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diff --git a/57418-0.txt b/57418-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..2550412 --- /dev/null +++ b/57418-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,13590 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57418 *** + + + + + + + + + + A Modern Madonna + + + + + A Modern Madonna + + By + + Caroline Abbot Stanley + + Author Of "Order No. 11" + + New York + Grosset & Dunlap + Publishers + 1906 + + + + + TO THE FRAGRANT MEMORY + OF A SWEET YOUNG MOTHER WHO FACED DEATH + IN THE BATTLE OF MATERNITY-- + AND LOST + + + + + Contents + + I. The Woman 3 + + II. The Elder Brother 8 + + III. Mrs. Pennybacker of Missouri 15 + + IV. The Thorn Road 27 + + V. "A White Life for Two" 36 + + VI. A Friend in Need 42 + + VII. Tried as by Fire 51 + + VIII. A New Rôle for Richard 57 + + IX. The Reaping of the Crop 64 + + X. "Dust to Dust" 70 + + XI. The Will 75 + + XII. A Losing Fight 88 + + XIII. The Wolf Blood 95 + + XIV. Mammy Cely's Story 105 + + XV. Instinct Triumphs 114 + + XVI. In the "North Countree" 122 + + XVII. We-que-ton-sing 135 + + XVIII. The Trail of the Serpent 143 + + XIX. The Devil and the Deep Blue Sea 152 + + XX. Self-chaperoned 162 + + XXI. In the Toils 173 + + XXII. At Bay 187 + + XXIII. Mothers and Foster-mothers 195 + + XXIV. The Man Who Won 202 + + XXV. The Madonna Picture 212 + + XXVI. Face to Face 229 + + XXVII. At Elmhurst 237 + + XXVIII. Hearts and Skins 248 + + XXIX. "Inasmuch--" 259 + + XXX. "Not Wisely but Too Well" 267 + + XXXI. A Woman's Crusade 278 + + XXXII. Margaret Enlists 291 + + XXXIII. A Long Pull and a Strong Pull 300 + + XXXIV. Rescue Work 308 + + XXXV. Mrs. Pennybacker Talks 316 + + XXXVI. Margaret's Resolve 328 + + XXXVII. The Red Paper 335 + + XXXVIII. The Mother Comes to Her Own 342 + + XXXIX. Shoulder to Shoulder 351 + + XL. The Unexpected Happens 357 + + XLI. Under the Wistaria 369 + + XLII. The Confessional 381 + + XLIII. In the Library Once More 390 + + XLIV. As Aforetime 400 + + + + + CHAPTER I + THE WOMAN + + +A hush fell on the waiting throng at old St. John's. The soft babble of +modulated voices died suddenly away as from the greenery and the daisies +of the chancel a singer's voice rose sweet and clear. The +white-ribboned, white-canvased aisles were ready for the coming of a +bride's feet, and the wedding guests imprisoned behind the silken bands +bent forward expectantly to hear her nuptial song. + +That song, as was most meet, breathed love and perfect trust; when it +was finished there were tears in many eyes. Women's hearts are very +tender at weddings, and the song was in the universal key. + +In the vestibule, other ears were bending to catch the strains. With the +first note Judge Kirtley raised his hand enjoining silence, and the +ushers and the maids fell back, leaving the old man and his companion +listening at the door. Upon his arm was Margaret, child of his love, +though not of his blood. She was the daughter of his old friend, who, +with his dying breath, had left her to his charge. He had been faithful +to his trust; he had been to her a father; and she, coming into his +childless home, had filled a daughter's place. It would be lonely enough +without her. + +But it was not this that filled his mind as he listened to the song. He +was thinking with the sense of helplessness that comes to every father, +to every faithful guardian at a time like this, that he had done all he +could; his trust was over; a moment more and he would give her for all +time into the keeping of another. Would that other rise to meet the +trust? This was the question reiterating itself in his soul. Did Victor +De Jarnette know women's hearts--how strong they were to bear, how quick +to bleed? Was his a hand that could be both strong and gentle? None +other, he knew, could safely guide this girl of his. Margaret was +high-strung and impetuous; her capacity for sorrow and for joy had +sometimes made him stand aghast. Victor De Jarnette could make a heaven +on earth for her, or-- + +He did not finish, but involuntarily he pressed close to him the +white-gloved hand, and Margaret looked up wonderingly, marveling to see +his face so stern. There was no shadow on her sky to-day. Her soul was +in tune with the singer's rhapsody. + +The song ended. There was a soft bustle in the vestibule; the majestic +measures of Lohengrin filled her ears; the bridesmaids shook out their +plumage and moved on; the flower girls were scattering roses for her +path; and with uplifted head and shining eyes Margaret Varnum went +forward to meet her lover. + +In the chancel, proud, erect, and confident, stood Victor De Jarnette, +waiting for her coming. In his black eyes was the triumph of possession. +There were others in that church who had sought to win Margaret Varnum, +and he did not forget it. + +"He's a devilish handsome fellow!" whispered a young officer in the +south transept to his companion. + +"Yes," was the reply, "with the primary accent on the adverb, eh?" + +"Why doesn't his brother take part in it?" asked Mrs. Pennybacker of her +niece, "as best man or usher or something?" + +Mrs. Van Dorn shrugged her shapely shoulders. + +"He is opposed to it, I believe. Not to Margaret especially, but to +marriage in general. I don't suppose you could persuade him to take part +in a wedding--now." + +"What is the matter with the man?" demanded her aunt. "He doesn't look +like a crank. What can have given him such a bias as this?" + +Her niece smiled enigmatically. "Modesty forbids that I should say much +on the subject, my dear aunt. But there are people who are unkind enough +to lay to your niece's charge Richard De Jarnette's change of heart. She +certainly remembers when he held altogether different views." + +"Do you mean to say, Maria,--" + +"Oh, no, certainly not, so don't look at me like that. I am only telling +you what people say. Ah! There come the bridesmaids. Isn't that pink +gown a dream?" + +Mrs. Pennybacker was looking past the bridal party to the front pew, +where sat Victor De Jarnette's elder brother, stern and unbending. By +his side was a younger man, who spoke to him from time to time in a +light way as if to cheer him, but his pleasantries elicited scant +response. It was his friend, Dr. Semple. The two were the sole occupants +of the pew reserved for the family of the bridegroom. The De Jarnette +brothers were singularly alone. + +"I don't believe it," thought Mrs. Pennybacker as she studied the man's +face. "He doesn't look to me like a man who would lose his head over +Maria, poor thing! as pretty as she is. Some women can make an offer of +marriage out of an invitation to a prayer-meeting, and see a love letter +in a note beginning, 'My dear madam.' Still, you can't tell. Maria _has_ +a pretty face. And men are great fools." + +There was not a flaw in the matchless ceremony which has come down to us +as a heritage from the ages; not a faltering note in either voice. "To +love and to cherish ... till death us do part." This was their plighted +troth. + +The church's challenge rang out boldly. + +"If any man can show just cause why these two persons may not lawfully +be joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter forever hold +his peace." + +A stillness fell upon the place. But no man spoke. + +At that most searching admonition, "I require and charge you both, as ye +will answer in the dreadful day of judgment ... if either of you know +any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together ... ye do now +confess it," they searched their souls, but if they found impediment it +stood unconfessed. + +Once, Margaret felt her lover's hand close suddenly on hers and then +relax. She loved him for his vehemence, and gave an answering clasp. At +that moment those near the door looked into each other's faces with +startled, questioning gaze and bent their heads to listen. No sound was +heard above the rector's solemn monotone and the response. + +"Victor, wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife?" The straining +ears relaxed and gave heed to the bridegroom's vow. "Wilt thou love her, +comfort her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health; and, +forsaking all others, keep thee only unto her, so long as ye both shall +live?" + +And Victor De Jarnette answered resonantly, + +"I will." + +Kneeling, they asked God's benediction on their wedded lives; then down +the aisle in radiant happiness they led the train,--one flesh, if there +be aught in vows--for evermore. + + * * * * * + +"Did you hear anything during that ceremony?" asked John Jarvis, the +lawyer, of his wife as they drove away. + +She looked up eagerly. "Yes. Did you?" + +"I thought I did. What was it, do you think?" + +"It sounded to me like a knock--" + +"Yes,--" + +"--and then a cry, faint, but like a woman's voice." + +They spoke in guarded tones, but the old carriage driver, who had been +in the family for twenty years and was a privileged character, heard and +touched his hat. + +"Dat was a crazy woman, miss, de p'liceman say, tryin' to git in widout +no ticket. Dey run 'er in. Yaas, miss." + +A knot of men who had likewise heard the knock discussed it as they +walked toward Pennsylvania Avenue. + +"He's been wild," said one, raising his brow, and his companion answered +with easy tolerance, + +"Oh, yes, of course. But he has sowed his wild oats, and now he is ready +to settle down." + +A lady, passing, caught the words and their drift. + +"Did you ever notice," she said thoughtfully to her husband, who walked +beside her, "that people always say, 'Oh well, he has sowed his wild +oats,' as if that finished it? But in the country, where I was born, we +sow our oats and know that we will reap. I imagine 'wild oats' are not +very different from other kinds." + + + + + CHAPTER II + THE ELDER BROTHER + + + "Some of him lived but the most of him died-- + (Even as you and I!)" + + +"For one thing he is too young," said Richard De Jarnette. "At +twenty-one a man is still a boy, unless he has had more to develop him +than Victor has ever had. And besides--" + +And there he stopped. + +It was the evening after the wedding, and the two men sat in the library +of Richard De Jarnette's K Street house. It had seemed rather a gloomy +place until the genial doctor was ushered in, for when young life goes +out of a home by way of the wedding route, it leaves almost as great a +gap as if there had been a funeral. + +The elder De Jarnette permitted himself few friends, other than those in +business circles, and no intimates, if we may except the one who had +come to him to-night guided by love's instinct. He and Dr. Semple had +been boys together in college, had had their maiden love affairs about +the same time, and had recovered from them with about the same +expedition. They knew each other, as the doctor was wont to remark +pleasantly, "from the ground up." + +But the doctor, even while saying this, was quite aware that he did not +know Richard De Jarnette from the ground down--that is to say, to the +roots of his nature. He occasionally came upon unexpected subterranean +passages in the man's character, leading he knew not whither, for when +upon two or three occasions he had attempted to explore these +interesting byways, he had come suddenly upon a sign which said so +plainly that the wayfaring man, though a fool, might read: "No +trespassing allowed." And Dr. Semple, being a wise man and not a fool, +always made haste to vacate when he saw this legend. He knew, what the +rest of their world knew, that Richard De Jarnette was a rising business +man, of strict integrity and tireless energy, and he knew what their +world did not know, that there had been a time when his life had not +been bounded by the four walls of his office, or the prim severity of a +home presided over by a housekeeper,--a time when he had had his dreams +like the rest. Then when he had not much more than made his masculine +début into society, he had suddenly dropped from its ranks and given +himself thenceforward wholly to business. There had been some +speculation about the cause of this sudden lapse of interest, even among +his male acquaintances, and more, of course, among those of the sex +which is rightly supposed to have greater curiosity upon these subjects. +But it is a very busy world. Broken ranks in any procession soon fill +up,--and nobody sought him out in his seclusion save Dr. Semple. + +He had never been a very successful society man, in truth having few of +the social gifts which are there more imperative than either character +or learning. And besides, he had no real love for it, and people rarely +excel in the thing to which they are indifferent. Since his +unceremonious dropping out he had devoted himself exclusively to +business and his books. His one friend was Dr. Semple,--his one passion, +his love for his young half-brother, who had shared his home since the +death of their father. + +"Of course that isn't your real reason for opposing this marriage, De +Jarnette," said the doctor, easily. "I understand that. You don't want +him to marry at all, and you know it." + +Mr. De Jarnette smiled grimly. + +"I admit it. I have made no pretence of denying it to myself, and since +you seem rather skilful at diagnosis, I suppose it is not worth while to +deny it to you. The truth is, Semple," the explanatory tone had in it +almost an appeal, "I have looked out for this boy's welfare since the +day--" his face darkened--"the day he so sorely needed it. I--I suppose +I have got in the habit of it." + +"You've spoiled him. There's no doubt of that," agreed his companion +cheerfully. "But I should think that now you would be glad to see his +future in the hands of a good woman like Margaret Varnum. It is a +safeguard, Dick,--one that you and I haven't availed ourselves of, it is +true, but still a safeguard. I am sure of it." + +"You are sure of nothing where a woman is concerned," declared Richard +De Jarnette, deliberately. "You may think you are, listening to their +protestations, but you will find out your mistake sooner or later. They +are treacherous, Bob. You cast your pearls before them and when they +find they are not diamonds, they turn and rend you. I know them. They +are not to be trusted." + +"There are women and women, I suppose. You will agree that there are +several varieties of men. There is Slyter, for instance." + +"Slyter is a beast," said Mr. De Jarnette, with a gesture of disgust. + +"He belongs to our sex. We can't disown him, much as we would like to. +But we would hardly wish to be judged by him. If you belonged to my +profession, De Jarnette, you would know women better and do them more +justice." + +"I know them--know them better than you do. At least, I know a side of +them that you have never seen because you have never been to school to +them." + +Dr. Semple threw his head back and blew out slowly what seemed to be an +inexhaustible volume of smoke. Every thought seemed concentrated upon +it. When the last of it had floated off into thin air he remarked +quietly, "You have never quite got over it, Dick." + +He had deliberately pushed aside the sign and walked into the forbidden +grounds. Somewhat to his surprise, for he hardly knew himself how it +would be taken, he found his friend walking by his side. + +Mr. De Jarnette flipped the ash from his cigar and then answered +composedly, "I have got over it so entirely that the sight of her causes +no more commotion in my breast than the vision of the scrub lady who +daily puts the outer hall in order. I hope you are wasting no sympathy +upon me. I haven't even any bitterness about it,--and certainly no +regret. It has simply left me with more knowledge of women. That is all. +And that is worth all it cost. It is what has rendered me immune all +these years. 'A burnt child,' you know." + +An expression of curious relief came into the physician's face. + +"Do you know, Dick, I have always had a lingering ghost of a fear--now +that she is a widow--and it would be possible, don't you know, that--" + +"Bah-h! I beg you will not do me the injustice of the thought. Do you +know, Semple, the incomprehensible thing about it now to me is that I +should ever have wasted love upon her. I have asked myself a hundred +times what it was I thought I loved and where it had gone. That is where +the sting of it comes in. It isn't that she should have thrown me over +for the old man and his millions,--but that I shouldn't have known from +the first that she wasn't--oh, well! It is over. It is just exactly with +me as though it had never been, except--" + +"Except--" + +"--that I am wiser." + +"But not better," thought the physician. "The trouble about these things +is that they never leave a man the same. Something is always burned out +of him." Aloud he said, "She is only one woman, Dick. A man always has a +mother." + +Richard De Jarnette's face softened less than one would suppose. + +"My mother was but a name to me," he said. "She died in giving me birth. +I have--" + +"Then by her birth pangs she has made you a debtor to all womankind," +interrupted the doctor, a little sternly, "and if she gave her life for +yours--" + +"I do not acknowledge the indebtedness," his host returned, coldly. "I +did not ask to be brought into this world. Now that I am here I can do +nothing less than try to keep myself up, but I do not see that I have +any special cause for gratitude to the ones who imposed this +responsibility upon me." + +"If your mother had lived, De Jarnette, you would have felt +differently," said the doctor, quietly, almost gently. "You would have +known then, as you never can now, the breadth and depth of a mother's +devotion." + +"You forget that my father was thoughtful enough to provide me with a +second mother. And since I recall it, perhaps you may remember the depth +of that mother's devotion to _her_ child." + +He spoke with bitterest satire. + +"I have only heard rumors about it," answered his friend. + +"I'll tell you that story. A few words will do. The mother that my +father gave me when I was nine years old, set herself first of all to +alienate his affections from me, his child, and succeeded." + +"She would have failed if he had been your mother," interjected the +doctor in the slight pause. + +"I am not sure of that, though I mean no disrespect to a mother who was +buried too deep to rescue her child from all the indignities that woman +heaped upon him. I will pass quickly over that, Semple. To this day it +hurts me to think of it. I have never seen a man cruel to a child since +without wanting to kill him, and a woman--" + +"Was it the same after her own child came?" + +"It was worse. She was jealous then in addition to being vindictive. If +she had only been cruel to me and kind to him, I believe I could have +stood it. For I loved that boy as I have loved few things in life. But +she was cruel to him too. She neglected him. And finally--well, you know +how it ended. Everybody knows the dishonor she brought on the name of De +Jarnette. That is one thing I hate her for. From the time she left her +child, a helpless baby of four years, I have had no faith in so-called +mother-love. It is good to talk about. It sounds well. It is all right +till the test comes--and sometimes the test never does come--but if it +does, they'll fly the track every time. You can't depend on a woman. +They are treacherous." + +"What effect did her going away have on your father--in his relations to +you, I mean? Did it bring his affections back to you?" + +"No. You would suppose it would have had that effect, but it didn't. It +made him misanthropic and hard. He could not bear Victor in his sight. +The child seemed to be a constant reminder of the mother and the +disgrace she had brought upon him. Then it was that I got into the habit +of looking out for him. My father was a hard man--an unforgiving man. He +ruled with a rod of iron. I've taken many a whipping that would have +fallen upon Victor, small as he was, if I hadn't lied for him." + +"Perhaps you would have done him better service to have let them fall +upon him," the doctor was thinking. + +"You see how it is, Bob. That is why he has always seemed so close to +me. I really think of him more as my child than my half-brother. And +that's why it hurts.... Oh, well! If he had only waited a few years I +think I could have consented to it with a better grace. But my consent +wasn't asked." + + * * * * * + +On his way home Dr. Semple looked at it with a professional eye. "The +man has a wrong bias," he said, at last. "It was a case of malpractice, +and it has left him with his nature out of joint. If he could have a +hard enough wrench in the right hands it might be re-set. But where is +the surgeon?" Then he went back to the cause. "Women are accountable for +a deal of evil in this world. And it doesn't all come by 'ordinary +generation,' as the catechism puts it. Oh, well!" + + + + + CHAPTER III + MRS. PENNYBACKER OF MISSOURI + + +Two or three weeks after the wedding Mrs. Pennybacker sat with her niece +in the elegantly appointed library of the mansion that old Cornelius Van +Dorn had left to his bereaved widow. + +Mrs. Van Dorn had enjoyed her crape, and was now in the softly +alleviated stage of violet and heliotrope, which looked so well on her +that she was tempted to prolong indefinitely this twilight of her grief. +Certainly nothing could be more bewitching than the lavender housegown +which enveloped her to-day, with its falls and cascades of soft lace and +its coquettish velvet bows. + +She was smiling complacently just now at this blond-haired reflection in +the mirror as she leaned on the mantel. + +"No, I don't believe I shall take off my mourning for another year," she +said, half aloud, turning her head a little to one side to adjust a bow +in her hair, "at least, not quite. Then perhaps I shall have a season of +grays--a velvet hat with long feathers and a cut steel ornament. Soft +shades are certainly becoming to me--and I dislike to see people rush +into colors immediately, as if they had no feeling at all." The widowed +lady sighed softly, as was her wont when referring to her bereavement. +It seemed to go well with lavender. + +"Your love for purple, Maria," observed Mrs. Pennybacker, ignoring the +sentiment of these remarks and grasping promptly their salient point, as +was her wont, "is an inherited one. Your mother used to feel when she +had on a new purple calico or lawn that she was about as fine as they +made them. And if she could get hold of a purple ribbon--" + +"Aunt Mary," said Mrs. Van Dorn, in polite exasperation, "if you have to +refer to those old days and what you wore, why don't you speak of +muslins and organdies instead of calicoes and such things?" + +"Because they were not muslins and organdies. They were calicoes and +lawns--ten-cent lawns at that, and mighty glad we were to get them." + +"Well!" ejaculated Mrs. Van Dorn, in marked disgust, "I can't see any +good in constantly advertising the fact, any more than I can see why you +should say, as you did to Congressman Andrews last night, that you were +from 'Possum Kingdom.'" + +Mrs. Pennybacker's lips twitched in a reminiscent smile. "I did that to +be explicit. He wanted to know what part of Callaway I was from and I +had to tell him. I couldn't dodge. I was born in 'Possum Kingdom.' I +thought he seemed to enjoy hearing about it." + +"Enjoy it? Yes--at your expense." + +"I didn't mind, Maria. It started us on a very mirthful talk. You ought +to be thankful that I didn't tell him you were born there too." + +"I don't want you ever to tell that to anybody. I am not a Missourian. I +am a Washingtonian." + +"Maria," said Mrs. Pennybacker, firmly, "you are a Missourian. It is too +late now for you to select a birthplace. If you ever get into Statuary +Hall (which I somewhat doubt) you will have to be written down from +'Possum Kingdom,' for there you were born." + +Mrs. Van Dorn contented herself with a sniff. + +"Anyway," continued Mrs. Pennybacker, argumentatively, "I don't see why +one wouldn't rather have been born in a great sovereign state like +Missouri--an empire in itself--than in a little two by four asparagus +bed set like a patch on top of two other states, and not set straight at +that. I never had any opinion of people who are ashamed of their native +state, even if that was a state of poverty, and yours was a State of +affluence." + +"If you call calico and ten-cent lawn affluence--" began Mrs. Van Dorn. + +"I was speaking of the commonwealth, Maria," Mrs. Pennybacker explained, +with suspicious mildness, "a State of affluence written with a capital." + +"I never even let Richard De Jarnette know I was from Missouri all the +time he was coming to see me. I told him my mother was a Virginian, +which was the truth. And that I was a Washingtonian." + +"Which was--?" + +"Oh, I suppose so.... And I have never let one soul know, Aunt Mary, +where you are from." + +Mrs. Pennybacker faced her. "You haven't! Well, if I were not going home +to-morrow I should make a point of telling every acquaintance you have. +Do you think I am ashamed of Missouri? I should as soon think of +disowning the mother that bore me. Why should you hesitate to tell Mr. +De Jarnette where you were from?" + +"I thought a good deal about his opinion in those days, and--" + +"Is he as provincial as all that?" + +"He has always lived in the East and you know how Eastern people feel +about the West." + +"I _don't_ know how they feel. But I know how they might feel if they +knew anything about it. If the World's Fair is held in Chicago, I +suspect it will open their eyes to a few things. Where are these De +Jarnettes from?" + +"It is an old Maryland family. There are just two of them left now, +Richard and Victor. The father died years ago, leaving a large estate to +his sons. Then Richard is wealthy in his own right. His property comes +mainly from an aunt who did not like Victor's mother. ... No, they are +only half-brothers. Victor hasn't nearly so much money as Richard. It +turns out that Richard has so much more than anybody ever supposed he +had years ago." Mrs. Van Dorn's mouth sank into a slightly regretful +droop, as if the subject had its stings. + +"Maria, you remind me of a woman I used to know in Missouri. Whenever a +girl was married and anybody asked this old lady how she had done, she +always said, in her slow drawl, 'Well, I really don't know how much the +man is worth.' What is there to these De Jarnettes besides money? I want +to know something about Margaret's chances for happiness." + +"Oh, it is a fine family. She has done well. I really think that Richard +has shown himself sometimes quite hard, but the two are not at all +alike. Victor's mother was a French woman, or of French descent. That is +where he gets his complexion, I suppose,--and perhaps his morals, for I +guess he has been pretty fast. There was an awful scandal about his +mother years ago, I've heard. Of course Richard never mentioned it to +me, but I know he hates her like poison. I think she went off with +another man or something like that--some dreadful thing that couldn't be +talked about above your breath. Anyway, she disappeared and never came +back--left her child--and all that. The story goes that she wanted to +come back after a while, but old Mr. De Jarnette never forgave her. I +think they really are very unforgiving--Richard has proved _himself_ so. +Yes, the boys were raised by the father and a negro nurse. They have a +beautiful estate out here in Maryland--Elmhurst. Richard keeps it up and +stays out there in the summer, or at least he did when I had an interest +in him, which was ages ago." + +"How old is Victor De Jarnette?" + +"Twenty-one. He just came into his money last winter. He is two years +older than Margaret." + +Mrs. Pennybacker shook her head. "Too young entirely." + +"Richard is ten years older than Victor. If she could have got him +now,--but--" Mrs. Van Dorn tossed her pretty head--"I don't believe +anybody will ever capture Richard De Jarnette, unless--" + +The sentence was unfinished, but she looked demurely at the lavender +reflection in the mirror opposite. It is hard for a woman to forget a +man who has once been at her feet. + +After a long silence Mrs. Pennybacker, who had evidently been pondering +something, said abruptly, "Maria, where did you say Margaret's new home +was? I think I shall go to see her this afternoon." + +"Why, Aunt Mary, you can't. She isn't at home until September." + +"But I am going away tomorrow. I can't hang around here till September. +And I am an old, old friend of her mother's. Don't you think she would +excuse the informality under the circumstances?" + +"Certainly not. You oughtn't to think of going." + +"Very well," said Mrs. Pennybacker, "perhaps you are right. What did you +say was her number? I may want to write to her some time." + +She acquiesced in the proposed restriction of her movements without +further remonstrance and an hour later sallied forth, address in hand, +to find Margaret De Jarnette. + +"That's always the best way to conduct a discussion with Maria," she +said to herself. "It saves time and temper." + + * * * * * + +A fairer sight than Washington in May it would be hard to find. Too many +of our great cities are but stupendous aggregations of brick and mortar, +of flagstones and concrete, of elevators that climb to dizzy heights, +and dark stairways which lead to a teeming under-world. Most of them, if +called upon to give their own biographies, could do it as tersely and as +truthfully as did Topsy, and in her immortal words,--"I jes growed." + +But fortunately the nation's capital was planned, and wisely planned, by +a far-seeing brain, which beheld with the eye of faith while yet they +were not, broad-shaded avenues flung out across the checkerboard of +streets like green-bordered ribbons radiating in all directions from +that massive pile which is to all good Americans (in spite of Dr. Holmes +and Boston's claims) the true hub of our special universe. It is these +transverse avenues which make the special beauty and distinction of the +capital city--not in themselves alone, but in the miniature parks and +triangular bits of greenery that they leave in their wake. + +It was up Massachusetts Avenue, one of the most beautiful of them all, +that Mrs. Pennybacker wended her way, consulting from time to time a +card she held in her hand. She stopped at last at the door of a gray +stone house, shaded by a row of elms. The "parking," as they call it, is +rather wide on Massachusetts Avenue, and the lawn was green and well +kept. There was an air of quiet elegance about the place that pleased +Mrs. Pennybacker. "The exterior is all that can be desired, at any +rate," she commented. + +She sent up her card and waited in the parlor. The boy returned to say +that Mrs. De Jarnette would be down immediately. When he was gone, Mrs. +Pennybacker began a close perusal, so to speak, of her surroundings. + +"A beautiful room," she announced to herself at length, "a beautiful +room. For myself, I don't know that I like this Persian rug as well as I +would a good body brussels that covered the whole floor, but that is +only my taste. You have to get used to bare spots on a floor before you +really appreciate them, I suppose.... Well, if happiness lies in things +(and I am not surer of anything in this world than that it doesn't) +Margaret will be very happy here. I wish I felt sure of--" + +The sentence was unfinished. At this moment a slight lithe figure ran +swiftly down the stairs and fell upon her in the most unceremonious +manner. + +"I am so glad to see you! You are the Mrs. Pennybacker from Missouri who +was my mother's old friend, aren't you? I have heard my father speak of +you so often." + +"You take a different view of it from my niece, Mrs. Van Dorn," said +Mrs. Pennybacker, after the greetings were over. "She said it wouldn't +do at all for me to come. In fact, I ran off to do it." + +"I am so glad you did," laughed Margaret. "I wouldn't have missed your +visit for anything. I wish you could have been at my wedding." + +"I was. I have made it a point in a long life never to miss anything +that I can see legitimately and respectably. My niece secured an +invitation for me. I supposed you knew." + +"Was that for you? I remember Mrs. Van Dorn's asking permission to bring +a friend, but I did not dream that it was anybody I ought to know." + +"I live in an obscure place," Mrs. Pennybacker explained, "and Maria +seems to associate obscurity with disreputableness. It is one of her +little peculiarities not to wish it known that she has friends in +Missouri. Oh, no, I don't mind." Then, dismissing Mrs. Van Dorn and her +peculiarities, "You are very much like your mother, my dear." + +"Oh, do you think so? I am always glad to be told that--although I know +so little about her myself. Do you think I look like her or is it my +manner?" + +Mrs. Pennybacker scanned critically the bright face opposite. + +"Both. You are taller, I think, but you have her supple grace--I noticed +it as you ran down the stairs--and her animation. I am glad of that, for +it was one of her greatest charms." + +Margaret laughed. "I'm afraid I have too much animation,--but I can't +help it. You see I feel things rather intensely. My enjoyment is so real +that I don't know how to keep from showing it." + +"I hope you will never learn. A fresh enthusiasm about everything as it +comes, and a capacity to enjoy, are among God's best gifts to us. They +have but one drawback." + +"And that is--?" + +"A corresponding capacity for suffering," said Mrs. Pennybacker, with +sudden gravity, as she looked into the young face. "Those two +characteristics often go together. But don't be afraid to enjoy with +intensity, my dear. It is about that as it is with brilliant color. You +often hear girls bewail their pink cheeks, but time almost always tones +it down, Margaret. I may call you that, may I not? It almost seems to me +that the years have been obliterated and that your mother is beside me." + +"Oh, I want you to call me that. It is so lovely to see somebody that +knew my mother. You always continued friends, didn't you? Nothing ever +came between you?" + +"Nothing--not even death. She seems close to me now, as I sit looking at +you." + +Impulsively Margaret threw her arms around her mother's friend. "Oh, you +bring her closer to me than she has ever been in all my life. Tell me +about her." + +They sat long together, the older woman living over for the girl the +life of the mother she had never known,--her girlhood, the marriage, the +brief wedded life, and its untimely close. + +"I love to hear you tell about it," Margaret said, a tender light in her +eyes. "I have known so little of my mother. Somehow father never talked +with me much about her. I think it hurt him to remember." + +"He was very fond of her," Mrs. Pennybacker said, "and she of him. I +never knew a purer love match, nor a happier married life." + +"And yet she had to give it up so soon. Oh, Mrs. Pennybacker, it seems +to me the _saddest_ thing to want to live and have to die! I don't think +anything could be harder than that." + +"Yes. There is something harder than that, Margaret. It is to want to +die and have to live." + +Margaret's face expressed incredulity. + +Her head was thrown back with a gesture that was habitual with her, and +her eyes shining. + +"You are very happy, Margaret?" said Mrs. Pennybacker, softly. + +"I don't think anybody could be happier. It almost frightens me +sometimes to think how happy. You see, my husband--" she said it in the +pretty, hesitating way that young girls use who have not yet got +accustomed to the word,--"my husband is so good to me. It seems so +blessed to have somebody's tender care around me all the time. I think +that is what makes a woman love a man, don't you?... And then I am so +glad to have a home. I have never had a home since father died. I don't +mean to say that they were not everything to me at Judge Kirtley's that +friends could be--you understand that--but they were not my very own, +nor I theirs. And I had mourned for father so--had missed him so +desperately. I thought of that time when you were speaking of a capacity +for suffering. But after a while--well, you know how those things go. +While I did not forget him, after a while the world did not seem quite +so black, and gradually--" + +"Yes, child, I know. + + 'Joy comes, grief goes,--we know not how.'" + +"That is just it exactly. That is Lowell, isn't it? Then when Victor +came into my life-- Mrs. Pennybacker, do you know I think Victor is +going to be so much like father in his home." + +"I hope so," returned Mrs. Pennybacker, but the face of the bridegroom +at St. John's rose before her mental vision, and her hope was without +the element of faith. + +"Mrs. Pennybacker, do you suppose father knows? I hope he does. I am +almost ashamed to tell you this for fear you will think me silly, but +sometimes when Victor has just gone--has told me good-bye for the day, +and that he will hurry back as soon as he can, and all that, you +know--and it rushes over me so--the blessedness of having a love like +his, and a dear home that is to be ours forever--I am--my heart is so +overflowing with joy that I go to my room and drop down by the couch and +whisper softly, 'Father! I am so happy! Can you hear me, dearest?'" + +She dashed the tears from her eyes and smiled through wet lashes. "I +know it is foolish, Mrs. Pennybacker, and I can't see how I came to be +telling it all to you--but I feel as if I want father to know. Do you +think he does?" + +"I am not much of a Spiritualist, Margaret," returned Mrs. Pennybacker, +guardedly. "The dye from which my religious faith took its color was +very blue,--but certainly if there is such a thing as communion between +the living and the dead--or rather the living here and the living +there--it would come in answer to a whisper like that." + +There were tears in the eyes of both. The elder woman was thinking, "Oh, +I hope it will last!" + +But she only said, "You did not take a wedding journey?" + +"No. Victor wanted me to go abroad, but I could not bear the thought of +going anywhere just at first. I was so eager to get things arranged in +our home. We had so many pretty bridal gifts that I was just crazy to +see how they would look. I felt that I would rather fix up this home +than do anything in the world. Then, too, I hated to go away at this +time of the year. Of course we will go later, but May is so beautiful in +Washington." + +"Yes," Mrs. Pennybacker said, softly,--with all her practicality and +candid speech there was an unworked vein of sentiment about her, "yes, +May is beautiful everywhere--even in Life's calendar." + +It did seem that in that home there was not one thing lacking; +everything was there that heart could desire, taste suggest, or money +secure; and the mistress's pride and joy in it all were so spontaneous, +so exuberant, her realization of the blessedness of her new life so +vivid, that only a croaker or a keen student of human life would have +had a thought of the transitory nature of all things. + +And yet-- + +By an impulse for which she herself could not account, Mrs. Pennybacker +turned again to the girl to whom she had said good-by and took both her +hands. + +"My dear," she said, "my home is in an obscure spot. One can hardly find +it on the map. But for you its doors are always open. If you ever need a +friend, come to me." + + * * * * * + +"How queer!" mused Margaret when she was gone. "I wonder how she came to +say that. Well, with all her oddity, I like her." + + + + + CHAPTER IV + THE THORN ROAD + + +Certainly there was nothing on Margaret De Jarnette's horizon at present +that was a forecast of falling weather. The skies were blue, the air +clear, and over all the life-giving sunshine of love and trust which was +starting every plant in her home garden to budding. The program agreed +upon in those ante-nuptial days was carried out, and while friends were +wondering where the two had gone for their wedding journey, they were +quietly settling themselves in their new home and into each other's +lives. + +To Margaret the place on Massachusetts Avenue was the House Beautiful. +The home-building instinct was strong within her, and she took a bird's +delight in fashioning her nest. If Victor's pleasure in it all did not +seem so keen as hers, she did not perceive it. When he came at night she +flitted from one room to another, convoying him along to show him how +this straw had been changed and this wisp of hay added, and as he looked +and listened she did not doubt that it was together they were building +their nest. + +The evenings of that matchless May and June were full of peaceful +joy,--long drives through Rock Creek Park or the beautiful winding ways +of the Soldiers' Home, with now and then a row upon the river past old +Georgetown, with its windows blinking at the setting sun, and back again +when it lay steeped in moonlight, and they floated lazily down toward +the Monument which dominated the landscape whichever way they +turned,--heeding not time nor aught else so that only they were together +and away from all the world. Ah! it was idyllic while it lasted, but it +palled at last, the least bit, upon Victor, and then they sought the +seashore, Margaret saying to herself that it was her choice to go. + +At the seashore, as it chanced, there was a gay crowd from Baltimore +that Victor knew, and things gave promise of being very pleasant, but +unfortunately Margaret was not well when they first reached the place, +nor for some time afterwards--not ill enough to hinder Victor's going, +as she insisted earnestly, but in a way that kept her quiet upon the +hotel piazza. She was not strong enough to take the jaunts the others +enjoyed. Victor demurred at first, saying he would not think of leaving +her, but it was a very pleasant party, and men are always in demand at +seaside resorts. So in the end he went. + +The Baltimore party was not going to remain long and they made hay with +a zest that was fatiguing to one not quite robust. + +One morning, as Margaret sat on the piazza watching the waves roll in +and back, in and back, with a ceaseless energy that somehow seemed so +futile, always trying to do something, but never accomplishing it, +Victor came out from the smoking-room and threw himself at her feet on +the steps. + +"How are you feeling by this time, sweetheart?" he asked, with a +tenderness that somehow seemed to belong to Washington and the Maytime +rather than this crowded summer hotel. It brought quick tears to her +eyes. The girl was very weak. + +"Rather better, thank you," she said, smiling down at him in a languid +way that belied her words. + +"It is deucedly unfortunate about your having this little attack just +now," he said, fanning himself with his hat and frowning a little. He +was very young. "You are losing so many good times." + +"I am living on the memory of our good times in Washington," Margaret +said. Which was truer than she knew. + +"Oh! They were all right, weren't they? We did have a good time. It's a +pity that kind of thing can't last. But you see if you felt equal to it +you could have some good times now of a different sort. Dillingham wants +us to go on a yachting trip." + +"When?" Margaret asked it rather listlessly. + +"To-morrow. It's going to be an awfully jolly party. They are going for +an all-day's trip--luncheon on the yacht and all that. How do you feel +about it?" + +"Victor, I could not possibly go. I am not well enough." + +He bit his lip and looked annoyed. + +"But I should not want to interfere with your going," she said, quickly, +noticing the look. "There is no reason why it should." + +"Oh, no, I'll stay--of course," he replied. "I couldn't go off for a +good time and leave you here sick. It wouldn't be right. But it is +unfortunate, as I was saying. You know I am specially fond of yachting, +and--" + +"And I want you to go. I really would much rather you would." + +He made some faint opposition, which only stimulated her determination +that he should take the trip. At last he said, "Well--I don't +know--perhaps I will after all, just to please Dillingham. He was +anxious that I should go to even up the party." And Margaret thought +quickly, "Then they did not even expect me to go." + +"You are sure you won't be lonely without anybody to talk to?" + +"I will let the sea talk to me," Margaret said. + +The sea talked to her a good deal that summer. When the Baltimore party +was gone and she was well enough to go about, Victor had formed the +acquaintance of certain gentlemen who were fond of cards and pool, and +she had many leisure hours for communion with it. What it told her she +never repeated. If she said anything to it in reply, it was with silent +speech, until one day as she stood looking out over its lonely wastes, +she suddenly clasped her hands and pressed them to her breast, +whispering brokenly, "He is--so _different_--from father!" + +They went back in September,--Margaret gladly. In their own home they +would fall back into the blissful life that had been theirs at first. +Somehow it seemed to be slipping away from them. A hotel was no place to +live. When they were at home again she would try hard to get it back. +Why should her husband be less thoughtful, less tender of her now than +then,--now when she needed it more? She had heard of married people +growing apart--even when there seemed to be no special trouble between +them. Oh, how wretched that would be! how intolerable! They must not do +that! She would make his home bright and attractive. She had read that +it was always a woman's fault if her husband's interest waned,--it was +because she did not meet him at the door with a smile, and have his +slippers warming on the hearth, and wear a white dress with a red rose +at the belt, and another in her hair. But then one could hardly remember +all the things the books said women must do to hold the love their +husbands had poured out upon them so unstintedly before marriage. + +One cold, wet, disagreeable night in October Margaret had a fire lighted +in the library grate. It was the first one on their own hearth, and she +had not yet got over the charm of "first things." It seemed to her when +they came into the room that she had never seen a sweeter, more +attractive place. + +"Do you remember what Holmes says his idea of comfort is?" she asked, +turning to Victor brightly as they sat down before the glowing coals. + +"No. What is it?" + +"'Four feet on a fender.' Isn't that epigrammatic and--and full of +tenderness?" + +"It is epigrammatic, all right. I can't quite see the tenderness. You +will have to explain." + +She shook her head, with the ghost of a smile. + +"There are some things that can't be explained, Victor,--the humor of a +joke, for instance. If you don't see it, it isn't there--for you." + +Somehow her reply embarrassed him. He felt that he had been weighed in +the balance and found wanting, and he could not see why. + +"You quote Holmes a good deal, don't you?" + +"Yes. He says such bright things." And she added eagerly, "Victor, let +us read some together this winter. Father and I used to have such good +times reading together." + +Victor put up his hand as if to ward off an attack. + +"Really, Margaret, don't you think you are asking a little too much of +me? to settle down to evenings of reading the Autocrat! If you would +suggest having some people in to play cards now." + +"Very well," she returned, quietly, "we will have some people in to play +cards then." + +"I am afraid I can't count upon all my evenings," he said, hastily. "I +find that things have accumulated in my absence, and I will have to be +at the office occasionally at night. Not often, but sometimes." + +"I should not want to interfere with your business, Victor, but--" + +"Well? What's the rest of it?" + +"I was going to say that the men I have known best have been able to +work enough in the day and give their evenings to their families." + +She paused a moment during which she thought, "I certainly have a right +to say this--and it ought to be said. I am not complaining. We ought to +plan out our life together." Aloud she continued, "That has always +seemed to me the right way. I think so much depends now upon our +starting right." + +He rose hastily. "We will talk that over some other time. I really have +to go down to-night. I have promised to meet a man. You don't object? +You will not be afraid?" + +"I shall not be afraid," she said. + +She went to the door with him and stood looking after him until he +disappeared. When she came back she was shivering a little. She sat +before the fire and looked into its depths. Then she raised the skirt of +her dainty house-gown and rested her slippered feet on the brass that +was burnished until it shone. + +"_Two_ feet on a fender," she said with a dreary little smile. + +She reasoned with herself afterwards. "It may not be the best way to +do--to live--" she told herself, "but I hope I am womanly enough not to +be jealous of my husband's business." + +Some months later Mrs. Kirtley remarked to her husband, "Victor De +Jarnette must be doing very well in his business. Margaret tells me that +he has to go to the office almost every night of late, there is such a +rush of work. Poor child! She is not well, and is nervous at being +alone, though she is very brave about it. I think he should be at home +more just now--a man of his means--even if he has to sacrifice his +business somewhat. I hope he will not become too mercenary." + +"I hardly think he will," the Judge responded, dryly. But with the +loyalty of one man for another, even when that other is unworthy, he +said no more. Inwardly he was groaning, "Just as I feared. Too bad! That +young man had a good case and he is letting it go by default. Margaret +is not the woman to stand this when she finds out." + + * * * * * + +It is an evil hour for a man when a woman takes to her hungry heart a +substitute for the affection he withholds, but when the thing +substituted is an innocent thing it is a godsend to the woman. A plant +if denied the light on one side will turn this way and that. When it +cannot get it in any direction it dies. + +As the months went by, Margaret passed through deep and changing +experiences. First there was a period of bewilderment. What had she done +that should make this difference in Victor? He had been her persistent +wooer before marriage. Was the case now to be reversed? Her pride +revolted, but her instinct told her that if the fire on their domestic +altar was not to die out she would be the one to fan the flame. She +deliberately and with purpose aforethought set herself to hold her +husband's love. It seemed to her almost humiliating that she should have +to fight this fight,--but how could she bear a loveless home? + +That she was only in part successful she could not fail to see, the +plain truth being that Victor De Jarnette was restive under the bonds +that bound him to one woman and a home, being of that masculine type +which desires the pleasures of the married state and the liberty of +bachelorhood. He did not intend to be unkind, but he intended to have +his liberty. And the two involved a nice adjustment that, as yet, +Margaret had not learned to comprehend. + +To this period of bewilderment and baffled endeavor succeeded one of +apathy. Her sensibilities seemed blunted. What was at first a sharp, +intolerable pain became later a dull ache. Nothing seemed to matter +much. Mrs. Kirtley was concerned, and told her she needed a tonic, but +Margaret shook her head. It was a comfort, anyway, to find that she did +not care as much as she did at first. That, she told herself, would have +been unbearable,--that would have been against nature. Perhaps she would +get so after a while that she would not care at all. She had seen some +married people who appeared entirely indifferent to each other,--the +woman led her life and the man his. And yet they got along at least +respectably.... After all, she thought with a slight shiver, it must be +a gray life--she had not thought that hers would be like that! Perhaps +it was just her physical lassitude that made her feel so dead. She lay +hours at a time on the couch when Victor was gone, thinking nothing, +feeling nothing, hoping nothing. + +Then one day a beautiful thing happened to Margaret; a soft wind rose +that blew away the deadly miasma fastening upon her. It stirred within +the closed chambers of her heart, making them sweet and pure again, and +softly fanning open others that she had not known were there. And from +these unsuspected chambers came soft voices whispering to her of hope +that was not dead, they told her, it would spring again--and a sweet +tale of joy that was to be--something so untried, so mysterious, that +the very thought thrilled her as in all her life she had never been +thrilled before. Then as she bent to listen, the soft whisperings +swelled to sweetest music, and a heavenly chorus sang: + +"Blessed--blessed--blessed art thou!" + +And Margaret, listening with rapt ear, cried out in ecstasy from the +great deeps of her lonely heart, "My own ... my very own?" and then upon +her knees took up the great antiphonal, + +"My soul doth magnify the Lord." + +Ah! the angel of the annunciation had spoken to Margaret and her heart +was singing the Magnificat. + + + + + CHAPTER V + "A WHITE LIFE FOR TWO" + + +Months came and went--months in which they each tried intermittently to +regain their old footing of love and faith. They could not do it. The +wife at least knew that they were drifting apart. She wondered