, or the Italian -lakes, or wherever they wish to go for the summer. It will be pleasant -for us to be together once more—for the last time."</p> - -<p>"Claire, you break my heart when you talk so!"</p> - -<p>"Oh! no," said Claire, gently, "I am very sure that I do not break your -heart; and if I sadden you a little, that is necessary; but it will not -last long. There is no need to think of it now, however; only think -that you and Helen and I will pass a few happy days together—for I -suppose Mr. Singleton will not be much of a drawback—before we start -on another and a different beginning of life from that on which we -entered when we left our dear convent."</p> - - - -<hr class="chap" /> -<p class="ph2">EPILOGUE.</p> - - -<p class="drop"><span class="uppercase">A year</span> from the summer day when three girls had stood together on the -eve of parting in their convent school-room, the same three were seated -together on the shores of the Lago di Como. The garden of the hotel in -which they were staying extended to the verge of the lake, and they -had found a lovely leafy nook, surrounded by oleander and myrtle, with -an unobstructed view over the blue sparkling water and the beautiful -shores, framed by mountains.</p> - -<p>"A year ago to-day!" said Marion, meditatively, after a pause of some -length. "Do you remember how we wondered when and where we should be -together again? And here we are, with an experience behind us which is -full of dramatic changes and full of instructions—at least for me."</p> - -<p>"Certainly for me also," observed Helen. "Looking back on what I passed -through, I realize clearly how foolish we are to regret the loss of -things that seem to us desirable, but which God knows to be just the -reverse. How miserable I was for a time! Yet that very misery was -paving the way for my present happiness."</p> - -<p>"Very directly," said Marion, "yet it is something I do not like to -think of; for it might all have ended so differently but for the mercy -of God—and yours too, Helen. You deserve happiness, because you were -so gentle and generous under unhappiness. As for me, I deserve nothing -good, yet I have gained a great deal—the gift of faith, relief from -self-reproach, and the great pleasure of being here with you and -Claire."</p> - -<p>Claire looked at the speaker with a smile. "The pleasure of being -together is one that we all share," she said; "and also, I think, the -sense of great gratitude to God. How much have I, for instance, to be -grateful for—I who a year ago went forth into the world with so much -reluctance—that the way has been made so clear to my feet; that I have -now such a sense of peace, such a conviction of being in the right -path!"</p> - -<p>The others did not answer. It was hard for them—particularly hard for -Marion—to give full sympathy on this point; for the pain of impending -separation was hanging over them, and not even their recognition of the -peace of which Claire spoke could make them altogether willing to see -her pass out of their lives forever. There is the irrrevocableness and -therefore the pain of death in such partings, intensified by the fact -that just in proportion as a character is fitted for the religious life -does it possess the virtues to endear it most to those associated with -it in the world. In such cases renunciation is not altogether on one -side; and although Marion had struggled for the strength to make this -renunciation, she could not yet control herself sufficiently to speak -of it. Her own future looked very blank to her, although it had been -decided that she should remain with Helen, at least for a time, when -Claire left them.</p> - -<p>"I will stay with you until after your return to America," she had said -to Helen when her plans were discussed; "but then I must find something -to do—some occupation with which to fill my life."</p> - -<p>Helen shook her head. "I am sure that George will never consent to -that," she answered.</p> - -<p>"And what has George to do with it?" asked Marion, amused by the calm, -positive tone of Helen's speech. "I am really not aware that he has any -control over me."</p> - -<p>"Control—no," answered Helen; "but he feels that he owes you so -much—the recovery of his father's fortune without any expense or -division—that he is anxious to find something he can do for you, and -he has said again and again how much he wished that you would allow him -to make you independent."</p> - -<p>"He could not make me independent of the need to fill my life with some -work worth the doing," said Marion. "I do not yet perceive what it is -to be, but no doubt I shall find out."</p> - -<p>"Of course you will find out," said Claire, with her gentle, -unquestioning faith. "God never fails to show the way to one who is -willing to see it."