sometimes +where it would all end. + +Victor had told Margaret one morning that he had been called to +Philadelphia on business and would not be at home for several days +perhaps. A friend called for her that afternoon to drive. She did not go +out often now, and, of course, Victor had no thought that she would take +this time of all times. + +She came upon him in Rock Creek Park. He too was driving, and beside him +was a woman she had heard lightly spoken of. He did not see her, nor did +the friend see him. It was but a moment, but in that brief space she had +pressed to her lips the fruit plucked from the Tree of Knowledge. +Margaret wondered, as she felt the world swim around her, what it was +her friend was saying, and what made it sound so far off, and whether +she would know enough to answer her. + +They had a bitter time over that. He first denied, then attempted to +explain, and finally fell back upon her foolish jealousy, forgetting +that it is a poor bloodless type of woman that will not be jealous when +occasion exists. From that time on she had been steering wildly, her +rudder gone. + +The storm fell on her with as little warning. The winter passed, spring +came. It was almost Mayday and her anniversary. Victor had seemed more +thoughtful of her of late,--perhaps her weakness appealed even to him. +Soon--soon--she told herself, they would be drawn closer together by +their common joy and care. + +In the afternoon she was called to the telephone. It was her +brother-in-law, Mr. De Jarnette, who was speaking. He called her up to +say that Victor would not be home to dinner and perhaps not until quite +late. He had had to go to Baltimore upon a business matter that could +not be postponed, and he had just had a message from him saying that he +(Richard) would have to come over, too, in order to make the deal go +through. There was a possibility--a bare possibility--that they might +not be able to get through in time to get back that night, but in that +case Victor would telegraph her along in the afternoon. He was telling +her about it now so that if the telegram came she would not feel +alarmed. Perhaps she had better telephone to Judge and Mrs. Kirtley to +come over and stay with her until Victor got back. Oh, no, she replied, +she would not be at all afraid. She sat down thinking with a sudden pang +how strange it would seem to have somebody looking out for her comfort +all the time. Victor often stayed out as late as that. Suddenly she felt +appalled to perceive how certain she felt that this was the truth. She +had not even questioned it. + +Margaret did not know her brother-in-law very well. He had been to the +house a few times, but always in a perfunctory way. She felt that he +would have prevented the marriage if he could, and this had always stood +between them. His considerate thoughtfulness of her was most unexpected. + +Toward night the telegram came. Margaret opened it without looking at +the address. She stared at it uncomprehendingly at first. It was signed +by the woman she had seen in Rock Creek Park, and it should have gone to +the office. + +When Victor De Jarnette got home in the early evening his wife was +waiting for him with the telegram in her hand. It is not the purpose of +this narrative to give that interview. There were pointed questions and +evasive answers. There were criminations and recriminations on one side, +and shuffling, prevarication, and finally defiance on the other. + +"Women expect too much," Victor said, harshly, at last. "If they +demanded less they would get more." + +"I am not speaking of women--nor of unreasonable demands," she said. +"Perhaps they do--I don't know. But Victor!" Margaret spoke with +impassioned pleading, "_I_ ask only the same fidelity I give. Is that +too much?" + +She faced him squarely with the question, her eyes burning into his very +soul. Only the clock's tick broke the silence. Upon his answer, in word +and deed, hung the destiny of his life and hers; of his home and hers; +of his child, his unborn child, and hers. + +"Is that too much?" she repeated. + +He temporized. + +"It is more than most women get. I can tell you that." + +"Don't put me off. Is it more than I will get?" Her breast was heaving +and her breath coming hard. + +"Oh, Margaret, don't go into heroics!" he cried. "Listen to reason! Men +can't be bound down by a woman's code of morals. They never have been, +and they never will be. And women might as well understand it." + +"Then marriage is a lie and a cheat!" she cried with vehemence. "You +take the same vows that we do, and you take them saying to yourselves +that you will keep them only so long as you chose, and will break them +at your will!... But we--poor fools! we speak those vows with bated +breath and souls bared before God, and mean to keep them--strive to keep +them even when--" + +"Is it such a struggle?" he asked, sneeringly. + +"--even when faith in you is dead or dying. Yes. It is a struggle then. +'Love, honor, and obey!' Bah!" + +"Well," he said, stung by her scorn, but carrying it off insolently, "in +the words of the illustrious Mr. Tweed, 'What are you going to do about +it?'" + +Had he been man enough--perhaps even had he been old enough--he would +have thought of the danger to her in all this tumult of feeling and +calmed her by a candid meeting of the question she had forced upon him. +But he maddened her with his flippant manner and contemptuous words. And +a change was going on in him too. Under his light demeanor his anger was +rising. There was bad blood in Victor De Jarnette--false, cowardly +blood--and it was beginning to assert itself. + +"I am going to do this," she said, in a low, concentrated tone. "I +demand to know what this woman is to you. I have a right to know." + +"And know you shall," he answered, meeting her gaze with defiant eyes, +in which every evil passion had burst into flame. "Since I am to be +badgered and run to earth in my own home, know that she is a woman I +love--and shall love. One that I shall go to when--and where--and as I +please. The De Jarnettes are not ruled by their women!" + +"Then choose between us," she said, with whitening lips, "for I swear to +you by the living God I will be all or nothing to the man that calls me +wife!" + +They stood facing each other,--her features white and drawn, his +inflamed with passion. Then, with a sudden revulsion of feeling, a +frightened sense of her own helplessness, perhaps, or possibly a surging +back of her old love--for women are strange beings--she came closer to +him and stretched out her hands. + +"Victor! Oh, Victor!" + +He thrust her aside and went out. The door clanged behind him, waking +echoes in the silent house, and Margaret, suddenly strengthless, dropped +in a heap on the floor, her face buried in the couch. She sat there long +with hopeless eyes staring into the blackness of the morrow, saying now +and then brokenly, "Father!... Father!" + + * * * * * + +White now with anger, furious at Margaret's discovery of his falseness, +and yet more furious at the necessity which her ultimatum laid upon him +to amend his ways or lose his wife; unholy passion for her rival hot +within him, and the vengeful blood of his race coursing tumultuously +through his veins, Victor De Jarnette strode down Massachusetts Avenue +almost a madman. Not for him was the soft beauty of the night--the +breath of flowers, the light of stars, the play of summer breezes among +the leaves. His heart was closed to the sweet influences of the +Pleiades. That heart, alas! out of which are the issues of life had +become a seething cauldron of fierce passions. + +He did not go immediately to his office. In fact, it was hours before he +did. When at last he reached the place he began tearing up letters and +clearing up his desk with one eye on the clock as if in preparation for +departure or a new incumbent. His blood was still at fever heat, and his +thoughts did not tend to cool it. Besides, the law of heredity was +against him. What he was doing, his mother before him had done. She, +too, had felt this hot surging in the veins and had given it free +course. A fearful heritage is ungoverned blood. + +As he opened a drawer to put away some papers his eye fell on a folded +document. He looked at it absently at first, hardly aware that he saw +it. Then, as the innocent looking thing forced itself upon his +consciousness, he took it up and read it. How well he remembered the day +it was written. A sneer curved his lips at the thought of his ecstatic +state of mind at that time. Fool! Then as he looked at the paper, there +suddenly leaped into his mind a cruel thought, and into his face the +quick reflection of its malevolence. + +He stared at the thing he held. + +"I'll do it!" he cried, bringing his clenched hand down upon the table +with an oath. "I'll show her!" + + * * * * * + +"Don't do it, Victor!" pleaded John Jarvis, the lawyer, a half hour +later, when his angry client had made his wishes known. "Don't do it! My +God, man, it would be too cruel! too brutally cruel!" + +"Brutal or not," swore Victor De Jarnette, "according to the laws of +this District I can do it, and, by God! I will!" + +"Wait till to-morrow," urged the lawyer. "You will think better of it in +the morning." + +"There may never be a to-morrow," Victor answered, recklessly. "I'll +make sure of it now. If you won't do it I can get somebody that will." + +Before he left the attorney's office it was done, and done, alas! in due +and proper form. + + + + + CHAPTER VI + A FRIEND IN NEED + + +When Margaret woke next morning it was with a bewildered sense of +something wrong,--the dull ache we have in the gray dawn before +returning consciousness brings it all back to us, and makes it a sharp +pain. Then, as the events of the night before came back, and the dread +of to-day forced itself upon her, she closed her eyes in a sick longing +to go to sleep and never wake. + +This was the end! They had had words, bitter words, before--but never +like this. How could she forget his cruel thrusts, his broken faith, +which he had even flaunted in her face? How could the barrier between +them which her passionate challenge had raised be broken down? "She must +be all or nothing." Yes, and it was true! as true to-day as it was +yesterday and would be for all time. Only his hand could break that +barrier down. And suppose he would not.... Well! so be it. It seemed to +her that her heart was numbed and could never be warmed into life again. +There rose before her a picture she had seen one day--a man with +wretched face, a woman who had cast herself on a couch in an attitude +suggesting the abandon of despair, and between them on the table a still +form that she thought at first glance was their dead baby, only that she +saw the wings and knew that it was Love--dead Love. + +It was very late when she had gone to bed the night before, and still +Victor had not come. She had fallen immediately into the deep sleep of +exhaustion which comes to us sometimes when a crisis is past, even +though it has brought the worst. Women who hang sleepless and wide-eyed +over a sick-bed have been known to fall into a sleep like that of death, +when all is over, their wild grief swallowed up in nature's merciful +oblivion. So it had been with Margaret. + +Had he come in while she slept? She stepped to her husband's door and +peeped cautiously in. The bed was undisturbed. She went back to her own +room and stood there shaking as with an ague. What did it mean? + +Then she sat down and thought--thought deeply--going over all the +wretched quarrel,--trying to judge between them, to see where--if +anywhere--he was right and she was wrong. She had been passionate--yes, +and had said bitter things. But they were true! And, she told herself +despairingly, it was not the things they _said_! The trouble lay back of +that.... If only it had been something else! But this! ... oh, how could +she compromise? The words of that odious Mrs. Bomprey came to her--"Men +are naughty creatures, my dear. Wise women learn to shut their eyes!" + +"Why must they shut their eyes?" she asked, fiercely. The very +insinuation was dishonoring to both. But--was the woman right? + +Were all men like this?... Her soul grew sick. Then--no! no! _no!_ she +told herself in passionate protest--it was not true! She would not +believe this withering, blasting thing. There was her father! Though all +the world should rise up and say there was no truth in men, she still +would know--there was her father! + +At breakfast she said, quietly, "Mr. De Jarnette is not at home this +morning. We will not wait. He has been called away and may not be home +for several days." All this with no surprise at her own power to lie +without compunction. + +When the meal was over she waited to give directions to the servants, as +usual, speaking cheerfully to all. She could not bear the pity of her +servants. Her maid, a faithful girl, came to her in her room. Could she +let her go home for a while? Her mother was very ill and needed her--she +hated to leave just now, and wouldn't, only--it was her mother. Yes, +Margaret said hastily, feeling with a throb of loneliness that the ties +of blood were to be nourished, not denied. Then when the girl was gone +she felt bereft. + +Through that long morning Margaret waited. The air she breathed was dead +and deadening; she gasped sometimes for breath. It was the close, +oppressive air that presages a storm. It seemed to press upon her so. +She went once to the window, expecting, without knowing why, to see the +lightning and to hear the thunder's roll, and felt vague surprise to see +the leaves stirred by the breeze, and over all the sunlight. There was +no storm. + +She moved restlessly about her room, putting her drawers to rights with +a strange feeling unformulated even to herself, but pressing hard, that +she must put her house in order, for the end was near. + +In the upper hall near her door was the telephone. She went once to it, +took the receiver down, and then returned it to the hook, turning +afterwards resolutely to it and telling herself, "He is my husband. It +certainly is my right to know." Then to the one who answered, she said, +brightly, "Will you please ask Mr. De Jarnette to come to the 'phone?" + +She would not ask if he was there. To her excited imagination that would +seem to imply that she did not know of his whereabouts. + +The answer came. + +"Is that you, Mrs. De Jarnette? Good morning, madam.... Why, ... Mr. De +Jarnette hasn't come in yet. Probably somebody stopped him on the way +down.... Yes.... Well, I will tell him when he comes in. Good-by." + +Margaret looked at the clock. It was after eleven. She sat down faint +and trembling. He had not been to the office. + +Soon after this Judge Kirtley called to see her on some matter of +business. He asked her casually about Victor, and she answered with a +smile and a steady voice, feeling all the time that if he said another +word she must go to him and fall upon his breast and cry aloud. +Then--was she pretty well? Ah, that was good.... No, Mrs. Kirtley was in +bed with grippe. The doctor said he should keep her there a good +while.... Well, she must take good care of herself--patting her +cheek--and--good-by. + +When he was gone, Margaret had an insane desire to scream. It seemed to +her that everybody was leaving her.... Where was Victor? + +At two o'clock Richard De Jarnette came. He found her in the library. +With that strange restlessness and presentiment of coming ill which +possessed her, she was looking over papers in her desk and putting +things in place. A waste basket beside her was half filled with old +letters. From the drawer just emptied she had taken a revolver of +peculiar workmanship. It was one belonging to her husband, which he had +left in the desk. She was taking it up with the intention of carrying it +to his room, but when the servant announced Mr. De Jarnette, she laid it +hastily on the top of the desk and put the drawer back. When she rose to +meet her brother-in-law she took hold of the desk to steady herself, for +she had a feeling that this visit was upon no trifling errand. As she +did so her hand touched the revolver, and she drew back. + +"It is Victor's," she said, "I was putting it away." + +He looked at the revolver, taking in as people do sometimes in the +crises of their lives the details of its curious workmanship. + +He wasted no time in formalities. He had come to ask her about Victor. +Did she know anything about him--where he was? + +No. She did not know he had gone away. She was controlling herself by so +strong an effect that her voice sounded hard. Where was he? Had any +message come from him? + +Richard De Jarnette had not had much experience in dealing with women. +He took from his pocket a telegram and handed it to her. It was dated +New York. She held it with unsteady hand and read: + + "Wire me two thousand dollars--Paris--Credit Lyonnais. Sail + to-night. + + Victor De Jarnette." + +She grew white as the dead. + +"You knew nothing of this?" he asked. + +"Nothing." + +"And can you give me no idea of what it means?" His voice was tense, so +much so that it had the unfortunate effect of making his words sound +severe. + +Margaret stared at the paper, feeling the earth sway beneath her feet. + +"No--unless--perhaps I ought to tell you that--we quarreled last +night--a bitter quarrel--" + +"Quarreled? About what?" He spoke sharply. + +She lifted her head at that and looked full at him. + +"About something that concerns only ourselves, I think." + +"I beg your pardon. You are quite right. I did not mean to intrude, but +only to find out if I could the meaning of this incomprehensible thing. +I beg you to believe that I would like to serve you." + +"Of course this will be known," she said, hesitatingly. "If--if it could +be kept out of the papers I should be glad. It would only avert +publicity for a little while--but--I might be stronger then to bear it." + +"I will see to it at once. The papers will say, if you desire, that he +has been called away on urgent business." + +"Oh, yes, if you will be so good. I think--I hope--and still I do not +know that it can ever be arranged." + +As he rose to go he said after an awkward silence, "I seem unfortunate +in my questions, but I hope you will not misunderstand me. Has he left +you money?" + +"Oh, I have money, yes. All I need. I do not misunderstand. You--you are +very kind." + +He bowed gravely. Then, after another silence, "Of course you know that +this will mean quite an absence from home, even if he should turn around +and come back as soon as he reaches the other shore." He was adding +savagely to himself, "As he will when he hears from me." + +"Yes, I know," murmured Margaret, faintly. + +"Have you not some elderly friend that you could have with you for a +while? I am sure Victor has gone off only in a spirit of pique. He was +always impulsive and headstrong. If you could ask some such person--" + +She shook her head. + +"I am very much alone," she said. Her childish helplessness would have +touched a stone. "You see I have no relatives. And Mrs. Kirtley (I am +sure she would have come) is ill." She was twisting the telegram with +nervous fingers, feeling again that mad desire to scream. She felt sure +she would do so if he spoke another sympathetic word. + +He turned his eyes away. "I really think you should have some older +woman with you, other than your maid--just now." + +"My maid is gone," she said, a lump rising in her throat--repeating, +"It--leaves me--very much alone." + +"That settles it," he said. "I shall send my housekeeper to you from +Elmhurst. She is reliable and kind. You can depend upon her fully. She +has always lived with us, and there is nothing she likes so well as to +mother people." + +Her chin quivered like a child's. "I--I think I _need_ mothering," she +said. + +He beat a hasty retreat. Her helplessness wrung his heart. + + * * * * * + +Two hours later Mammy Cely presented herself before Margaret--rotund of +figure, dark and shining of face, thick-lipped and flat-nosed. But in +her kind eyes was the brooding spirit of motherhood. Mammy Cely was of +the old school. As she stood there in her clean dark gingham, white +apron, white head handkerchief, and a three-cornered piece of like +immaculateness crossing her breast, she was the embodiment of a past +civilization, an archaic reminder of the old régime which everybody +condemns, which nobody wants revived, but which has its sacred memories +of friendships between high and low, that come, as all memories do, only +to those who have experienced in the far past that for which the memory +stands. To Margaret this humble friend was a gift from Heaven. + +But all this time Mammy Cely was unobtrusively taking in the situation. + +"That child's done stood all she ken now," she was saying to herself. +"Pretty soon she gwineter break down--that she is!" Aloud she remarked, +respectfully, "Yaas, 'm, 'tis mighty bad 'bout Mr. Victor bein' called +away right now. Marse Richard was tellin' me about it.... But _nem_mine, +honey, we gwineter s'prise him when he gits home, ain't we? We gwineter +have the party all over and ever'body gone home but us and de li'l' +gen'l'man." She was talking to her as one speaks to a frightened child. +"There!... There!... Mammy Cely gwineter take keer of you, honey! Don't +you be skeered. She done tuk keer of a heap er ladies in her day. She +knows jes' what to do. You needn't to worry. She gwineter stay right +here.... Yo' maid gone too? Well, I do say! These here triflin' +Washington niggers ain't no 'count. _No_ 'm, they ain't! Well, +_nem_mine! I gwineter be yo' maid now--Marse Richard say so--and yo' +mammy too. Then befo' I go away I'll git you somebody ef I has to peruse +this town. Yaas, 'm, I will so! I wouldn't stand, honey. Set down now." + +She asked the frightened girl a few questions, putting in a running +commentary of soothing, confidence-inspiring remarks, and Margaret found +herself settling down in profound relief upon the broad foundation of +her practical knowledge. + +"And you got all the little clo's ready?... Well, I do say! Ain't they +scrumptious! Humph! Jes' look at the 'shorance of them little shearts! +Honey, they look lak they was holdin' out they arms for a man!... But I +declar this here highfalutin' lacy skeart do sho'ly belong to a little +lady! Well, whichever it is, honey, it's gwineter be yourn, and when you +feel that little chile on yo' breas' and hol' them little hands in +yourn, you gwineter furgit all 'bout the pain and the sufferin'--and the +loneliness--" + +The rain clouds had been gathering all day. They could be held back no +longer. Slowly, drops began to fall--the big portentous ones that come +before the storm. If this new maid had come in cold and business-like +she could have withstood it, but this was the mother-note she had always +lacked in her life song. A convulsive sob broke from her overburdened +heart, hearing which and recognizing the futility of further words, +Mammy Cely opened her arms. + +"Come here, lamb!" + +And Margaret fell, weeping, into them. + + * * * * * + +That night she went down into the valley of the shadow of death, and the +black woman was her rod and staff. + + + + + CHAPTER VII + TRIED AS BY FIRE + + +It was long months before Margaret De Jarnette looked into her husband's +face. Before that time Washington's squares and circles and +triangles--those blessed breathing spots--had blossomed out from +hyacinths to flaunting salvias,--a stately, gorgeous, lengthening +procession proclaiming to those who understand the language or who care +to hear, "He hath made all things beautiful in its time." + +Gradually the soft spring air had yielded to the power that always wins, +and a blistering heat had fallen on the city, the fierce rays beating +down upon the asphalt streets which threw them back defiantly until the +very air palpitated with the conflict. Then even the asphalt gave it up, +and lay a sodden mass--no longer master of its fate, but meekly yielding +to the impress of every grinding heel. The leaves hung motionless, the +air was dead, and one remembered, apprehensively, that some day the +earth would melt with fervent heat, and wondered, gasping, if that time +were now. + +Then having proved his power, old Sol relaxed his grasp, and turned away +his face, and men began to hope again, and to remind one another, as the +breeze sprang up, of the promise given with the bow that "While the +earth remaineth ... cold and heat, and summer and winter ... shall not +cease." Then autumn flung her gorgeous banners to the breeze, and the +Indians kindled their campfires in the West, and shouting children +ploughed the streets where + + "The yellow poplar leaves came down + And like a carpet lay." + +Thus passed Nature's shifting panorama which waits no man's pleasure, +stops for none, but brings all to an end at last. + +To Margaret they had been months of sore trial,--of hope deferred and +the suspense that kills,--the rising up each day to meet the mute +sympathy of real friends, and the thin-veiled curiosity of those called +friends by courtesy, who made her rage within herself and left her +powerless to resent. Then there was that other sort who came to her, +prating of sympathy, but telling her always of what others said. The +words of a talebearer are as wounds; these went down into the innermost +parts of Margaret's soul. + +But through it all she carried herself with a dignity and poise that +enforced respect and in time silenced even gossip. To all these +invitations to confidence she made no response. She could not stop +people's tongues, but she would give them no occasion to wag, by any +word of hers. This thing had been between her and her husband; there it +should remain. So when Marie Van Dorn came, saying effusively, "You poor +child, I have heard, and came to you as soon as the nurse would let me. +You can trust me, my dear!" Margaret had replied, quietly: + +"Thank you. You are very kind to come to see me. I shall be a good deal +housed for a while, and rather lonely in Mr. De Jarnette's absence. What +do you hear from your aunt?" And Marie had made but a short call. + +To Judge Kirtley, who had come as soon as she could see him, she had +said, her eyes heavy with unshed tears, + +"I would trust you beyond any living soul. But this is not a thing about +which even you could help me. I need not tell you there is something +wrong--you know that. It may come right--I can not tell. If it does, I +should be sorry I had talked. If it does not, the case would not be +helped by words. I cannot take the world into my confidence. Do you +blame me?" + +"No, dear child," he said, with an aching of his great heart, "I honor +you. If more women took this stand there would be fewer cases of +domestic trouble in the courts. Keep your own counsel. But when you need +me, speak." + +To his wife that night he said, "Margaret is a rare woman. Not one in a +hundred at her age would see this as she does, and have the strength of +character to lock everything in her own breast." + +"Well, for my part," replied Mrs. Kirtley, who felt aggrieved at +Margaret's want of confidence, "I think she is too close-mouthed. It +would relieve her mind to talk to some safe confidant." + +"It would relieve the mind of the safe confidant more," her husband +replied, astutely. "Margaret is all right! You know what Seneca says: +'If you wish another to keep your secret, first keep it yourself.'" + +"I wish you wouldn't always be quoting those old heathen philosophers to +me," said Mrs. Kirtley, with growing irritation. She had fully expected +to hear the whole story when her husband came home. She was not quite +sure now that he had told all he knew. + +The Judge chuckled. "My dear, if I had said Solomon instead of Seneca, I +have no doubt you would have thought that you could find that in the +Book of Proverbs. It is sage enough to be there. Another proverb is +doubtless in Margaret's mind--the substance of it, at any rate, and I +will relieve your perturbation by saying that this is accredited to the +Talmud, and may have more weight with you than that of my good pagan. +This certainly is worthy of the Wise Man: + + 'Thy friend hath a friend, and thy friend's friend hath a friend; so + be discreet!'" + +"Margaret certainly knows that she can trust us," returned his wife, +indignantly. + +"'_Could_'," my dear, is the better word. _Can_ implies a possibility of +her trying, and that, I suspect, she is not going to do for the present. +Let her alone. She is all right." + +But under his light words he had a sore heart. The girl was very dear to +him. She was in trouble, and he could not help her. He contented himself +with looking closely after her business interests--his friendship being +of the rare kind which is willing to give much, looking not for a +return--and with dropping in often to see her and the baby. + +"I am going to call him Philip Varnum," she said to him on one of these +occasions. "You must help me to make him worthy of the name." It was all +she said, but he understood without anything more that she expected to +rear the child without the help of his father. + +Of Richard De Jarnette Margaret saw less and less as time went on. There +was a feeling of constraint between them, natural enough, perhaps, under +the circumstances, and for some reason growing. During those first weeks +after her illness he had come often to the house,--had shown her +unobtrusive kindnesses and done thoughtful things that added to her +comfort, always in a self-effacing way, evading thanks whenever +possible. Sometimes she only heard of them through Mammy Cely. At rare +intervals he even held the boy when the old nurse, who stood in awe of +no man and least of all of this one who had been her foster child, had +put it into his arms. He did it very awkwardly, 'tis true, and in a +fashion that gave Margaret nervous chills of fright lest he should drop +him, or do some other dreadful thing, but manfully, as one who has a +duty to perform and does it--with set teeth. + +One day when Mammy Cely had taken the child away he asked, abruptly, +"You find her useful to you?" + +"Useful? Mammy Cely!" she said, "Oh, I think I could not live without +her. I know so little about children." Then, in sudden alarm she +faltered, "Were you thinking of taking her? I--I had almost forgotten +you sent her to me." She looked so distressed that he hastened to assure +her that the woman should stay as long as she was needed. He could get +somebody else for Elmhurst. + +She felt so profoundly grateful that she sung the praises of the colored +woman--how she could trust her as she could not trust herself, because +Mammy Cely knew so much more, and how she was sure she loved baby Philip +as if he were her own, these, and other words of confidence which +afterwards, strangely enough, recoiled on her head. + +To all of which he had listened, bowing gravely, and looking at her with +that close attention which always made her forget what it was that she +had meant to say. Somehow he had a deadening effect upon her speech. She +could not help feeling deep down in her heart, that he believed her +responsible for his brother's defection. It was natural enough that he +should try to excuse him; he had always done that, Mammy Cely said, even +when he was a boy, and had often taken the punishment that belonged to +Victor rather than tell. He had been very, very fond of Victor, she +said. + +Yes, it was natural enough, Margaret thought, but still it did not +conduce to conversation, and she was glad that day when he went away. +Then she had gone to the nursery, another person, and taken little +Philip and clucked to him, and touched his cheeks to make him smile and +told him what she thought of his Uncle Richard--how cold he was, how +silent, how he scared her, how he palsied her tongue or else made her +say things she did not mean to say, how--greatest indignity of all--he +had even looked askance at _him_, her "pe'cious lamb," and almost turned +him upside down! but how he had left them Mammy Cely, and so they would +forgive him, if only he would never come again. + +And Baby Philip smiled a smile cherubic and murmured "Goo-o! ah-goo-o! +for the first time, and Margaret almost smothered him with kisses, and +was sure that never did mother have a comforter so sweet, a confidant so +safe and yet so sympathetic. + +Where does a baby get its balm? In that Gilead whence it came? From the +skilful physician who knows all needs and uses tiniest instruments +sometimes to reach hidden wounds? Who knows? At any rate into Margaret's +sore heart was coming day by day the healing that proceeds only from +time and the touch of little hands. More and more, by her own volition, +her world was coming to be bounded by the walls of her baby's room. Here +at least she was safe from the thrusts of meddlesome gossip and the pin +pricks of Gossip's handmaid--Curiosity. Here she could live the simple +satisfying life that "maketh rich," and "addeth no sorrow" that she was +not willing to bear. + + + + + CHAPTER VIII + A NEW RÔLE FOR RICHARD + + +In all these months Margaret had not once heard from her husband. Rumors +had come to her that he had not gone alone, but even this she could not +verify, for she had ended the subject peremptorily with the informant +who brought the story,--but the thorn implanted that day rankled. Her +judgment and her knowledge of him told her it was true. + +The fiction of her husband's call abroad on urgent business served its +purpose as a nominal explanation, but it deceived nobody. Every one knew +that Victor De Jarnette had no large business interests in Europe, or +anywhere else, and that he was not the man to make any great sacrifice +for them if he had had, being a man of pleasure more than of affairs. +The knowing raised their brows and smiled. The sympathetic said, "Poor +Margaret!" + +She asked Richard De Jarnette only once if he had ever heard. No, he +said, he had not. He had written and would let her know when the answer +came. He did not tell her that his letter had been a bitter arraignment +of Victor for his want of manliness in deserting his wife as he had +done, and a stern demand that he should, for the sake of the De Jarnette +name, if for no better reason, return or give some adequate explanation +of his conduct--there could be no excuse. He had not spared him. + +Failing to hear from this, he wrote again, this time adding the virile +argument that in case of Victor's failure to explain his conduct, he +should at once revise his will and name his (Victor's) apparently +forgotten child as his heir, instead of himself. He felt that he had an +elder brother's prerogative to counsel, and also the right of an +outraged De Jarnette to protest against the dishonoring of his name. As +child and man, Richard De Jarnette had been slow to wrath, but, once +roused, there was a bull-dog tenacity about him that was hard to shake +off. Perhaps that last clause was the most powerful argument he used. +The younger De Jarnette had a great abundance of money of his own, but +Richard had more, and Victor had always expected to inherit it. +Moreover, he knew that his brother never made an idle threat. So he +wrote. + +When this answer to his peremptory letter was read by Richard De +Jarnette, it put a somewhat different face upon the matter. He had been +forced to this, Victor said, by Margaret's action. It was virtually she +that had deserted him. She had laid upon him such restrictions as no man +would for a moment submit to. She had been unreasonable, exacting, and +jealous to a degree that was intolerable. "If you only knew all, you +would retract your harsh words," Victor wrote. "I have always found you +just, and certainly now that the greatest trouble of my life has +overtaken me, I cannot believe that I will find you lacking in either +sympathy or understanding," and thus and thus and thus. Victor was +always a ready letter writer. + +Richard De Jarnette read this letter very thoroughly. And as he read, a +wave of pity swept over him for the misguided boy--he was little more +than a boy--always impulsive, passionate, and full-blooded, but to the +brother who was his judge to-day always warm-hearted and affectionate. +The letter had its effect. The world had judged Victor harshly, Richard +thought, he with the rest, he more than all the rest perhaps. It might +be, as he said, that had they known--But then the damning fact remained +that he had deserted her, his young wife, in her time of need. No! +Nothing could palliate that--nothing! + +He took up the letter at that, and read further. Margaret had virtually +driven him forth, Victor went on, and Richard remembered that the house +was hers, built by money her father had left in trust for this very +purpose. He had warned Victor that trouble would come from that some +day. Women could not be trusted to refrain from taunting their husbands +with "mine" and "thine," when the test came, he said, contemptuously. +They were all alike. And where was the man that would stand humiliation +like that? Certainly his name was not De Jarnette. This doubtless lay at +the root of the matter, and was perhaps the reason that Margaret was so +reticent about the cause of the trouble. + +Perhaps--oh, curse the thing! It wasn't a matter for him to meddle +with--of course not. But it needed somebody--and whom else did they +have? It ended in his reaching the deliberate and most unwelcome +conclusion, after much struggle with himself, that it was his duty to go +to his sister-in-law's house and enter upon the delicate and perilous +office of peacemaker. Which he did. + +Margaret met him distantly. They froze each other. + +He had heard from Victor, he told her bluntly, feeling his poverty of +phrases suited to womankind. + +Her lips straightened. She held out her hand. Could she see the letter? + +He reflected a moment. The letter as he thought of it did not seem +particularly pacific, viewed from the stand-point of a deserted wife, so +he answered no. Then he began awkwardly and without preliminaries to +explain. He had come to see if things could not be arranged between +them--patched up for a while with the hope that time would bring them +right. They were both young, and doubtless both had been somewhat in +fault. + +She interrupted him here to ask pointedly, "Has your brother told you +anything about the point at issue?" + +He was forced to answer that he had not. + +"Then you are not competent to arbitrate," she said, quietly, and the +subject was not easy to re-open after that. He went away baffled in his +endeavors, berating himself for a blundering fool, but strengthened in +the belief that the blame was not all on one side. The girl was ice. + +As he thought it over that night, one thing came back to him again and +again. She had said, "This is a thing that must be settled without a +go-between, and _some day it will be_." What did she mean by that? How +would it be settled? She had looked uncompromising as she said it. What +did she intend to do--get a divorce? Of course she could get it--on the +palpable ground of desertion. He could see a difference in her attitude +toward Victor as the months went by. At first there had been a reserve, +a suspension of judgment, then apathy, and of late growing resentment. +He had correctly interpreted her states of mind, though he did not +appreciate the cause. As the months went by and Victor did not come, did +not write, did not once even ask about his child, her heart hardened +against him. This ignoring of Philip seemed worse to her almost than his +treatment of herself. How could he stay away from his child? How could +he be false to a helpless little thing like this that he had brought +into the world? How could he-- Then she would snatch little Philip up in +a passion of tenderness and cry in her heart, "I will be father and +mother both to you, my baby, my poor little forsaken baby!" + +As the months went by the chances seemed slighter that this thing would +ever be "patched up," as Richard De Jarnette had said. She asked Judge +Kirtley one day if a man had any claim upon a child he had deserted. +Yes, he told her without comment, unless the mother was divorced from +him. She closed her lips suddenly and said no more. She had read in the +paper one day about a man's taking his child away from its mother, who +had left him. The woman was a Catholic and could not have recourse to +divorce to protect herself. Margaret thought a good deal about this +incident. She had always been opposed to divorce. + +Richard De Jarnette came to her again one day. He had had another letter +from Victor,--a very touching one it had seemed to him as he read it. +With Margaret's cold eyes upon him it seemed less so. + +Victor was anxious for a reconciliation--he told her--and she bowed. + +He was tired of his expatriation and longed for home--She smiled. + +--and for a sight of his child. + +"He is long remembering his child," she said. + +Richard De Jarnette bit his lip, cursing himself for having come on this +errand. But he had come at Victor's earnest request, and he would not +abandon the case. + +"I recognize the justice of what you imply," he returned. "I can hardly +ask for him any leniency on your part, but, after all, the child is +Victor's as well as yours, and is his heir. It is but natural that he +should wish to see him. For Philip's sake I trust that in some way your +differences may be arranged." + +"I may as well tell you that they will never be," she said. "As long as +there was a shadow of a hope that I had misjudged him I held my peace. +Not even to you would I say aught against him. Now that my faith in him +is dead I tell you plainly I shall never be Victor De Jarnette's wife +again. You asked me once what we quarreled about. I will tell you now, +for this is the last conversation we will have on the subject. He was +untrue to me." Her eyes blazed. "The night we quarreled I had found it +out and I told him he must choose between us. He chose the woman who was +not his wife. So far as I am concerned that choice is irrevocable.... +This was enough. Surely this _was_ enough. But it was not all, as you +know. By his cruel desertion of me and his unborn child he made me a +target for the arrows of gossip and slander. Do you ask me to forget all +this?" + +"Do you mean that you intend to secure a divorce?" he asked her plainly. + +"No. I shall make no effort to secure a divorce. People get divorces +because they want to marry again. I have had enough of marriage." + +"And if he should want one?" + +"I shall not oppose it. All that I want now is to live out my own life, +what is left of it, in my own way, with my child." + +He sat a moment in thought. Then he felt constrained to say, + +"I trust there may never be any trouble about the child. Victor is +reckless and determined. If he should take it into his head to lay claim +to it, or try to take it from you--" + +"If Victor De Jarnette should lay a finger of his hand upon the child he +deserted," she said at white heat, "I should kill him." + +He knew, of course, that this was mere passionate talk. She was +justified in having strong feeling. He thought no more about it. But +that night in going over the interview, what she had said that other +time came back to him. "It is a thing that must be settled without a +go-between," she had said. "And some day it will be." + +What did she mean by that? A mere separation settled nothing. He feared +that Victor might give her trouble about the child. + + + + + CHAPTER IX + THE REAPING OF THE CROP + + +"Oh, Mammy Cely, look! _look!_ he is standing alone!" Margaret was +sitting on the floor, her lips parted in rapturous delight at the +temerity of her infant son, who was rather shakily making his little +experiment with the center of gravity. Unfortunately for its success, he +became aware at the critical moment of the sensation he was creating, +tottered, and sank in a heap, a victim--like many another who essays the +trial of his powers--to self-consciousness. + +To partial mother eyes, however, it had been a triumph new in the annals +of the world, and Margaret caught him up, smothering him with kisses, +and pouring into his ears the most extravagant encomiums. Ah! if only +we--the children of a larger growth--could have our feeble efforts to +stand upon our feet; to make some progress, however slight, along the +way, to utter, though imperfectly, the thoughts that cry for speech; if +we--in all this--could have a tithe of the wealth of sympathy and +stimulating praise that mothers give, what might we not become? + +Mammy Cely looked on with equal pride. "He certainly is mighty +ser_vi_grous on his laigs," she remarked with pride. "He's gwineter be +walkin' befo' long, that chile is! He's like his Uncle Richard. He +gwineter git his strengt early." + +Margaret made no reply to this. The truth was, she got rather tired of +hearing about Philip's Uncle Richard. + +To her the weeks were becoming mere pegs on which to hang some new phase +of the child's development. There was such an astonishing succession of +"first things,"--yesterday the first tooth--a pearl such as nobody had +ever seen before; to-day the wonderful feat of standing alone; to-morrow +the blissful anticipation of the first step; the next day perhaps the +first word,--and then, oh, what a world of companionship that would let +her into! Life was closing up behind her, but opening in front. + +"Now get him ready, Mammy Cely, for his ride. I want him to be out all +he can this fine weather. A little later, you know--well, what is it?" +she interrupted herself to ask of the man who now stood at the door. He +had a scared look. + +"Mr. De Jarnette is down stairs, Miss." + +"Mr. De Jarnette? What in the world has he come for at this time of +day?" wondered Margaret. "Tell him I will be down at once." + +"It a--ain't Mr. R--r--richard De Jarnette, Miss," said the man, +stammering in his excitement, "it's Mr. Victor." + +Victor! and announced like a stranger in his own home! She hardly knew +the sound of her own voice as she answered, "Tell him I will be down at +once." + +At the door of the parlor she stopped. Her heart was beating so +tumultuously it seemed to her that she would suffocate. She threw her +head back as one who struggles for breath. Then she went in, closing the +door behind her. + +What passed in that interview nobody ever knew. The air was rife the +next day with what it might have been; but the only thing ever reported +was a fragment overheard by the mulatto who answered the bell, and who +at that particular time was alert to do his duty. He related to Richard +De Jarnette the next day that as Mr. Victor opened the door to leave the +parlor he heard him say. "Whatever you do, you may as well understand +now that I shall _never_ relinquish my claim to--" here the man said he +missed something because it was spoken in a lower tone, but he was sure +it must have been something about money, for he distinctly heard him use +the word claim. + +From that interview Margaret went to her room, and later from the house, +with a face so white and haggard that as Mammy Cely related to Richard +De Jarnette, who called, enquiring for Victor, a half hour after she was +gone, she was actually afraid of what she might do to herself. + +"She seemed sorter desprit, Marse Richard," she concluded, with the +freedom of an old family servant, "and sorter wild-like. No, sir, I +didn't know what she was goin' to do. _I don't know now!_... When she +come up stairs she tuk that chile--we had done come back fum the Circle, +'cause Mr. Victor was here some right smart while--she tuk it, she did, +and set down and helt it so tight the little thing cried. _Yaas_, sir, +it did! And look lak she didn' even know it was frettin'. She jes' set +there, holdin' it clost, and weavin' back and fo'th, back and fo'th, +tell I got right fidgity. After a while she got up and give him to me, +and say she was goin' down to see Jedge Kirtley. And she says, 'Mammy +Cely,' she says, 'don't you let anybody even _see_ Philip while I am +gone. Don't you let him out of yo' sight,' she says. Look lak she was +takin' somethin' mighty hard." + +"She was naturally excited over Mr. De Jarnette's return," said Richard. +But he left the house abruptly and called a passing cab to take him to +his office. He was more disturbed at what he had heard than he would +admit to Mammy Cely. + +Victor had had a long talk with him before going to Margaret. In fact, +he had gone directly to Richard upon reaching the city the night before, +a fact that had appealed insensibly to Richard's heart. He had not seen +him since, and feeling vaguely uneasy, he had at last gone to the +Massachusetts Avenue house, hoping to find him there and hoping also +that by that time things might have been satisfactorily arranged. Mammy +Cely's account of Margaret's condition made him distinctly apprehensive. +It did not look as if a reconciliation had taken place, to say the +least. He must find out first of all where Victor was. + +The office of De Jarnette and De Jarnette, Loans and Mortgages, was in +the third story of the Conococheague Building on F Street, one of the +finest in Washington at that time. They consisted of a large corner +room, a smaller room at the side of this communicating with it, which +was Victor's private office, and a still smaller one beyond this which +he had had fitted up as a lavatory. All three opened upon the +corridor,--Victor's room being nearest the stairway, which was alongside +of the elevators. These offices were furnished in the most luxurious +fashion and after Victor De Jarnette's faultless taste. The workroom of +the firm was Richard's private office across the hall. In Victor's +absence his rooms had been unused and untouched except by the man who +did the cleaning. + +Richard De Jarnette had returned to the building with the intention of +going directly to Victor's room, but when he opened his own door a +letter left by the postman attracted his attention and he waited to read +it. In the midst of the reading he was startled by the sound of a +pistol. He threw the letter down and started for the hall. It had seemed +to come from Victor's room. He rushed across to his door. It was locked. +In a moment he had made his way through the front office into the back +room. + +An appalling sight met his eyes. Victor lay on the floor near his desk, +the blood trickling over the carpet from a hidden wound. And over him, +with a revolver in her hand--the one he had seen on her desk--stood +Margaret. + +As Richard's face appeared in the doorway she turned a ghastly, +terror-stricken face upon him. + +"What is it? Who did it?" she gasped. "I--I picked this up." + +"Put it down," he said sternly, and pushed past her. In the hall +hurrying steps were heard, and a confusion of voices. People were trying +the door. + +Richard De Jarnette knelt beside a dying man, but there was a flash of +recognition in the dimming eyes. + +"Victor! in God's name, what is this?" + +The wounded man's lips moved. His head was on his brother's arm and +Richard's ear was close enough to catch the gasping whisper: + +"She's killed me, Dick." + +"What does he say?" cried Margaret. The words had been too faint to +reach her, but she saw a look of horror come into Richard De Jarnette's +face. "Who did it? How did it happen?" + +The room was filling with men. Dr. Semple, whose office was across the +hall, was examining the wound. + +In every man there is a divine spark of manliness. It is not always +apparent. Sometimes it would seem to have burned itself out with the +fierce fires of passion,--sometimes to have been quenched by the slow +drippings that come from the fount called selfishness,--oftener, +perhaps, it is smothered under a sodden blanket of sensuality and low +desires,--but it is a spark of the divine fire, and when the right wind +strikes it it leaps into flame. + +At the sound of Margaret's voice Victor De Jarnette struggled to rise. + +"Raise me up," he panted. "There is something--I--must say." + +"Say it quickly," said the doctor, holding a handkerchief to stanch the +blood. "There is no time to lose." To Richard and the men back of them +he added, impressively, "This is a dying statement." And they gave close +heed. + +His head supported by Richard's arm, Victor gathered his strength for +one supreme effort, and said so distinctly that all in the room heard +it, + +"It was accidental. I did it myself. I was--cleaning--my revolver." +Men's eyes sought his desk where lay a handkerchief which had evidently +been used for the purpose. "It--went off--in--my hand." + +He sank back on a pillow taken hastily from the couch. It was one that +Margaret had made for him before they were married--in the Harvard +colors. It looked ghastly put to such a use. + +"Can't you do something?" asked Richard De Jarnette hoarsely of the +doctor. + +"No, Richard," he said gently, "he is almost gone." + +The dying man opened his eyes. + +"Dick,--" his voice was very faint. + +"Yes, Victor." + +"--take care of m--" + +Then, as if some sudden thought or recollection had come to him, he +struggled again to rise, whispering wildly, + +"The will!... Richard! the will! Don't let--" + +His head dropped back against the crimson letters. That which it was in +his heart to say would be forever unsaid. + + + + + CHAPTER X + "DUST TO DUST" + + +At the coroner's inquest Margaret was the first one questioned. + +When Victor De Jarnette breathed his last, Dr. Semple had taken her by +the hand and led her, apparently almost stupefied, into Richard's room, +there to await the summons to