</p> - -<p>The way, however, had not yet been made clear to Marion as the three -sat together on this anniversary of their first parting. She felt the -difference between herself and her companions very keenly. To them life -showed itself as a clear path, which they had only to follow to be -certain that they were in the way of duty. All doubts and perplexities -were at an end for them, whereas for her they seemed only beginning. -What, indeed, was she to do with her life? She could as yet see no -answer to that question, and could only trust that in God's time the -way would be made clear to her.</p> - -<p>The silence after Claire's last speech lasted some time; for there -seemed little to be said, though much to be felt, on the events of -the past year. At length Helen observed, looking around toward the -hotel, "How long George is in coming! He promised to follow us almost -immediately, and I think we must have been here almost an hour."</p> - -<p>"Oh! no," said Claire, smiling, "not so long as that. But certainly he -has not fulfilled his promise of coming soon."</p> - -<p>"And it is a pity," continued Helen; "for just now is the most -delightful time to be on the water. I believe I will go and look for -him. Will any one else come?"</p> - -<p>Claire, who was always in readiness to do anything asked of her, -assented and rose. But Marion kept her seat. "I think this is almost -as pleasant as being on the water," she said. "But when you have found -George, and he has found a boat, and all is in readiness, you may -summon me. Meanwhile I am very comfortable where I am."</p> - -<p>"We will summon you, then, when we are ready," said Helen. And the two -walked away toward the hotel.</p> - -<p>Marion, who had still, as of old, a great liking for solitude, settled -herself, after the others left, in a corner of the bench on which they -had been seated, and looked at the lovely scene before her eyes which -saw its beauty as in a dream. She was living over her life of the past -year while she gazed at the distant, glittering Alpine summits; and -although she had spoken truly in saying that she was deeply conscious -of gratitude for many dangers escaped, and chiefly for the wonderful -gift of faith, there nevertheless remained a sharp recollection of -failure and pain dominating all her thoughts of the past.</p> - -<p>Her face was very grave, therefore, and her brows knitted with an -expression of thought or suffering, when a man presently came around -a bend of the path, and paused an instant, unobserved, to regard her. -He saw, or fancied that he saw, many changes in that face since it had -fascinated him first; but they were not changes which detracted from -its charm. The beauty was as striking as ever, but the expression had -altered much. There was no longer a curve of disdain on the perfect -lips, nor a light of mockery in the brilliant eyes. The countenance had -softened even while it had grown more serious, and its intellectual -character was more manifest than ever. These things struck Brian Earle -during the minute in which he paused. Then, fearing to be observed, he -came forward.</p> - -<p>His step on the path roused Marion's attention, and, turning her eyes -quickly from the distant scene, she was amazed to see before her the -man who was just then most clearly in her thoughts.</p> - -<p>Startled almost beyond the power of self-control, she said nothing. -It was he who advanced and spoke. "Forgive me if I intrude, Miss -Lynde—but I was told that I should find you here; and—and I hoped -that you would not object to seeing me."</p> - -<p>Marion, who had now recovered herself, held out her hand to meet his, -saying, quietly, "Why should I object? But it is a great surprise. I -had no idea that you were in this part of the world at all."</p> - -<p>"My arrival here is very recent," he said, sitting down beside her; -"and you may fancy my surprise when, an hour after my arrival, I met -George Singleton, and heard the extraordinary news of his marriage to -your cousin."</p> - -<p>"That must have astonished you very much. We first heard of it after -you left Rome."</p> - -<p>"It astonished me the more," he said with some hesitation, "because I -had fancied it likely that in the end <i>you</i> would marry him."</p> - -<p>"I!" she said, coloring quickly and vividly. Then after a moment she -added, with a tinge of bitterness in her tone, "Such an idea was -natural, perhaps, considering your opinion of me. But it was a great -mistake."</p> - -<p>"So I have learned," he answered. "But when you speak of my opinion of -you, may I ask what you conceive it to be?"</p> - -<p>"Is it necessary that we should discuss it?" she asked with a touch of -her old haughtiness. "It is not of importance—to me."</p> - -<p>"I am sure of that," he said, with something of humility. "But, believe -me, your opinion of it is of importance to me. Therefore I should very -much like to know what you believe that I think of you."