appear before the coroner, who was +immediately notified of the death. When she came in she was entirely +collected, though very pale. Her appearance indicated more horror at +what had occurred than grief, which was but natural under the +circumstances, as more than one man thought, recalling the past year. + +When questioned, she stated that her husband had been with her through +the afternoon, that he had left her home about four o'clock, and that +she had come down to the office an hour or so later. She had gone +directly to the door of the main office, and just before reaching it had +heard the pistol shot. She ran through the front office into Mr. De +Jarnette's private room, feeling sure that the sound had come from +there. She had found him on the floor, and near him a revolver which she +recognized as one that he had had in his possession for several years. + +Here, suddenly recalling Mr. De Jarnette's peremptory command to her to +put the pistol down, she hesitated, and looked at him. His face was +averted. + +She went on, saying nothing about having had the pistol in her hand, nor +about its being one of a pair that her husband owned, though this fact +came to her suddenly. She had not had time to question him, she said, +nor even to go to him before Mr. De Jarnette came in. + +Had she heard any sound at the other door? + +No, she had heard nothing, or rather she had been so horror-stricken to +come upon her husband in this condition that she had not noticed +anything. + +Richard De Jarnette stated that he had heard the shot while he was in +his own room across the hall and had hurried at once to the outside door +of his brother's room. Finding it locked he had run around through the +main office and found things just as Mrs. De Jarnette had testified. The +door was locked, but it was a night latch, he got up to show. One might +have gone out that way. + +"Without encountering you?" the coroner asked. And Mr. De Jarnette, +hesitating, and weighing his words, thought it hardly probable, though +possible. + +Margaret interrupted timidly here to say that since he spoke of the door +she recollected hearing something just as she came in that sounded like +the closing of a door. Mr. De Jarnette turned toward her, and with his +hard eyes upon her, Margaret faltered that perhaps it was the outer door +of the lavatory. Investigation proved that that door was bolted on the +inside. + +"I cannot see the pertinence of this line of inquiry," said Mr. De +Jarnette, at length, almost roughly, "in the face of his dying statement +that it was accidental." And his eyes as if by chance turned upon his +sister-in-law. + +The elevator boy was questioned as to whether any suspicious person had +gone down about that time. He could not remember. It seemed to him, upon +further thought, that a fat old lady had got on going down at the time +of the pistol shot, but so many people went up and down all the time he +couldn't be sure that it was not on the floor below. + +Dr. Semple was examined as to the wound. + +"I have made no careful examination," he said slowly, "beyond assuring +myself that nothing could be done for him, and later that life was +extinct. I have not thought it necessary. A dozen men are here who heard +him say it was accidental, and from a weapon in his own hand." He picked +up the cloth used in cleaning the revolver. "This seems to substantiate +his statement as to how he happened to have the pistol." Several men +were examined as to the ante-mortem statement. + +The coroner's report was, "Accidental killing from a weapon in the hand +of the deceased." Since it had been clearly shown to be accidental, no +jury was impaneled. + +It was Margaret's wish that Victor should be buried from his own home. +When Judge Kirtley communicated this wish to Richard De Jarnette, he was +surprised to find him averse to the arrangement. He preferred that he +should be buried from _his_ home, he said briefly. They were separated, +and there was no use keeping up a pretence that they were not. + +The Judge remonstrated that nobody knew what had passed between them +that afternoon, not even Mr. De Jarnette, nor how it would have gone in +the future had Victor lived. Margaret's wish to have him buried from his +own home would seem to indicate that there had been a reconciliation. At +any rate, it would put a different face on the matter to the world, and +make it easier for her afterwards. + +"Yes," Richard agreed, grimly, "it might make things easier for her." +And he consented. + +The burial service was brief and wholly impersonal. The burial was +private. + +Margaret went to the carriage on the arm of her brother-in-law by the +arrangement of the undertaker. He had not been near her since the day +they separated at the close of the coroner's inquest. Victor De +Jarnette's body had lain in his brother's house two days and nights and +had then been taken to the house on Massachusetts Avenue the morning of +the burial. This was the most that Mr. De Jarnette would consent to. +Whatever was thought about the grief of the wife, at this untimely +death, there was no doubt as to that of the brother. Richard De Jarnette +had aged years in these few days. + +As the carriage door was closed upon Margaret alone, Judge Kirtley +stepped up to the undertaker. + +"Does not Mr. De Jarnette ride with Mrs. De Jarnette?" he asked in a low +tone. + +"No, sir, he preferred to ride in the second carriage alone. The third +is reserved for you, sir." + +"I will trouble you to open that door," said the Judge, rather stiffly, +indicating the first carriage. "You may use your third carriage for some +one else or dismiss it. I shall ride with Mrs. De Jarnette." + +In a green bank at Oak Hill he was laid--Oak Hill, that beautiful silent +suburb which, for a century of the capital's life--the shifting, +heaving, kaleidoscopic life in which men come and go, and wax and wane, +and pass into obscurity in ceaseless flow--has steadily gained in +population and never lost. A passionate, turbulent soul was Victor De +Jarnette, not wholly bad certainly; capable of much that was generous; +productive of little that was worth perpetuating; not lacking in good +impulses, but casting them oftener than otherwise in a mould of wax, +which melted at the first hot blast of passion,--a mixture, like most of +us perhaps, of good and evil, black and white. But alas! + + "The evil that men do lives after them; + The good is oft interred with their bones." + +That night Margaret De Jarnette sat long before the grate fire of the +lonely house to which she had come a bride,--looking into the darkening +coals and seeing nothing,--looking into the embers of a dead fire +within, and finding much that had burned out. She lived relentlessly +over the past two years,--putting to herself searching questions and +exacting an answer to every one; going down into black depths of whose +existence she once had not dreamed and coming up with staring, +frightened eyes from which the scales of innocence had dropped. + +Then she drew a long, shuddering breath. + +"That book is closed," she whispered, "never to be opened again, _thank +God_!... My girlhood is put away with it. I am old--old!"--she threw +herself on her knees beside her sleeping child-- "But oh, my baby! my +little one! my blessed one! I have you! I have you!" + + * * * * * + +"Semple," Richard De Jarnette said abruptly as he and his friend sat +together that night--a long silence had fallen between them--"could a +wound like that be self-inflicted? In God's name, tell me the truth!" + +It was the question Dr. Semple had been dreading for three days. He had +thought of several ways to evade it. When it came, there was something +in the haggard face of the man before him that would not be denied. + +"No," he said, simply. "It would be a physical impossibility." + + + + + CHAPTER XI + THE WILL + + +It was two weeks or more after the burial of Victor De Jarnette before +his will was read. Mr. Jarvis, the attorney in whose charge it had been +left, had been absent from the city at the time of the unfortunate +affair, and the hearing of the will had of necessity been postponed +until his return. This was a matter of very little concern to Margaret. +It seemed to her rather a useless formality anyway, this coming together +to hear the provisions of a legal instrument that could have but one +outcome. The money would go to Philip, of course. Judge Kirtley had +talked to her about her "dower rights," and a "child's part," and +several other things that she did not in the least understand, but she +only shook her head. She had a great abundance of money, she told him, +for her own needs and Philip's, too, for that matter, and she had +determined to turn over to her child at once whatever legally came to +her. She had a shuddering feeling that she did not want to use Victor's +money. Let it all go to Philip. In fact, Margaret had always been so far +removed from any care in regard to money except the spending of it that +her ideas on the subject were very vague and impractical. She had always +had all the money she wanted or could possibly use, and what would +anybody want with more than that? Avarice is the vice of age rather than +of youth, and Margaret certainly was not avaricious. + +She had spent this fortnight in adjusting herself to new conditions. +When the first horror of it all passed she became aware that a great +load was lifted from her heart. There was nothing to do; there was no +choice pressing upon her; everything was settled, and that by no act of +hers; there was no danger now of trouble about Philip, and the sharp +relief she experienced at this thought made her aware of what a +steadily-growing fear that had begun to be. No, that was over now, thank +God! and she caught up the child in a passion of relief. + +There was something infinitely touching about the girl in these days +when she stood looking at the wreck of her life. It was so different +from what she had thought it would be--so different! She wondered +vaguely if other people--most people--saw their ships go down like this. + +The sea around her was filled with wreckage. There was nothing now but +to gather up the scattered bits and with such courage as she could +summon, piece out another life. A very quiet subdued one this would be, +with Philip as its center. It would be colorless perhaps--she shivered +slightly,--she was not quite twenty-one, and color had not lost its +charm,--but it would, at least, be peaceful. + +Then, as thought projected itself into the future, and she saw this +opening bud grow to the perfect flower, it seemed to her that it would +not only be peaceful, but satisfying. Now he was a rolicking boy, and +she would see to it that he missed none of life's pleasures that had not +a sting;--now he was a lad at school, she standing by his side, thinking +his thoughts and leading him on to think hers--she would keep very, very +close to him! her little Philip!--then a youth at college--could she let +him go away for that?--and now a man fitted for useful life, and with +his strong arm shielding her, his mother, who had shielded him, +smoothing the pathway for her feet as she went down life's hill. Ah! +through it all how she would guard him, guide him, carry him by sheer +force of mother-love across the slippery places that his feet would +find. His father--and her thought of him, a motherless boy, grew +tender--his father had missed this. Perhaps, if he had had it--well, she +would make it up to Philip, his child, at any rate. She would try to +keep him pure. This with a sudden sinking sense of her own helplessness. +The first regret came to her that it was a son she had and not a +daughter. A daughter she could keep with her while a son must of +necessity go out into the world, and the world, she thought with a pang, +was so full of peril, of temptation. + +The more she pondered it the more her soul was girded for her work. To +mould a life! This was what was left her. Well! was it not enough? To +find her chief happiness not in living her own, but in fashioning +another life. Then to something that spoke within her she made answer, +"Yes, of course, it will be lonely, but--" A fragment of a fugitive poem +she had once read came to her, + +"Lonely? Well, and what of that?" + +She could not recall the next two lines--such scraps are so elusive--but +it did not matter. The trumpet call of the thing was in the last line: + +"Work may be done in loneliness. Work on!" + +She bowed her head over the crib on which lay her sleeping child. She +took his soft dimpled hand between her palms. + +"Yes, it is lonely, little Philip," she whispered brokenly,--"it will +always be lonely, but-- + +'Work may be done in loneliness.'" + +"I'll begin again, dear, and map out another life and we will live it +together, you and I. And we will make it just as sweet and full a life +as we can--for 'I'll have you and you'll have me.' We won't be gloomy or +sad--we will not _let_ ourselves be--nothing shall cast a shadow over +this little life we are going to live--_nothing_! It is ours! We will +make it the brightest and the best thing we can. We have a right to be +happy and we will be! Nobody shall keep us from it, little Philip!" + +It was in this mood of quiet exaltation that she went down stairs to the +reading of the will a little later when the lawyer came. + +She had not seen her brother-in-law since the funeral. To Judge +Kirtley's unspeakable indignation Mr. De Jarnette had not even returned +to the house with her. At this lack of civility, to say nothing of +brotherly kindness, she was surprised and hurt, but she clothed herself +in her impenetrable garment of silence regarding it, and made no +comment. + +Judge Kirtley had not been so reticent. To his wife he had said with +some heat, + +"He is the most incomprehensible man I ever saw. I know he is +undemonstrative by nature, but up to this time he really has not been +lacking in substantial kindness to Margaret. I judge so from what she +tells me--particularly when Victor first went away and she most needed +help. But since his death, when one would have expected him to stand by +her, he has stood aloof. I can't understand it. He certainly is not an +emotional man, nor an impulsive one. There is something back of this." + +"Can she have offended him by anything she has said? And still she has +been so very reticent--" + +"No," said the Judge, "it isn't that, I am sure. I have sometimes +wondered if it could be--" he was patting his foot thoughtfully and +talking more to himself than to her,--"that he had some suspicion that +Victor's death was by his own hand--intentionally, I mean--and held +Margaret responsible for it--as the result of their interview." + +"And what that was we will never know," said his wife, with the tone of +one airing a grievance. + +"No, and never should," her husband responded, quickly. "She shows her +sense there. I have wondered, I say, if he can hold such a thought as +that against her. It is the only thing I can think of that would at all +excuse his conduct." + +"Didn't Victor make a dying statement that it was accidental?" + +"Yes." + +"A sworn statement?" + +"No. But a dying declaration has almost as much weight." + +"Then, of course, it was the truth! Wouldn't that be perjury or +something like that to make a false statement at such a time?" + +"Well, you see," the Judge responded, dryly, "Victor De Jarnette was +going where he would be in no danger of being tried for perjury--even +admitting that it would have been that--which it wouldn't." Then, +feeling that he had been a little indiscreet in thus thinking aloud +before the wife of his bosom, who did not enjoy quite all his +confidence, he added, "I think you are right, my dear. It was a foolish +thought in me." + +"It certainly was," answered Mrs. Kirtley, pursuing the advantage of +this concession to her superior wisdom, "foolish and wild. Of course it +was an accident! Why, wasn't the rag there that he had been cleaning the +pistol with?" + +"It was." + +"Well!" triumphantly. + +"You are right again. That settles it," said the Judge, chuckling to +himself. "You ought to have been a lawyer, my dear, or a detective." + +"Oh, I can see a thing when it is self-evident," his wife said, +modestly. + +The three gentlemen, Mr. De Jarnette, Judge Kirtley, and Mr. Jarvis were +in the library when Margaret entered it. The latter, being nearest the +door, rose and extended his hand in grave courteous greeting. Mr. De +Jarnette--the table between them--bowed; while Judge Kirtley took her +affectionately by the hand and drew her to a chair beside him. She was +clothed in black relieved by white at neck and wrists. There was +something about her slight girlish form and youthful face that made the +attorney with the legal document in his hand draw a quick deep breath +and give an unnoticed movement of the head as if in protest. + +"And are you well?" asked the Judge, patting her hand and smiling +re-assuringly into her eyes. There is something very awe-inspiring to a +novice in a visit from a lawyer with a legal document in his hand. + +"Oh, yes, quite well, thank you." + +Her hands were cold. He said, to give her time to recover herself, "And +how is the boy?" + +Her face lighted up as from a burst of sunshine. "Doing nicely, thank +you. Growing every day in strength and accomplishments. Why, he actually +travels around chairs faster than we want to travel after him." + +"That's right. He'll lead you a merry chase when he finds out his +powers." + +"Yes, and he is finding them out very rapidly. He is going to be a real +boy--so strong and active." + +"He is great company for you," Judge Kirtley said, "and will be more as +time goes on. I know how these little things creep into one's heart. You +know I lost my boy." It was forty years since then, but his eyes grew +moist as he thought of the son who might have been his stay, and was but +a tender memory. + +Her hand closed over his. "It must be very hard to lose a child," she +said, softly. "I--I think I could not bear that. They come so _close_!" + +They were talking almost in an undertone. Richard De Jarnette had left +the room to speak to his driver at the door. The lawyer, a kind-hearted +man with children of his own, was fumbling over the papers in his bag, +saying helplessly. "Oh, Lord! Lord!" + +When Mr. De Jarnette returned, Margaret released her hand gently and sat +upright. Then the reading began. + +The will was dated May 3, 1889, two days after their marriage. Margaret +remembered Victor's coming home that day and telling her that he had +made it and had left everything to her,--remembered too how she had +clung passionately to him in the superstitious fear of what a will might +bring, and said that she did not want his money, she wanted him. Yes, +the date was the same, and as the reading proceeded she saw, through all +the tiresome verbiage, that it was just as he had said--all was left to +his "beloved wife, Margaret." Richard De Jarnette was named as executor. + +The lawyer paused as if this were the end, though he still held the +paper--a little unsteadily--before him. It seemed to Judge Kirtley, +watching from the depths of his leather-covered chair, that the paper +shook. + +Margaret's voice broke the stillness that followed the reading of the +will. + +"I do not know that this is the time or place to do this," she began +with hesitation, "but--when this will was written there was no child. +Now that there is, I wish to transfer this property to him. I have +enough--" + +"Margaret," the Judge interrupted, "the law takes care of that. Though +there is no mention of a child, he would share with you." + +"I want him to have it all," she said. "I--I could not keep this money +for myself. I would not wish to use it." + +She turned to look at Judge Kirtley, who was at her right, and as she +did so met Richard De Jarnette's steady gaze. There was something so +intent, so inexplicable in his eyes,--a look so like hate or scorn or +distrust,--something at least that she had never seen there +before,--that involuntarily she dropped her eyes. What had she said? +What made him look like that? There was something in that look that +froze her blood. + +Judge Kirtley as her lawyer spoke authoritatively. "There is time enough +to attend to all that later. These things should never be done with +precipitation." + +And Margaret, who had not yet recovered from that startling look into +Richard De Jarnette's heart, and was moreover oppressed with the fear +that she had done a thing Judge Kirtley disapproved, subsided into +silence. + +The voice of Mr. Jarvis was heard. + +"I regret to say," he remarked slowly and with his eyes bent religiously +on the paper, "that there is a codicil to this will, bearing date of +April 30th of the following year. No one can deprecate more than I the +painful duty that devolves upon me of reading it in this presence." + +Judge Kirtley sat up in his easy chair, scenting danger. It was unusual +for an attorney to apologize for a will. But Margaret was motionless. +She was thinking of the date. It was the day Victor left her--two days +before Philip was born. + +Then the attorney read: + + "_To my beloved brother, Richard De Jarnette, who has been to me a + father, I give and bequeath the custody and tuition of my child + until it shall be of full age, and I direct that such disposition + shall be good and effectual against all and every person or persons + claiming the custody and tuition of said child._" + +For a moment there was not a sound. It was Margaret, again, who broke +the silence. She turned to Judge Kirtley, a look of bewilderment on her +face, but no alarm. + +"'Custody,'" she repeated, simply. "What does it mean by 'custody'? Is +it the care of the property?" + +The Judge's face looked gray in its rigidity. He shook his head slightly +and then motioned toward Mr. Jarvis. + +"Mr. De Jarnette's attorney will explain," he said, briefly. + +Margaret turned to the lawyer who still held the paper in his hand. "You +see I am very ignorant of legal terms," she said, with a pitiful little +attempt at apology,--"I have never had anything to do with the law--and +I do not quite understand what 'custody' means here. Is it that Mr. De +Jarnette is by this codicil appointed Philip's guardian--to take care of +his property?" + +The attorney did not look up from the papers he was fingering. Indeed, +as she looked from one to another in her perplexity Margaret saw only +averted faces. There was not one that was ready to look into her +anxious, pleading eyes. + +"Mrs. De Jarnette," said the attorney, moistening his dry lips, "this +means something more serious than that, or rather it would if Mr. De +Jarnette were inclined to insist upon the letter of the law--which, of +course, he will not do--" with a rather imploring glance in the +direction of the gentleman referred to. Mr. De Jarnette sat unmoved and +immovable, not showing by the change of a muscle that he heard the +appeal, and the lawyer went on. "Custody in this sense does not mean the +guardianship of property, but of the person." + +There was another silence. Then Margaret,--eyes staring, breath coming +hard, hands clenched, and face white as death, spoke. + +"Do you mean," she said slowly and in a voice that trembled with +suppressed passion, "that my child has been willed away from me?--from +me--his mother? That this man--or any man--can have the right by law to +take him from me?... _My baby?_... Oh, no! you don't mean this!... I was +mad to think of it. But you see--I am so inexperienced." + +"But, Mrs. De Jarnette," returned the lawyer, feeling his task harder +even than he had feared, "I am obliged to tell you--much as I regret to +do so--that it is true. There is a most unfortunate law in this +District--not to call it by a harsher name--which gives a father the +right to will away his child even from its mother. That law your late +husband unfortunately knew about, and in a moment of great anger, and, +as he claimed, of great provocation, he used that knowledge as we have +seen." + +"To stab the woman he had sworn to cherish," muttered Judge Kirtley, +under his breath. Then, reaching for the will, he asked, sternly, "Were +all the requirements of the law complied with in regard to witnesses?" + +"Yes, sir. I am sorry to say that nothing has been omitted that would +give validity to the will--or rather to this codicil." + +"Then I am constrained to say," blurted the Judge, "that it was a +dastardly thing!" + +"I think I should say, in justice to myself," said Mr. Jarvis, a little +stiffly, "that I made every effort to dissuade Mr. De Jarnette from +doing this thing. I urged him to wait until the next day, knowing him to +be an impulsive man, and feeling sure that he would wish afterwards to +undo what he had done. But--he would not listen to me. I hoped that I +could get him to change the will when he returned, and I can hardly +doubt that he would have done so, had it not been for the unfortunate +accident that ended his life." + +Margaret had been listening breathlessly. As Mr. Jarvis stopped she +turned to speak to Judge Kirtley and again encountered the steady gaze +of Richard De Jarnette's black eyes. It seemed so strange, so +unaccountable, for him to watch her so that before she could control +it--if indeed control is ever possible--she felt a hot tide sweeping up +from neck to brow. And the consciousness of this did not lessen the +flow. Then it passed and left her paler than before. It was annoying but +it did not stop her in what she had to say. A new thought had come to +her while Mr. Jarvis was speaking. + +"What is the date of that codicil?" she asked. + +"April 30, 1890." + +"I thought so," she said eagerly. "Well, don't you see how that date +changes everything? Even if my--if Mr. De Jarnette had had the right by +law to will away my child he could not have done it on April 30th, for +Philip was not born till two days afterward! His birthday is May +second!" She said it exultantly. + +As by one impulse the two lawyers looked each into the face of the other +and then away. + +"Don't you see?" she cried desperately, not comprehending the look but +knowing instinctively that something was wrong. "Don't you see the +difference that makes? When that will was made this child was _mine_!--a +part of my body!--my very breath giving him life!... Don't you see?--Oh, +_can't_ you see?... He wouldn't have the right to make this will +then--_not then_!" + +Her voice was becoming strained and high-pitched in her excitement. + +"Mrs. De Jarnette," began Mr. Jarvis, "the law--I should say--yes, the +law--Judge, you can explain this to her better than I can." + +She turned to Judge Kirtley. She was in extremity now. + +"My child," he said, "the law, as it distinctly states, recognizes in +this thing no difference between the living child and the infant _en +ventre sa mere_. Your husband, according to the laws of the District of +Columbia, had a right to will away your unborn child." + +She stared at him incredulously. Then, as the meaning of his words sank +into her quivering soul, she bent toward him with a look that had a +challenge in it. + +"And have you known this before?" + +"Always." + +"And you?" she demanded, turning to Mr. Jarvis. + +"Yes," he admitted. "It is a part of our imperfect laws. The whole thing +should have been revised long ago. It is a disgrace to the District." + +"Then _why_ does it remain upon your statute books?" she cried, +furiously. "Is law only for the strong? Do we--the weak--the ones who +need it most--do we find in it only something to mock us when we cry to +it?" + +Her timidity was all gone. She flung her questions at them tumultuously, +as children stand and beat impotently upon a door that will not open to +them. "I tell you it is a wicked law! a wicked, wicked law! and they do +wickedly who let it stand!... _A mother have no right to her unborn +child?_ Shame! shame! upon the men who frame such laws! They are not +born of women but of beasts!" + +"Margaret," Judge Kirtley said, sternly, "you must control yourself. +This is no place for a discussion of our laws, however imperfect they +are." + +"I beg your pardon," she answered with a flush and a return to her usual +manner. "In this insult to womanhood and motherhood I forgot myself. I +shall not do so again. Only tell me that I need not fear--that my baby +is safe with me!" + +As she spoke she turned full upon Richard De Jarnette though she did not +call his name. + +He looked at her impassively. + +"Mr. De Jarnette," said Mr. Jarvis, nervously, folding up his papers and +placing them in his satchel, "I think you can do more to add to your +sister-in-law's peace of mind than anybody else can. Will you not tell +her plainly your intentions in the matter?" + +"I will," said Richard De Jarnette, a sudden fire leaping to his eyes, +which were upon Margaret. Then he turned to the attorney. + +"I accept the trust my brother has bequeathed to me, and shall claim the +child." + +Saying which he rose, bowed slightly, and left the room. + + + + + CHAPTER XII + A LOSING FIGHT + + +It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen from a clear sky. Margaret dropped +back like one shot. Judge Kirtley and the attorney looked after the +disappearing figure and then at each other. + +Before they had time to recover from their astonishment Margaret started +up in a quiver of excitement. + +"Where has he gone? Is he after Philip?" + +Before they could remonstrate she was out of the room and hurrying up +the stairs. + +"Had you any knowledge, sir, of the stand Mr. De Jarnette was going to +take?" demanded Judge Kirtley, sternly. + +"Not the slightest. It is as much of a surprise to me as to you." + +"Did he know the nature of this will before coming here?" + +"I think not. He certainly did not know it from me, and I have reason to +think that he did not see his brother after it was made until the day he +returned, which was the day of his death, I believe." + +"It was." + +"I was out of the city at the time and did not see Victor De Jarnette +after this codicil was added, April thirtieth. I wish to God I had! I +think perhaps I could have persuaded him then to alter it. He had had a +good many months in which to cool down. He was a hot-headed fellow, you +know." + +"You say you tried to argue him out of doing it in the first place?" + +"I used every effort in my power, but he would listen to nothing. I +never saw a man so carried away by passion." + +"Well, by the Lord, sir!" said the Judge, bringing his fist down upon +the table, "I believe I should have refused to draw up that will!" + +The attorney flushed. + +"I did so at first," he returned quietly, "but he insisted that if I +would not do it he could get somebody that would--which, of course, I +knew was true. I thought that when he had had time to think it over he +would feel ashamed of it and want to change it, and I felt that if it +were between us two I should be in a better position to try to bring +this about than if it had gone entirely out of my hands." + +"There is something in that," admitted the Judge. + +"I hadn't the least idea that he was going off. I wrote to him when I +found out where he was, and urged him to make a new will over there, but +he replied that he would attend to it when he got home. I really think +he intended to do it, but you know how he was cut off." + +"Yes, that's it. We never have the warning we suppose we will have. We +know that other people drop dead but we never expect to do it ourselves +... I hope you are right, for it is rather hard for me to forgive Victor +De Jarnette. Living he made her life wretched, and from the grave he has +reached up to strike her. He could not have given a crueler blow than +this. And the other one,--I tell you, Jarvis, that man is going to give +us trouble. Weren't you amazed at the stand he took?" + +"Astounded. I cannot fathom his motive." + +"Nor I," returned the Judge, helplessly. "But as sure as you are a +living man he means business. I wouldn't tell Margaret so, but I don't +believe there will be any back-down from this. We'll have to fight it +out in the courts.... Poor child! she has had trouble enough to break +the spirit of an ordinary woman." + +"Do you know the De Jarnettes intimately?" asked Mr. Jarvis. "I was +wondering what would be the best way to reach him." + +"I know them well," said the Judge, energetically. "Better than I wish I +did. I would have more hope of a peaceable settlement of this thing if I +knew less. There is a cruel streak in the De Jarnettes. You have seen it +in Victor and I have seen it in his father. And it was in his +grandfather before him. They never forgive and they never forget an +injury to any of the blood. I believe that is why Richard De Jarnette +had taken this stand. I think he must consider her in some way +responsible for his brother's going wrong. You know there are men who +always charge everything to a woman. I can't see anything else that +would account for his change of front." + +"Judge," the attorney said hurriedly--he was expecting Margaret at any +moment--"what are you going to do? Of course you will represent Mrs. De +Jarnette. You will fight?" + +"Fight!" Judge Kirtley drew his somewhat stooping figure up to its full +measure. "Yes, sir, we will fight--to the death! I am an old war horse +to be going into battle, but I hope there is one fight left in me! We'll +see, anyway." + +"I should not like to be your opponent, sir,--and I'll tell you this: _I +shall not be_." + +"The laws of the District are against us," said Judge Kirtley, +reflectively. "That's a damnable law, Jarvis!" + +"The whole thing is rotten," answered the attorney. "The District of +Columbia has laws on her statute books that would make her a laughing +stock for civilized communities if they were generally known. This is +one of the most infamous, but there are others just as unreasonable. The +whole thing ought to be plowed up and weeded out." + +"God speed the day! I suppose that child will hold her baby in her arms +all night, fearing at every sound that Richard De Jarnette is coming to +drag him away from her. And I don't feel sure that he wouldn't if he got +a chance. The trouble about these silent fellows is that you never know +what they are going to do next. What will be his next move do you +suppose?" + +"Have the will probated, I suppose, and have himself confirmed as +guardian and executor." + +"And then?" + +"Oh! the Lord knows, Judge! I don't. What could a man do with a child of +that age? It is spite work. Nothing short of it." He put his papers +carefully away. "Do you think Mrs. De Jarnette is coming down? I shall +have to be going. Set me right with her about this matter, will you? I +regret exceedingly to have had any part in it." + + * * * * * + +When he was gone Judge Kirtley sent up for Margaret. She came down with +Philip in her arms. + +"I would not come," she said, "while that man was here. How could he +have done such a thing?... And oh, Judge Kirtley, they can't take him +from me, can they? Is there such a cruel law as that?" + +It seemed crueler to him to-day than ever before, as he looked at the +slight creature clinging to her child. + +"There really is such a law. I have never seen it put to the test, but I +feel sure it would not be enforced in such a case as this where there is +nothing against your character, and the child is so young." + +"But when he grows older," she said, quickly, "could he take him then?" + +"That would have to be tested in the courts, Margaret. You may feel sure +of my doing all that can be done." + +"Oh, I do, I do. But it is so dreadful that it needs to be done. Why +should he want Philip? I--I can't understand it. It frightens me. And +why does he look at me as he does? It--it makes me feel as if I have +done something." + +"That is doubtless all imagination, but--how long have you noticed +this?" the Judge inquired, carelessly. + +"Ever since the day of the funeral. And even that day when we were +together at the inquest. Judge Kirtley ... would he dare to harm Philip +if he could get hold of him?" + +"Margaret, this is foolish, child. The only thing he could do would be +to get possession of the child as testamentary guardian by due process +of law, and that is always long." + +"And if he got him and I could only get him back by due process of +law--would that be long too?" + +"Yes, that might be longer still, for being his legal guardian he would +have the law presumably on his side. But, my dear, we won't cross that +bridge to-day. He hasn't got him yet. I don't believe there is a court +on earth--certainly not in this District--that would take your child +from you. Cheer up. We'll fight it out if worst comes to worst." + +She did not smile. "Do you think it is because he wants the money?" + +"I have thought of that, of course. It generally is because of money +that most of the deviltry is done. But I had never thought he was that +kind of man." + +"Oh, I hope it is! That would make it all so simple. Can't you find out +if it is and tell him to take it, all of it--I don't want the +money--only he must give up all claim to Philip." + +"Nonsense, Margaret," said the Judge, testily, "I shall do nothing of +the kind. You have no right to relinquish this money--either your own or +Philip's. It is willed to you and it ought to stand." + +"Yes, but the same will that gives me the money gives him Philip!... Oh, +why did Victor do this wicked thing?" + +As he went away Judge Kirtley said, "I shall go to Mr. De Jarnette and +see what I can do toward settling it out of court. I think it will turn +out all right. I have great faith that he can be brought to see it in +the right light. And if he can't and it has to go into the courts--" +Margaret looked hopelessly at him--the case seemed lost already, so +powerful and fearful a thing is the law to the inexperienced--"you must +remember always that in any proceedings concerning the custody of +children, even in the absence of any express statute, the court is +obliged to consider the welfare of the child as paramount to every other +consideration, and it has the power even to take a child away from its +guardian if that seems best for the child." + +"But in this case it seems that there is an express statute, or law, or +whatever it is," said Margaret, who had been listening with all the +powers of a mind unused to legal terms and technicalities, "and that it +is against the mother." + +"That does not make it certain that the courts would sustain the will. +The court is always apt to favor the claim of the mother unless it can +be proved that she is an improper person to have charge of it. So cheer +up, my child." + +She was standing before him with the boy, who laughed and crowed +unheeded, in her arms. + +"But if he should come when you are gone and try to take him," she said, +her eyes big with fright. "What could I do?" + +"Margaret, he will not come. You need not fear it in the least. Richard +De Jarnette would not go against the law to secure your child--even if +he cannot be persuaded to give him up." + +"How can I tell what is law?" she cried passionately. "If anybody had +told me yesterday that the law gave a man a right to will away my child +before it was born, I should have said he was mad! And when this other +man comes and demands that child--as he will, I know he will!--how am I +to know that the law does not give him the power to take him?" + +"Because I am telling you now that it does not. You can trust me if you +can't the law. That isn't the danger to be feared." + +"What is?" she asked, quickly. + +"Just what I was telling you, that after due process of law the court +might decide in favor of his claim--if he should press it--and I don't +believe he will." + +"He will!" she said, hopelessly. "I know he will. You don't know how +vindictively he looked at me." + +It was useless to argue against such logic as this, and he went away. + +When he was gone Margaret had the great door locked and bolted and gave +orders that no one should be admitted. That night she slept fitfully, +Philip in her arms. + + + + + CHAPTER XIII + THE WOLF BLOOD + + +It was not until the next day that Judge Kirtley went to see Mr. De +Jarnette. + +"I will give him an opportunity to sleep over it," he told his wife. "A +man's sober second thought is always in the morning." + +But Richard De Jarnette's sleep had not been long enough nor sound +enough to change his mind. + +"The stubbornness of the man is incredible," the Judge reported when he +got home. "He's going to make us trouble--I can see that. He makes no +accusation against Margaret. He doesn't try in the least to defame her +character, but he says his brother undoubtedly had sufficient reasons +for making such a will and that he shall carry out his wishes." + +"I suppose the small matter of Margaret's having borne the child is no +reason why he should consult _her_ wishes," said Mrs. Kirtley, +indignantly. + +"Apparently not. He simply ignores her." + +"What could he do with a baby? He can't take care of it! I can't see why +he wants it." + +"It isn't that he wants it. This is not affection. But for some reason +he is determined that Margaret shall not have it." + +"It is a dog-in-the-manger spirit!" + +"No." the Judge said, thoughtfully, "it isn't that." From long habit his +judicial mind was weighing evidence on both sides. "I am convinced that +he has some reason for this, but so far I haven't been able to get at +it. I asked him plainly if he had anything against Margaret. He said he +had no accusations to make. And indeed I don't see that he could make +any. If ever in a case like this a woman has been absolutely blameless, +that woman is Margaret." + +"What does he propose to do with the child?" + +"I asked him that. He says he shall leave him in charge of the old woman +who has taken care of him all his life, but he intends to take them to +his home. He says she is perfectly competent and trustworthy--" + +"Well, that is true," acknowledged Mrs. Kirtley. "I never saw a more +faithful nurse." + +"So he says. He claims that Margaret has herself told him repeatedly +that the old woman knows better what to do with the child than she +does." + +"As if that proved anything! Every young mother has to learn. The man is +a brute! Will he take Philip at once?" + +"Oh, no! A will must always be admitted to probate before anybody can +have any rights under it. And when it is we will be there to contest +it." + +"Have you talked with Margaret?" + +"No. She is to come to the office this afternoon." + +When he laid the case before her there Margaret listened in silence. Her +excitement of the day before was gone. In fact Judge Kirtley would have +been glad to see her more moved than she was. Her calmness seemed almost +like despair. + +"I knew he would not do it," she said. "He means us harm." + +"Well, just for the present, my dear, I seem to have been unsuccessful, +but I have by no means given up hope of its being compromised." + +"What reason does he give for persisting in taking Philip from me?" + +"None at all. He simply falls back on the will and says he wants to +carry out his brother's wishes." + +"There is some reason," she said positively. "He hates me. For what +cause I cannot tell. I have felt it since the day Victor died. He has +avoided me ever since. I am _afraid of him_. And yet I feel powerless +before a fear that cannot even be defined. Why should he hate me?" + +"I think that is imagination. Are you willing to talk with him?" + +"Why, certainly." + +"Very well then, I shall arrange for you to see him to-morrow--in his +private office." + +Then they fell to talking about the will and Margaret said, +hesitatingly, "Judge Kirtley, are you sure it wouldn't make any +difference--Philip's not being born when the will was made, I mean. It +seems as if it must make a difference." + +He went to the library and took down the Statute Book, turning to +Chapter XXVII, Section one, and read: + + "Sec. 1. ... That when any person hath or shall have any child or + children under the age of one and twenty years, and not married at + the time of his death, that it shall and may be lawful to and for + the father of such child or children, whether born at the time of + the decease of the father, or at that time in _ventre sa mere_; or + whether such father be within the age of one and twenty years, or of + full age, by his deed executed in his lifetime, or by his last will + and testament in writing, in the presence of two or more credible + witnesses, in such manner, and from time to time as he shall + respectively think fit, to dispose of the custody and tuition of + such child or children, for, and during such time as he and they + shall respectively remain under the age of one and twenty years, or + any lesser time, to any person or persons in possession or + remainder, other than Popish recusants:--" + +She listened carefully. As he closed the book she said scathingly, "I +don't wonder they put it in a foreign tongue. That would sound very +harsh in English." + +Then after a moment she asked, "Judge Kirtley, how does it happen that +such an infamous law was ever put upon our Statute Books?" + +"That is a long story, Margaret, or rather there are links in the chain +that go back a long way. It doesn't take much time in the telling." He +was glad to turn her thoughts into a slightly different channel. + +"You see, when Maryland ceded the District of Columbia to the United +States for a permanent seat of government, it was provided by an act of +Congress that all the laws of the State of Maryland, as they then +existed, should be and continued in force in the District, or at least +such part of it as had been ceded by that State." + +"Did Maryland have such a law?" asked Margaret, incredulously. + +"Yes, Maryland and a good many of the other states--the older ones +particularly. They have been gradually modifying these laws in a number +of them, but--" + +"How did they ever happen to have such a law in the first place?" she +interrupted. "I did not dream that such things would be tolerated in +this age." + +"The explanation is simple enough. When the English emigrants came to +this country and founded commonwealths they brought with them ready-made +the language, the laws, and the institutions of the mother country. +These had only to be modified and adapted to changed conditions that +they found here." + +"Then this is really an English law?" + +"An English law dating back to the time of Charles II. It was originally +framed to prevent the Catholics from obtaining possession of the +children of a Protestant father, I believe." + +"It sounds as if it might have gone back to the Dark Ages," said +Margaret, indignantly, "or to barbarism! It seems so strange that I have +never heard of it before." + +"Not at all. Most people do not know about laws until they are touched +by them." + +"You say some of the states have repealed this law. Why did they do it?" + +"Oh, they found it contrary to the spirit of the age, I suppose. I guess +the women's rights people prodded them up a little, maybe." + +"Judge Kirtley," said Margaret, after a pause in which her mind had gone +from women's rights to women's wrongs, "do you suppose many women are +forced to give up their children under this law?" + +"Not many of your kind, Margaret. Perhaps not many of any kind. But it +is a thing well known that many brutal men know of this law and hold it +as a club over their wives. A lazy, good-for-nothing negro, for +instance, will often make his wife support him, here in the District +where there are so many of them, by using this threat." + +"Oh, it is cruel! cruel!" she cried, her voice trembling with +indignation. + +"Margaret, I think, judging from your face just now, that if you were a +man you would say of this law, as Lincoln did of slavery, 'If I ever get +a chance at that institution _I'll hit it hard_!'" + +"I would! I would! If I were a man. But what can a woman do but suffer!" + +"Some of them learn to fight," he said, "enough at least to defend their +young." + +It was in her mind to ask him further questions, but he forestalled +them. + +"You'd better go home now, child, and think no more about it for a +while. I will see Mr. De Jarnette and arrange to go with you to his +office to-morrow." + +This meeting never took place. Judge Kirtley went to Margaret's home +just before night to tell her that Mr. De Jarnette had declined to talk +it over with her. It could be settled much more satisfactorily with her +attorney, he had said. + +"I never expected him to do it," Margaret said, shaking as with a chill. +"Judge Kirtley, what does it mean? Why does he shun me so?" + +"My own idea, Margaret, is that he is afraid to risk talking it over +with you for fear of having his resolution broken down by your tears." + +"I should never go to him with tears!" said Margaret, with flashing +eyes. + +"I think perhaps it is just as well for you not to go," remarked Judge +Kirtley, prudently. "I believe time will bring it right anyway. And +don't let your fears run away with you, Margaret. He wouldn't think of +doing anything except according to law--and the law is always +deliberate. After the will is filed, with petition for probate, several +weeks will have to elapse before it can be settled, even if it is +settled satisfactorily to all concerned. If we find there is going to be +trouble this will give us time to decide upon our line of procedure. We +may have to contest the will." + +"On the ground that it is unjust?" + +"No. A will can be contested in the probate court only on the ground +that the testator was of unsound mind and hence incapable of making a +will, or that he was unduly influenced. By the way, have you ever seen +anything in your husband that would lead you to think that he might be +of unsound mind?" + +"No," said Margaret, after a moment's thought, "not a thing. He was very +passionate, but otherwise perfectly sane." + +"Hm-m. And have you any reason to think that Mr. Richard De Jarnette +would have tried to influence him in the making of this will?" + +"No. I am sure he would never have done it. It would not have been in +the least like him." + +"Well, Margaret," said the Judge, dryly, "I think I will not call you as +a witness in this case just yet ... It seems to me that the unsound mind +theory might be successful, in spite of what you say. These fits of +passion that you speak of--anger is a short-lived madness, you know--the +fact that his mother did some unexplained things; and then his +unaccountable desertion of you--well, we will see." + +"It seems to me," said Margaret, rather timidly, "that the plea that the +will is unjust is so much more forcible than any other. Anybody can see +that without argument. It is self-evident." + +"Very true, but the law recognizes only these two reasons for setting +aside a will. Unfortunately the laws of this District permit a man to +make just such a will. It remains for us only to prove that he was +mentally incapable of making one at all, or, as I said, that he was +unduly influenced." + +Margaret shook her head and sighed. She did not believe that either +could be established. + +"Now don't let your fears run away with you, Margaret. Be sensible. Mr. +De Jarnette wouldn't harm Philip. It is absurd to think of it." + +"Oh, I _am_ afraid! There is no telling what he would do if he ever got +hold of him. He must have some object in wanting him. And you know it is +no good object." + +It was useless to reason with her. Her fears had placed her beyond +reason. He went away, promising to see Mr. De Jarnette again. + +When he was gone, Margaret went to her room and sat down. Her strength +seemed suddenly gone. She could not stand. Her head was dry and burning +and her hands like ice. A thousand fears assailed her. A girl of +twenty-one, shielded from contact with the world or a knowledge of its +wickedness was poorly fitted to cope with such fears. They were +unreasonable, of course, but Margaret did not know it. + +If she could only get away where he could never find them! or at any +rate until Philip was no longer a baby. She might have courage to face +it when he was a few years older--but a baby was _so_ helpless! And she +looked despairingly at the little form lying there in the unconscious +grace of sleep, the soft breath parting rosy lips, and the moist locks +clustering in rings on the fair forehead. + +"Oh, Mammy Cely," she cried in desperation, "_why_ does he want my +baby?" + +The black woman shook her head. There had been no secrecy with her about +the will. Her relations with the mother and child had been too close for +Margaret to have any hesitation about telling her, and her own need of +comfort too urgent for her to have been prudent had she had. She must +talk to somebody. So Mammy Cely knew the whole story, and was wrung +between sympathy for Margaret and loyalty to "Marse Richard." + +"The Lord knows, Miss Margaret!" she said, shaking her head. "It beats +me!" + +She turned away and began arranging the shades for the night, muttering +below her breath as she did so, "Hit's the wolf blood! That's what it +is!" + +"What did you say, Mammy Cely?" + +The old woman made no reply. + +"Mammy _Cely_! what did you _say_?" + +"Miss Margaret,--I don't want to tell you nothin' about it--maybe it +ain't so anyway." + +"Maybe what isn't so?" Margaret's curiosity was now thoroughly aroused. + +"Why,--'bout the Jarnettes' havin' wolf hearts. That's what they used to +say. I don't know 'm. But I reckon it's so. I thought sho' Marse Richard +was gwineter 'scape it. He ain' never showed that strain befo'. But look +lak it's a curse. They can't git shet of it. Hit's there. Fire can't +burn it and water can't squinch it! Honey ... it was Marse Richard's +daddy wha' sold my little Cass away from me." + +"Your baby?" cried Margaret in horror. "Sold your baby?" + +"Well, she wa'n't jes as you might say a baby," said Mammy Cely, with +scrupulous exactness, "but she was the onlies' one I had, and when a +mother loses a child--specially her onlies' one--no matter how old it +is, it's her baby. 