</p> - -<p>Her straight brows grew closer together. She spoke with the air of -one who wishes to end a disagreeable subject. "This seems to me very -unnecessary, Mr. Earle; but, since you insist, I suppose that you think -me altogether mercenary and ready, if the opportunity had been given -me, to marry your cousin for his fortune."</p> - -<p>"Thank you," he answered when she ceased speaking. "I am much obliged -by your frankness. I feared that you did me just such injustice; and -yet, Miss Lynde, how <i>can</i> you? In the first place, do you suppose -that I am unaware that you gave his father's fortune intact to my -cousin? And in the second place, have I not heard that you refused it -when he offered it to you again, with himself? If I had ever fancied -you mercenary, could I continue so to mistake you after hearing these -things? But indeed I never did think you mercenary, not even in the -days when we differed most on the question which finally divided us. -I did not think <i>then</i> that you desired wealth for itself, or that -you would have done anything unworthy to gain it; but I thought you -exaggerated its value for the sake of the things it could purchase, -and I believed then (what I <i>know</i> now) that you did injustice to -the nobleness of your own nature in setting before yourself worldly -prosperity as your ideal of happiness."</p> - -<p>She shook her head a little sadly. "The less said of the nobleness of -my nature the better," she answered; "but I soon found that the ideal -was a very poor one, and one which could not satisfy me. I am glad your -cousin came to claim that fortune, which might else have weighed me -down with its responsibility to the end."</p> - -<p>"And do you forgive me," he said, leaning toward her and lowering his -voice, "for having refused that fortune?"</p> - -<p>"Does it matter," she answered, somewhat nervously, "whether I forgive -you or not? It would have ended in the same way. You, too, would have -had to give it up when your cousin appeared."</p> - -<p>"But, putting that aside, can you not <i>now</i> realize a little better -my motives, and forgive whatever seemed harsh or dictatorial in my -conduct?"</p> - -<p>Marion had grown very pale. "I have no right to judge your conduct," -she said.</p> - -<p>"You had a right then, and you exercised it severely. Perhaps I was too -presumptuous, too decided in my opinion and refusal. I have thought so -since, and I should like to hear you say that you forgive it."</p> - -<p>"I cannot imagine," she said, with a marked lack of her usual -self-possession, "why you should attach any importance to my -forgiveness—granting that I have anything to forgive."</p> - -<p>"Can you not? Then I will tell you why I attach importance to it. -Because during these months of absence I have learned that my -attachment to you is as great as it ever was—as great, do I say? Nay, -it is much greater, since I know you better now, and the nobleness in -which I formerly believed has been proved. I can hardly venture to hope -for so much happiness, but if it is possible that you can think of me -again, that you can forgive and trust me, I should try, by God's help, -to deserve your trust better."</p> - -<p>"Do not speak in that manner," said Marion, with trembling lips. "It -is I who should ask forgiveness, if there is to be any question of -it at all. But I thought you had forgotten me—it was surely natural -enough,—and that when you went away it was because—on account -of—Claire."</p> - -<p>"You were right," he answered, quietly. "I meant to tell you that. In -the reaction of my disappointment about you, I thought of your friend; -because I admired her so much, I fancied I was in love with her. But -when she put an end to such fancies by telling me gently and kindly of -her intention to enter the religious life, I learned my mistake. The -thought of her passed away like a dream—like a shadow that has crossed -a mirror,—and I found that you, Marion, had been in my heart all the -time. I tested myself by absence, and I returned with the intention of -seeking you wherever you were to be found, and asking you if there is -no hope for me—no hope of winning your heart and your trust again."</p> - -<p>There was a moment's pause, and then she held out her hand to him.</p> - -<p>"You have never lost either," she said.</p> - - -<p class="center">(<span class="smcap">The End.</span>)</p> -<div class="transnote"> - -<p class="center">Transcribers note:<br />The authors use of "woful" instead of "woeful" is legitimate and deliberate.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Fairy Gold, by Christian Reid - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK FAIRY GOLD *** - -***** This file should be named 54926-h.htm or 54926-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/4/9/2/54926/ - -Produced by MFR, Graeme Mackreth and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was -produced from images generously made available by The -Internet Archive) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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