'Pears lak she always goes back to that.--Yaas, 'm, +he sold her--down South. It's more than thirty years sence then. And I +ain't never seen her sence." + +"Oh, Mammy Cely! How could you _bear_ it?" + +Mammy Cely looked at her with dry eyes. + +"A body can bear a heap of things, honey, they think they can't when +they are yo' age. I bore it because there wa'n't anything else to do. +That's why people bear most of their troubles." + +"Mammy Cely, tell me about it," cried Margaret impulsively. "Sit down +and tell me." + +The old woman took the chair on the other side of the crib. It seemed to +her that it might not be a bad thing for Margaret to get her mind upon +another trouble that was greater than her own. Perhaps that was it--and +perhaps she wanted to tell the story. + + + + + CHAPTER XIV + MAMMY CELY'S STORY + + +"I haven't always lived in Maryland, Miss Margaret," Aunt Cely began. "I +was born in Figinny--in Goochland County, near Goochland Co't-'ouse. I +belonged to the Davidsons. They was mighty fine people, the Davidsons +was. They wa'n't no po' white trash, _I_ tell you! Marse Tom Davidson +had mo' niggers than anybody 'roun' there. You could n' step roun' in +the back yard 'thout trompin' on a little nigger. And there wa'n't no +end to the company they had. Yaas, 'm, the Davidsons was mighty fine +people. I haven't got no 'casion to feel 'shamed of _my_ white folks." + +"But you were going to tell me about your baby," reminded Margaret. She +did not care for the Davidsons. + +"Yaas, 'm, I'm comin' to it. We jes' had one child, Joe and me. Her name +was Cassie--Cass, we called her for short. Miss Margaret, Cass was a +mighty pretty child. She looked jes' as pretty to me as yo' baby does to +you, I reckon. Look lak the color don't make much difference to the +mammy of a child. I was mons'us proud of her, and I useter dress her up +in a little pink calico dress and ruffled white apron and set and look +at her and think, 'Mammy'll work her black fingers to the bone, honey, +befo' she'll let any harm come to you!'... But Mammy's fingers couldn't +stand 'tween her and harm." + +The voice stopped and she turned away, shaking her head, mournfully. + +"Mammy Cely," said Margaret, softly, "if you belonged to the Davidsons, +how did you happen to be with the De Jarnettes?" + +"I'm jes' comin' to that. Look lak when I git to thinkin' of them old +days I lose myself.... Well, when Cass was about nine years old, I +reckon, word come one day to the cabins that Marse Tom had been +killed,--throwed from his horse against a pile of rocks. We all thought +a heap of Marse Tom. I don't believe there was a nigger on that place +but felt they had lost their best frien' when he was gone,--but then we +'spected to go on jes' the same and work for old mistis. But one day +jes' after the fun'al a man come out from Goochland Co't-'ouse and +talked a long time to old mistis, and when he went away she look so +white and sick it look lak she was gwineter die too. + +"Miss Margaret, I reckon you know what it meant. Marse Tom wa'n't so +rich after all and de likelies' of de niggers had to be sold to pay his +debts.... Miss Margaret, I knowed I was one of de likelies'; and I +tromped over to Marse Sam Dyer's on de farm j'inin' to see ef he would +n' buy me. You see he owned Joe, my old man. I jes' got down on my knees +and begged him fur the love of God not to let me be sold away from Joe. +He says, 'Cely, I'd buy you in a minute ef I had the money, but I can't +do it!' + +"Then Joe, he says, 'Marse Sam, ef you can't buy Cely, will you let me +go with her?' That was right hard on Marse Sam, 'cause Joe was born in +the family, but he drawed a long breath and he says, 'Joe, I hate to let +you go, but I can't stand between man and wife. Ef I can sell you to the +man that buys Cely, I'll do it,' he says. + +"But Miss Margaret, the worst thing 'bout slavery was that even a good +man could n' always help the partin' of man and wife. Marse Tom never +sold a nigger in his lifetime. I've seen more'n one nigger-trader +ordered off the place! But then he never expected to die tell he was out +of debt, and when he was dead old mistis could n' help it. They was +_boun'_ to be sold.... And then Marse Sam. He come down, and come down, +and come down in his price for Joe, but the man that bought me didn't +want him--at no price." + +"Who was the man that bought you?" + +"Major De Jarnette. You see, my young mistis, Miss Julia Davidson, was +goin' to marry Major De Jarnette up here in Maryland, and she wrote to +him wouldn't he buy me for her maid. Of course I'd rather go with her +than be sold to anybody else. He wrote to her that he was willin' to buy +me, but he didn't want the child--that a lady's maid ought not to have a +child hangin' around her. Miss Julia she wrote to him that her Ma +wouldn't never consent to our bein' separated, and so after some letters +back and fo'th he agreed to buy us both and done so. I came up to +Elmhurst with my Miss Julia when she was married--and Cass with me. + +"Miss Margaret, I never felt easy 'bout it after I heared he didn't want +Cass. I knew it would come! Well, we stayed there nearly a year befo' it +did. Then one day not long befo' Marse Richard was born Cass come +dancin' in the house where I was ironin' and she says, 'Mammy, am I +pretty?' + +"'Who told you you was pretty?' I says, settin' my iron down toler'ble +hard. + +"'The man in the house,' she says. 'He seen me when I was goin' along +and he tuk holt of my curls and said I was a pretty little gal. Am I +pretty, Mammy?' Miss Margaret, hit jes' seemed lak the heart inside of +me was turnin' to stone. I knowed that man. He was a nigger-trader! + +"I tuk Cass by the hand and walked her off to my house 'thout sayin' a +word. Then I tuk the scissors and cut off all her curls, and made her +put on her old blue cotton instead of her pink calico, and then I says, +'Now you jes' let me hear of you goin' up to the house ag'in when +there's any men there and I lay I'll make you pretty!' Then I went and +seen Miss Julia and told her I was sick and would she please to excuse +me this evenin'. It wa'n't no lie, for ef ever I was sick in my life I +was sick then. Then I went back to my house and shet the do' and waited. +I knowed it would come. + +"A little befo' sundown I heared somebody at the do' and Cass started to +open it. I ketched her by the arm and I says, 'You go up in the +lof'--quick! and don't you come down less 'n I tell you!' Then I opened +the do' and sho 'nough there stood old Major De Jarnette and the +nigger-trader. Major De Jarnette he says, 'Cely, where's Cass?' + +"'Master,' I says, 'Cass is up in the lof', sick,--she can't come down, +noway.' + +"He lowed he'd see how sick she was, and then I called up, 'Cass, come +here.' + +"Cass come and stood lookin' at her bare feet and diggin' her toes in +between the puncheons, and I declare to goodness, Miss Margaret, I +didn't hardly believe it was the child myself. When I cut off her hair I +didn't take no great pains, you may be sho', and now she done run her +head in the cobwebs in the lof' tell her hair done look mo' lak ash +color than black, and what with the old dress and the dirt streaked over +her face where she been cryin', she certainly did look mo' lak po' white +trash than a decent nigger child. + +"I reckon the nigger-trader thought so too, for he tuk a good look at +her and he says, 'This ain't the one I want. I couldn't sell her to +nobody,' Miss Margaret, it jes' seem lak my heart had been standin' +still and now it begun to bound. I thought I'd got her off, sho'. But +what do you suppose that child done then? She looked up at him sorter +sassy like and she says, 'I _am_ the gal you said was pretty, but Mammy +done cut off my curls.' Miss Margaret, as skeered as I was, I felt lak +takin' that child and shakin' her good! Here she was in the worst peril +a gal could ever be in and losin' her onlies' chance of gettin' out +because she was afraid a nigger-trader would think she was ugly! I +declare to goodness it does jes' look lak women was born fools anyway! +Most of 'em would rather resk fallin' into the hands of the devil +hisself than to resk a man's thinkin' they ain't pretty! + +"I saw in a minute it was all up. The nigger-trader tuk another look at +her, and he says, 'I made a mistake. This is the one.' Then he kinder +chuckled to hisself and says, 'You're a cute one, anyway.' Then master +he turned to me and says, 'Cely, I've sold Cass. Get her ready to go in +the mornin'.' + +"I knowed then that my onlies' hope was in him and I got down on my +knees. When I stopped he says, 'Cely, get Cass ready to go with this man +in the mornin'.' That was all. Then they went off. Cass went roun' +cryin' kinder sof' like and I set down to think. I thought once I'd take +her and we'd steal off in the dark, and hide daytimes and travel nights +tell we got over the line, and maybe we would find some apples or +something to live on. I thought the Lord wouldn't keer if I did steal ef +it was to save my child. I got up and started to get things together. +Then I heared the bayin' of old man Dawson's hounds, and I set down +again. + +"I thought once I'd go to Miss Julia, but when old Major De Jarnette had +that look on his face there wa'n't anybody that dared to coax him--not +even Miss Julia. Of course, it wa'n't worth while to go to the +neighbors. Major De Jarnette owned us and he had a right in the eyes of +the law to sell us, together or separate. The neighbors couldn't go +ag'in' the law to save the partin' of mother and child. But, _Miss +Margaret, ef I'd been a white woman I would have taken that child and +gone_!" + +Margaret looked at her with startled eyes, but the old woman went on. + +"When I set down there I says to myself, 'I will have my child! There +ain't nobody can take her away from me!' But when I'd think of one way +to save her it seemed lak there was a stone wall set right down in front +of me. Then when I'd turn another way, there was that same stone wall, +and I couldn't do anything but beat my head ag'in' it. I thought and +thought and thought tell the fire went out and Cass had gone to sleep on +the flo', and at last I jes' says out loud, 'It ain't no use! I've got +it to stand! There ain't nobody can help me!' + +"Honey, it seemed lak I couldn't git my breath. I got up and went to the +do' and looked out. The stars was shinin' kinder happy like, and when I +looked up at the house I could see the lights all glimmerin' and hear +the tinkle of Miss Julia's piano. It seemed lak they wan't no mis'ry in +the world, cep'n right here in this little cabin. 'What made the +difference,' I said, shakin' my fist at the stars and the lights. 'What +did the Lord mean by givin' me a white woman's heart, and then givin' a +white man power to sell my child away from me?' He didn't know! He +didn't keer! + +"Honey, the Lord seemed a long way off then. Seem lak He was where there +was light and music and frien's too, and didn't know my heart was +breakin'. How could He know?... Jes' then some words come into my mind +jes' lak somebody had spoke 'em to me. I had heared 'em down in old +Figinny. 'For God so loved the world that He gave His only son to die--' +I couldn't remember the rest, but I jes' hung on to that much, and said +it over and over. 'God so loved the world--that He give His only +son--His _only_ son--to die! God loved us so ... His only son!' Why, He +_did_ know! + +"I shet the do' and went and layed down on the flo' by Cass. I didn't +pray. There wa'n't nothin' to pray for. I knowed it couldn' be helped. I +jes' said, 'Oh, Lord! Lord! _Lord!_ Lord!' Miss Margaret, ef ever you've +talked to the Lord without usin' any words you'll know what I mean. Ef +you haven't, I couldn't make you onderstand. 'Twas jes' lak Cass comin' +and puttin' her head down in my lap and sayin', 'Mammy! Mammy!' and then +I'd put my hand on her head and say, 'Mammy knows!' and that was all. + +"Well, after a while I got up and waked Cass, and the child looked at me +with her big starin' eyes like she was 'feared of me. But I set down in +the chimly corner and tuk her on my lap and then she was wide awake. I +told her about how she had been sold and how it wa'n't likely she would +ever see Mammy any mo'. But I says, 'Honey, ef you try to be good, and +never steal or tell lies, or do anything that you know is +wrong--_anything_, honey, no matter what it is--there 's a place we'll +git to after a while where there can't nobody part us.' And, Miss +Margaret, the child stop her cryin' and look up at me, and she say, +'Where is it, Mammy? Le' 's go now.' And I says, 'It's heaven, child!' +and then she begun to cry, 'cause heaven seems a long way off, you know. + +"Well, after a while I put her to bed, and then I got her clo'es ready +and made 'em in a little bun'le and then I got to stud'in' 'bout who +would wash her clo'es and mend 'em, and it jes' 'peared lak I couldn't +stand it noway. While I was gittin' the things together I come across +her big rag doll where she had jes' put it to bed--(Cass was always a +mighty hand for dolls),--and I put it in the bun'le. I thought it would +help her maybe to git through the first few nights. Then I laid out her +clo'es, and darned her stockin's, and blacked her shoes, and when there +wa'n't another thing I could do I laid down by her and tuk her in my +arms like I useter when she was a baby, and laid there the blessed +night, never once closin' my eyes ... Miss Margaret, don't cry, child! I +haven't shed a tear sence that night. + +"Well, in the mornin' I got her ready, and when I seed 'em comin' I tuk +her in my arms and looked in her face fur the las' time, and laid her +little head on this old breas' where it had laid so many times, and give +her one las' kiss, and then I opened the do'. + +"'She's ready,' I says, puttin' her outside. And then I shet the do'. I +heared the overseer--it was him that had come with the man--say, 'Well, +she don't seem to take on much,' and the nigger-trader, he says, 'Naw, +they don't have no feelin' for their chil'n.'" + +She stopped. Apparently the story was at an end. + +"Oh, Mammy Cely!" cried Margaret, wringing her hands, "don't tell me you +never saw her any more!" + +"Miss Margaret, I never laid eyes on her from that day to this. I don't +know where they took her or what they did with her any more than ef the +ground had opened and swallowed her up." + +"Oh, I am glad, _glad_ that never can be done again!" cried Margaret, +vehemently. "It was a wicked thing to put so much power in any man's +hands!" + +She looked down at her own sleeping child with a sudden sinking of the +heart, and then into the impassive face of the black woman. + +"Oh, Mammy Cely! I think God has forgotten us!" + +"Honey, don't say that. He don't forget!" Then, modifying this +statement, "But it certainly do look lak His remembry is a heap better +for men than what it is for women." + + + + + CHAPTER XV + INSTINCT TRIUMPHS + + +Mammy Cely's story made a deep impression on Margaret in her excited +state of mind. She could not sleep for thinking of it. If the whole +gamut of human experiences had been run, nothing would have appealed to +her like this. The iniquity of the thing struck her with a force that +was almost staggering. She had come of generations of slave-owners who +had never known anything else than to accept conditions as they found +them and do for their dependent ones the best they could. That such +heart-breaking tragedies as this had ever taken place among them had +never occurred to her. Personally, of course, she had seen nothing of +slavery, but she had spent her life in the midst of the negroes of +Washington, who seemed so irresponsible, so given to carousings, so +prone to appear in the police courts, that she had never thought of them +as possessing the deeper feelings of human nature. They seemed a people +apart. The sad little story to which she had listened revealed the +truth. God had made all women's hearts alike, and _then_ had designated +the color of their skins--_then_ had placed them in stations high or +low--_then_ had made them bond or free. And when He made them mothers He +touched them all with a coal from the same altar. + +But it was not alone the pathos of the story, deep and tragic as that +was, that kept her night after night with wide-open eyes staring into +the darkness. + +A formless terror was creeping over her. As she thought of the author of +the black woman's miseries and his relationship to her child, it seemed +almost as if Philip were in the path of some onrushing tide of evil +propensities--inheritable vices that might sweep him away from her into +an abyss from which she could never rescue him. Of course the wolf blood +of the De Jarnettes was a thing to smile at. That was negro +superstition. But the sinister fact remained that the man who had sold +Mammy Cely's child was the father of the one who was trying to get her +child. If the father had been thus cruel what could be expected of the +son he had reared, and to whom he had given his blood with the curse +upon it? There seemed something awful to her in the thought of that +curse. Where had it come from? From generations of dumb suffering +mothers who could do nothing but call down maledictions? Was there +really such a thing as invoking a curse that could be visited from +father to son? She sat up in bed to get her breath. It did seem as if +she would suffocate in this darkness. + +She got up and felt for the matches, reaching frantically for them, her +hands shaking, her teeth chattering. As the gas flared up she felt the +relief that comes from the chasing away of shadows, and smiled a little +at her own folly. + +She turned the gas low ... what was that noise? It sounded like someone +at the front door. Judge Kirtley had said they would never try to take +Philip by force, but--that certainly was somebody on the stairs. She +listened with every nerve tense. Not a sound but the stentorious +breathing of Mammy Cely in the room beyond. She had slept there ever +since the baby came.... Margaret fell back on the pillow with relaxed +nerves.... If only the throbbing in her head would stop! She tossed from +side to side with a great physical longing for the sleep that would not +come. + + * * * * * + +The weeks that followed were hard ones for Margaret. She was worn to a +shadow by her anxieties and the law's delay. At the proper time Judge +Kirtley had gone before the Court and given notice that Mrs. De Jarnette +would contest the will on the ground that the testator was of unsound +mind. + +It is not the purpose of this narrative to give the proceedings of that +trial before the Probate Court. It is only the result that concerns us. +It may be said in passing, however, that in no particular did Mr. De +Jarnette deviate from the policy he had adopted at the first of simply +falling back upon the law and the right of the testator to make such a +will. "Bull dog tactics," Judge Kirtley called them to a brother lawyer. +Not a word as to the unfitness of the mother to rear the child, not a +breath affecting her character. The burden of proof was with the +contestants,--and the contestants unfortunately were short of proof. +Judge Kirtley himself did not believe Victor De Jarnette to have been of +unsound mind. + +Mr. Jarvis testified with great reluctance that while Victor De Jarnette +was, at the time when the codicil was added, in a state of considerable +excitement and strong feeling, he saw nothing about him which would lead +him (Mr. Jarvis) to consider him of unsound mind. The testimony of the +two witnesses to the will was to the same effect. + +Men who had had business dealings with him a day, a week, a month +previously were called to the witness-stand and with one voice upheld +his sanity. More than one of them cast a pitying glance at the girlish, +black-robed figure back of Judge Kirtley, and gave this testimony only +because he was under oath. + +Servants from his own household were examined as to whether they had +observed anything suspicious in their employer's manner or +actions,--anything that would incline them to the belief that he was of +unsound mind. Not one circumstance pointing toward it was developed. + +To all this counsel for the contestant could only offer the testimony of +Mrs. De Jarnette as to his state of passion on that evening; the +unexplained mystery of his disappearance just before the birth of his +child; his sensational return unannounced; and his tragic death. This he +said had been attributed to accident, but it had been by no means proved +that it was not by intention. If it were a case of suicide this would be +contributory proof, at least, that he was not himself six or eight +months after the time of the making of the will. The case of his mother +was referred to briefly, Judge Kirtley giving it as his belief that no +woman who deserted her child was ever in her right mind at the time of +doing it. + +As Judge Kirtley spoke of the possibility of her husband's death being +by his own hand, Margaret involuntarily raised her eyes to the face of +Mr. De Jarnette. She was startled to find his black eyes furtively +watching her. As on that day in her own library, a hot flush swept into +her face and then out again, leaving it whiter than before. + +Judge Kirtley in his endeavors to keep up Margaret's courage had dwelt +so strongly upon the improbability of the child's being awarded to Mr. +De Jarnette that he had at last inspired her with a belief that the +right would win. As the case proceeded she found her confidence waning, +but she was totally unprepared for the decision. + +The Court sustained the will. There was overwhelming proof that the +testator was of sound mind at the time of executing the will; there was +no evidence introduced looking toward undue influence, and no charge +made that the testamentary guardian was an improper person to have the +guardianship of the child. The law, while an ancient one, was explicit +as to the right of a husband in the District of Columbia to make such a +disposition of his child. It had been argued that it was a cruel and +unjust law, but it might be said in reply to this that the surest way to +the repeal of a bad law was to have it rigidly enforced. Therefore, etc. + +"_Does he get him?_" The agonized whisper broke the stillness that fell +upon the court-room as the decision was announced. + +They took her home more dead than alive. + +"It isn't a foregone conclusion that he will get him yet, my child," +Judge Kirtley told her as he helped her into the house. "This is but the +beginning. You are not going to give up at the very outset, are you? +Keep up your courage, Margaret! You think you don't care to have Mrs. +Kirtley with you to-night? Well, I'll send the doctor in to give you +something for your nerves. You are all unstrung. There! there! Here, +Auntie," as Mammy Cely appeared, "take her and put her to bed. This has +been hard on her." + +When the old woman followed him to the door he said, "No. It went +against her. I am afraid I buoyed her up a little too much. This is the +reaction. Look after her." + +In her darkened room Margaret lay on the couch and tried to think it +out. But her head buzzed so and she was so frightfully confused! After a +while maybe she could, but not now--not now! + +When she went to bed she fell into fitful sleep. Her dreams were worse +than her waking fears. She put out her hand every now and then to touch +Philip and be sure he was actually there. + +As she tossed thus on a sleepless bed, now burning with fever, now +shaking as with an ague, Mammy Cely's words suddenly recurred to her +with startling distinctness. "If I had been a white woman I would have +taken that child and gone." ... Well?... _She_ was a white woman.... She +lay very still then. But where could she go?... In all the world where +could she go? + +A curious thing is the human brain. It has its crannies and cubby-holes +where it lays away its stores as a housewife piles up unused linen. Then +these treasures are covered up by other and later accumulations and we +straightway forget that they exist, until some day Memory without ado +deftly extricates from underneath the load a name, a fact, a story, and +holds it up before us; or, opening but a crack, she bids us listen at +the door, and we hear perhaps as Margaret was hearing now, a forgotten +voice, saying: + +"--an obscure spot, my dear. You can hardly find it on the map. But if +you ever need a friend, come to me." + +Her trembling ceased. Her heart was almost brought to a stop by the +sudden force of a hope that flung itself across her way. + +For steadying the nerves of an essentially strong person suffering +temporary collapse, there is nothing like an emergency requiring action. +It is the helplessness of enforced inactivity that saps courage and +bears us down. As Margaret lay there holding with a death-grip to her +new-found hope, she felt herself thrilled as by an electric current. +Strength and courage came flowing back to the heart that a moment before +had been at ebb-tide. She thought rapidly. Then she got up and looked at +the clock. It was not quite twelve. She had thought it was nearly +morning. + +Mammy Cely was in her usual deep sleep, but Margaret took the precaution +to close her door. With swift noiseless steps she dressed herself, and +taking a handbag filled it with baby garments. She stuffed a pocket book +well down into the bag, having first taken from it a roll of bills and +secreted them about her person. A superstitious thrill passed through +her at sight of the money. It was much more than she was in the habit of +drawing and it had been taken from the bank only yesterday. The teller +had said to her as he handed it to her, "Mrs. De Jarnette, that is a +large sum to have in the house. I should not let the amount be known to +the servants--or to anybody." What had prompted her to draw so much +money? Surely it was God's leading. He meant her to escape! + +She went next to a drawer and took out her jewels, mostly gifts from her +father, with a few simple things that were her mother's. There was a +diamond brooch and earrings and necklace that had been Victor's +mother's. She had forgotten them in her guilty flight, and they had come +to Margaret. She put them back into the drawer and with them some gifts +of Victor's that she could not bring herself just then to take, marking +the box plainly, "The De Jarnette diamonds," and locking them up. + +This done, she sat down with the clock before her and wrote two +notes--one, a very brief one, to Richard De Jarnette. It said: + +"I leave you the De Jarnette diamonds. I would willingly give up the De +Jarnette money if you will relinquish your claim to Philip. But I shall +_never_ let you have my child." + +It was in different vein that she wrote to Judge Kirtley. He must +forgive her for going--she couldn't help it. She simply had to go. The +appeal might fail as this had. The world was so large. She was sure that +she could find some place in it where she could hide away and be at +peace. She had not told him because she thought it might be better for a +while for him not to know. Then, too, she had felt sure that he would +try to dissuade her--and she _must_ go. He would forgive her, she knew. +He had been a father to her-- + +Here the page was blurred and the letter ended abruptly. + +Sealing and directing both she placed them on the mantel in plain sight. + +The car line runs past Dupont Circle and the house on Massachusetts +Avenue was not far off. She would be in time for the "owl car," which +would take her to the B. and O. station. She would not risk calling a +carriage. + +When she finished the letters Margaret took up her bag and went softly +down the great stairway. A dim light was burning in the hall, and by it +she made her way to the door, unlocking it and drawing back the heavy +bolts. There was no sign of tremor in her hand, no fear in her +face,--only a fierce eagerness to be gone. Putting the bag on the +outside, and leaving the door ajar that there might be no delay, she +crept noiselessly up the stairs again. + +The old woman on the other side of the door slept heavily, recking +little of the train of consequences her story had started. She might not +have withheld it had she known. The striking of the clock admonished +Margaret that she had no time to lose. She caught up the baby, bonneted +and cloaked against the cold, hushed it with soft whisperings, and stole +down the stairs. She did not stop to look around--perhaps she did not +dare--she had come to the house a bride; she was leaving it a fugitive. +The door creaked as it swung back on its massive hinges. The sound +startled her. Outside the street was silent and empty. The city was +sleeping its beauty sleep. She closed the door softly, pressed her baby +close to her breast, and slipped out into the darkness. + + + + + CHAPTER XVI + IN THE "NORTH COUNTREE" + + +Richard de Jarnette was sitting down to a late breakfast the next +morning when his telephone bell rang. He answered it impatiently, as was +natural. But what he heard there caused him to leave his hot waffles +untouched and go hurrying over to the house on Massachusetts Avenue. + +At Margaret's door he met Judge Kirtley, brought thither by a similar +message, and together they entered the house. It was evident to Mr. De +Jarnette that Judge Kirtley's surprise was as unfeigned as his own. + +The servants were gathered in the lower hall in a state of great +excitement, with nobody in command. Johnson, the man servant, related +how he had found the front door unlocked and fearing burglary had gone +straight to Mrs. De Jarnette's room and knocked and knocked without +rousing anybody. Then Mammy Cely took up the tale, telling of how she +had heard Johnson's knock and made sure she had overslept, etc.--of how +she had gone into Miss Margaret's room and found it in confusion, and +nobody there. There were two letters that-- + +Mr. De Jarnette cut her short by demanding to see the room and the +letters. They found every evidence of a hasty flight. Drawers had been +left open with their contents tumbled about, clothes were lying on the +floor, and the disordered bed showed that she had risen from it to go. + +The two men read their letters hastily, but with widely different +emotions. Mr. De Jarnette took the key enclosed with his and opened the +drawer. The diamonds were there as she had said. He locked the drawer +and handed the key to Judge Kirtley. + +"As her legal adviser you will, of course, take charge of the place. +These things should be put in safe keeping." Then, with a change of tone +that was not pleasant. "I suppose it is hardly worth while to enquire of +you where she has gone." + +"I know no more, sir, about where she has gone than you do," the Judge +answered, indignantly. "You can see for yourself," handing him +Margaret's letter. Then he added, sternly, his face working with +emotion. "I only know that she has become a homeless fugitive." + +Richard De Jarnette read the letter, but his face did not soften. When +he went from the house a few moments later it was to call a cab and go +straight to the Detective Bureau. Mammy Cely stood looking after him as +he went away. + +"I wonder ef what I said about a white woman's chance to git off could a +put that notion in Miss Margaret's head," she thought with some +perturbation. Then defiantly, "Well, I don't keer ef it did! She got a +heap mo' right to that chile than Marse Richard has. She done put a +right smart of herself in him. An' Marse Richard ain't nothin' but his +gyarjeen." + + * * * * * + +While the enginery for tracking her was thus being set in motion in +Washington, Margaret, with her child in her arms, was speeding over the +country hundreds of miles away, her face set toward the West. Every mile +gave her an added sense of security. She was confident that Richard knew +nothing of Mrs. Pennybacker's existence even, and was sure, too, that +she had been able to get away without leaving a clue behind her at the +station. It had been by a happy chance--was it chance?--that she had +been able to cover her tracks there. She had gone directly to the lower +waiting-room, hoping that she might find some way to get her ticket +without presenting herself before the ticket agent. As she sat pondering +this, a negro woman came in and sat down beside her. A sudden thought +struck Margaret. + +"Are you going on this next train?" she asked. + +Yes, the woman said, she had been down in Virginia, and was going home. +No'm, she didn't live in Washington. She lived in Maryland. She had been +gone ten days--had a round-trip ticket. + +Margaret took out some bills. + +"Would you mind getting my ticket for me--to Cincinnati? I can't leave +my baby." She held out a silver dollar, and the woman rose with +alacrity. It was not often she could earn a dollar as easily as that. + +And so it came about that when the detective in Mr. De Jarnette's employ +questioned the agent about tickets sold the night before, that official +could remember nothing bearing upon the case. No woman with a baby had +presented herself at the window that evening, he felt quite sure. + +Margaret had decided that it would be safer to get a ticket to +Cincinnati, another to St. Louis, and still another to Callaway than to +risk a through ticket to her destination. + + * * * * * + +It was a lucky star that guided Margaret De Jarnette to Missouri, where +are warm hearts and hospitable homes. She found there the two things +that she was in desperate need of--a refuge and a friend. Mrs. +Pennybacker lived on a farm with her orphaned granddaughter, Bess, who +was at that time at Synodical College in Fulton. She welcomed Margaret +with all the warmth of a great heart and the accumulated love of two +generations. And here for four years and a half the mother and child +found a shelter from the storm--a covert so secure that Richard De +Jarnette with all his efforts had never been able to ferret it out. + +Margaret had taken every precaution to lose her identity. The name of De +Jarnette was of course discarded, and she would not even risk Varnum. +She was known in the neighborhood as Mrs. Osborne, a friend of Mrs. +Pennybacker's from the East, who had recently been bereaved and had come +to her for a quiet home. It was not an inquisitive locality, and a word +from Mrs. Pennybacker as to the depth of the widowed lady's grief and +her reluctance to have it referred to effectually sealed the lips of the +kindly folk among whom her lot was cast. Bess, when she came home for +the vacation, was told as much as her grandmother thought best to tell, +and no more. "We'll take her in on probation, and after a while when she +has been proved, into full communion. I am that much of a Methodist, +anyway," Mrs. Pennybacker said. It is needless to say that long before +this Bess was a sister in full fellowship. + +Margaret was not even willing to let her safety rest upon a change of +name. In her first wild fear that she might be tracked she had wanted it +given out in the neighborhood that the child was a girl, but upon this +Mrs. Pennybacker set her foot down hard. It was a comparatively easy +thing, she admitted, to change the sex of a baby, and it did seem under +the circumstances that it would be a most innocent and inoffensive lie. +But it was the nature of some lies that having been once entered into +they must be persevered in to the bitter end. Margaret would find that +having become entangled in this one the sex complications would grow in +intricacy as the years went by. So that was given up. + +The girl had written to Judge Kirtley a few weeks after reaching +Missouri, telling him of her new home and her plans, and thereafter Mrs. +Pennybacker received New York drafts at regular intervals. He had also +written Margaret at once, informing her of Mr. De Jarnette's movements +so far as they could be ascertained. + +"He is very close-mouthed," he wrote, "but determined. I have reason to +believe that he is keeping up a still hunt all the time. By the way, of +course you must know that you have laid yourself liable to action +against you on a charge of kidnapping. I am hoping that Mr. De +Jarnette's feeling against you may wear itself out in time. But, in the +meantime, take every precaution." + +Margaret was wild with fear after this, and kept the old farmhouse +locked night and day. Philip was never out of her sight. But as months +and finally years went by and she heard nothing more, it seemed that +Richard De Jarnette must have given up the search. + +When Philip was nearly three her vigilance relaxed enough to permit her +to go to California for the winter with Mrs. Pennybacker, Bess being +still at "Synodical." For this trip Margaret had insisted upon dressing +Philip in girl's attire. It was done half in jest, but it succeeded +admirably, for a child of three is too young to object to such a +metamorphosis, and it gave Margaret great comfort. She felt sure that +Mrs. De Jarnette and son would never be recognized under the hotel alias +of "Mrs. Osborne and daughter." + +So successful had this trip been that Mrs. Pennybacker urged her going +to the World's Fair the next summer. But there was too much risk there, +Margaret decided, where all the world might be found. And now, this +summer, some four years since her midnight flight from home, Judge +Kirtley had written her that Mr. De Jarnette's counsel had told him +privately he was sure that Mr. De Jarnette had abandoned all hope of +ever finding his ward, and had given up the search. She grew so jubilant +and buoyant in spirits after this that the natural instincts of a young +woman asserted themselves, and when Mrs. Pennybacker proposed a summer +at Mackinac, she made no opposition. It is hardly natural for a +city-bred girl to enjoy for its own sake isolation on a quiet farm. She +and Bess took up the work of planning for Mackinac with great zest. But +there was one thing--if they went, Philip must go as a girl. That had +given her such a sense of security on the California trip. + +Mrs. Pennybacker disapproved strongly. "I tell you it isn't safe. It may +get you into no end of trouble." + +"I shall not go unless we can go that way," Margaret finally announced, +and that settled it. Philip was told that his going depended upon his +keeping the secret, and, of course, promised implicit obedience. But +Philip did not then know the obloquy which attached to being a girl, nor +the depth of humiliation into which it would plunge him. His long curls +which had never been cut off, and his nickname, "Trottie,"--fortunately +a sexless one,--aided greatly in the success of the scheme. Margaret +generally called him "dearest" anyway, and Mrs. Pennybacker "baby," +which he resented. + +On the lake steamer they had fallen in with a Mr. Harcourt, a young man +from the East whose home had once been in Michigan, and who after an +illness had been remanded by his physician to that invigorating, +health-giving region of balsams and cedars for a two-months' rest. He +had made himself useful to Mrs. Pennybacker in the matter of baggage +just as they were starting, and he came around after they were well out +on the lake courteously solicitous of her comfort. He was introduced to +the girls, and took some pains to interest the child, who showed an +instant liking to him. He did not intrude himself upon them, but came +back up from time to time to point out a boat in sight, or to show +Philip the gulls which at dinner time followed fast and furious in their +wake. Finally, with Mrs. De Jarnette's permission, he took the child off +to investigate the boat, saying enthusiastically when he returned after +an hour, "I never saw a girl show so much interest in everything. Why, +she was as intent upon finding out what made the engine go as a boy +would have been.... Yes, I understand children--I have nephews and +nieces." + +Margaret had taken Philip aside after this and held an earnest +conversation with him, at the end of which the child nodded several +times, not very joyously,--which all goes to show the benumbing +influence upon the human mind of feminine attire--and exactly how it +works. + +A friendship begun on shipboard culminates rapidly, especially when it +is under the fostering influence of a child and a sensible elderly lady +who is sure she cannot be deceived in men. By the time these travelers +reached their desired haven they seemed like old friends. It was +undeniable that Mr. Harcourt had contributed more than his share to the +pleasure of the trip. Mrs. Pennybacker, for one, began to think with +regret of the time when he would leave them--a thing that Mr. Harcourt +had by this time no intention of doing. + +"Well, we are almost there now," he said, coming upon them as they stood +in the bow watching the Island grow in distinctness of detail. + +"Did you ever see anything finer than that?" + +And certainly for beauty of approach the Island of Mackinac is without a +rival. + +"Have you decided on your hotel yet, Mrs. Pennybacker?" he asked, a +moment later. + +"Yes, we've looked it up a little and think we shall go to the Island +House. They say that is near where Anne lived, and we thought we would +like that." + +"How fortunate I am," he exclaimed with instant choice. "That's where +I'm going myself." + +Bess looked away toward Round Island with slightly heightened color. + +It was in this very natural way that he attached himself to their party. +It proved pleasant for them all. With the child he was prime favorite. +He asked Bess one day what her real name was, and Bess, forgetting that +Philippa had been the name agreed upon in case the question were ever +asked, and remembering Varnum, had answered with some confusion that she +was named after her mother. + +"Well, naturally." he had laughed. "I suppose you mean _for_ her +mother." + +In the good-natured raillery that ensued, Bess escaped, and he always +supposed the child's name was Margaret. + +He had never told them where he was from, beyond the fact that he was a +Michigan man, until their intimacy was well established--an accidental +omission, evidently, since he had told them almost everything else in +his frank, boyish way. It was, therefore, with the utmost astonishment +that Margaret one day heard him speak of Washington as his place of +residence. + +"Washington!" she exclaimed, "I thought Michigan was your home." + +"It was formerly. But for several years I have lived in Washington." + +"How many years?" she asked with the air of an inquisitor. + +"Four--this month." Then raising his right hand, "I would further state, +if it please the court, that I am a member of that large and respectable +body which pours out of the departmental halls promptly at four +o'clock-- + +"You mean you are a clerk in one of the departments?" asked Mrs. +Pennybacker. Margaret was thinking, "Well, I'm glad he isn't a lawyer or +a business man." + +"That is my humble occupation, madam. I hope I haven't led you to +suppose that I am a cabinet officer or a justice of the Supreme Court in +disguise." + +"You haven't misled me into thinking you other than you are," Mrs. +Pennybacker replied composedly, "and that is a fun-loving, rollicking +boy!" + +After this talk Margaret was most circumspect in her references to +Washington. It seemed as if Mr. Harcourt would be trustworthy, "But," +she told Mrs. Pennybacker that night, "I don't trust anybody." + +The four were sitting on the piazza of the Island House one day late in +the summer, looking out over the Straits. A steamer from Chicago was +rounding the buoy preparatory to making the harbor, and they were +watching it. Opposite them Round Island rose from the waters like an +emerald set in translucent pearl, and across the straits to the south +and miles away could be discerned the outline of the mainland. A dark +diagonal smoke line across the sky defined the path of the patient +little ferry which kept up communication with the outer world, and the +fraying out of the line at the further end into an indeterminate bank of +cloud showed which way it was going. Far off to the left, where the +waters of Lake Michigan merge into those of Huron, was another faint +blur on the horizon. To the initiated, versed in signs and seasons, it +stood for the steamer from Detroit. Carriages were driving swiftly to +the docks to meet the incoming boat, for Mackinac's short season was +nearing its end, and it behooved the emptying caravanseries to be making +all the hay they could. + +The group on the piazza watched the hacks with interest, two of them +laying mild wagers on the results. + +"I'll bet on the Island House!" said John Harcourt, "the caramels +against a cigar--I to select it. Come, now!" + +"And I on the Mission House," cried Bess. "And please understand that I +am to specify the amount of caramels. We'll watch and see when they come +back. Now don't forget to look!" + +"In the meantime," suggested Mrs. Pennybacker, "let's talk about that +inland trip that Mr. Harcourt has been expatiating on. I think I should +like to go down to We-que-ton-sing for a few days, and we may as well go +that way. What do you say, Margaret?" + +Margaret De Jarnette, who had been leaning over the railing watching the +child at play on the lawn below, looked up. She was older, but her face +had not lost its beautiful contour, and she had the same queenly way of +lifting her head, upon which lay great masses of golden brown hair. The +glint on it where it was touched by the sun hinted that it might once +have been like the burnished gold of the child's long curls. Her eyes +matched her hair. + +"I should like to go. 'We-que-ton-sing,' with all its breaks and musical +repetitions, has an attractive sound. It seems as if we might be likely +to drop into a community of wigwams there." + +"That wouldn't be strange," said the young man, "for here we are very +close to + + 'The land of the Ojibways, + To the land of--' + +Mrs. Osborne," Harcourt broke in suddenly, "that girl of yours throws +exactly like a boy. Look at her now!" + +"Well, this isn't settling the question," said Mrs. Pennybacker, +hastily. "Mr. Harcourt, tell us some of the points of this inland trip." + +John Harcourt was doing this very enthusiastically when Bess, catching +sight of the returning vehicles, cried out, "Wait a minute! There come +the carriages. Now let's watch." + +"All right. First carriage--Mission House--empty, please note! Half a +dollar, if you please. I never smoke less than fifty cent cigars on a +wager." + +"Well, you can just get me a pound of caramels any way," pouted the +girl, "for the Island House has just one lone man." + +"Oh, come! that's a hundred per cent, more than your house has." + +The one lone man was the object of their most interested scrutiny as the +carriage drew up. From their seats they could see without themselves +being observed. + +"Why--y!" said Harcourt in surprise. "Isn't that queer! I've seen that +man--in Washington." + +"Who is he?" asked Mrs. Pennybacker, abruptly. + +"His name is Smeltzer. He is on the detective force there, or he was +when I knew him." + +"Does he know you?" + +"I doubt if he would remember me. Still, you can't tell. It is a part of +a detective's stock in trade to remember faces.... Why, he did some work +for a friend of mine once, and I used to see him sometimes." + +Margaret De Jarnette leaned over the piazza rail and spoke quietly to +the child playing below. + +"Dearest! Come to mama now." + +"Not yet, mama!" pleaded the child. + +"Yes--now!" + +She had been gone but a few minutes when Mrs. Pennybacker followed her +to her room. She found the door locked and the young woman in the act of +packing a suit case. + +"What are you doing, Margaret?" + +"I am going away from this place to-night," the girl exclaimed +excitedly, "somewhere--I don't know where." + +"You think this man is here after you?" + +"I feel sure of it." + +"Would he know you?" + +"I can't tell. You know the case was tried in Washington, and the +court-house is just across the street from the Detective Bureau. He may +have been in the court-room. And, as Mr. Harcourt says, without doubt +they acquire the habit of noticing faces.... No, I won't take any +chances. There is too much at stake. I am going to get aboard the first +boat that comes and go anywhere it takes me. I think I shall take the +ferry for Mackinaw City; but I may go back to St. Ignace if that boat is +in first." + +"The Mackinaw ferry will be in first," said Mrs. Pennybacker. "It will +be here inside of a half hour." Then, after a moment's thought, +"Margaret, why don't we all go down to We-que-ton-sing with you now?... +Why, yes, we can get ready if you can. There is nothing to do but to +pack our grips. We needn't give up our rooms. We'll tell Mr. Harcourt +that it's a sudden inspiration. He can join us or not as he likes. I'll +speak to them at once." + +When she did so, Mr. Harcourt remonstrated vigorously, having in mind +the inland trip, but without avail. There was evidently something in the +wind that he did not understand, and when Mrs. Pennybacker told him +plainly that they would have to go whether he found it convenient to +accompany them or not, he gave in. + +A half hour later found them all ensconced on the deck of the ferry, +Margaret with her black veil drawn down over her face. She sat where she +could watch the gangway, and she saw every passenger that got on. She +did not feel easy till the plank was in. But the man was not there, she +was very sure of that, and she drew a long breath as the boat pushed +off. + +John Harcourt saw nothing but tragedy in the wreck of his plans. + +"To think of that beautiful inland trip going to the bow-wows like +this!" he grumbled to Bess as they sat together in the hot, dusty car +enroute for We-que-ton-sing. "I don't pretend to understand why we did +it. I don't believe they know themselves." + +"You didn't have to come," said Bess. + +"Oh, well!" + + + + + CHAPTER XVII + WE-QUE-TON-SING + + +In the somewhat frayed and ragged end of the mitten to which the State +of Michigan has been likened is a modest bay indenting the left-hand +edge, called Little Traverse, to distinguish it from another further +down, where a greater rent has been raveled out. + +Into this bay a long slim finger of land is thrust out from the northern +shore, enclosing in its crook a harbor so safe and possible in all seas +that from the earliest navigation of these waters it has been a port. +The port, known in the days of New France by the more euphonious name of +l'Arbor Croche, is now called prosaically Harbor Springs, but the bay, +by the most fortunate reversion to an earlier occupation, is +We-que-ton-sing--signifying in the Indian tongue from which it is +derived, "A little one within the larger bay." + +On this inner bay has grown up, among the white birches, a very +beautiful little summer resort, and it was here that Margaret De +Jarnette found herself after her flight from the Island. She had had a +calm night and had waked with a song of deliverance on her lips. Here, +surely, in this peaceful spot was nothing which could molest or make +afraid. + +Rising early, she had dressed herself and Philip and together they had +slipped past Mrs. Pennybacker's door and on out upon the hotel piazza. +The only sound of life was the clatter in the kitchen and dining-room. +But her soul was so full of relief that she had found it impossible to +sleep. As she looked out over the bay, sparkling in the morning sun, her +joy bubbled over, and the words of an old anthem rose to her lips. She +sang it softly but triumphantly as she and Philip went out upon the +pier. + + "My soul is escaped, + Like a bird, like a bird, + From the snare of the fowlers, + My soul is escaped! + My soul is escaped! My soul is escaped! + My soul--is--escaped!" + +There was a jubilant ascending scale at the last. + +"Good morning!" came a voice from behind her. "Your body came perilously +near escaping too. I am out of breath trying to catch up with you. I was +glad there was water beyond, so that something could stop you!" + +It was John Harcourt, every trace of last night's bad humor gone. + +"Oh, good morning! Isn't this superb? I don't often sing, but this air +is like wine. I think it went to my head. But then I didn't expect to +have an audience this time of the morning." + +"Where are the others?" + +"Not up yet. They are losing the cream of the day, aren't they?" Then +turning toward the water, "What place is that across the bay? It looks +like quite a city." + +"Petoskey. Named for an old Ottawa chief of this locality, I believe. +And that place over at our right is Harbor Point." + +"I noticed it last night. The lights from both places add immeasurably +to the beauty of the night scene, especially the one from the +lighthouse. It throws a shaft of glowing red across the water. Did you +notice it? I thought I never saw anything so lovely as this bay was by +moonlight." + +"It is beautiful in all its phases. I have heard it likened to the Bay +of Naples. Come and take a morning walk with me. What do you say? It +will give you an appetite for the broiled whitefish you will have for +breakfast." + +"Can I go without my hat?" + +"Certainly. Nobody wears hats now but old ladies and men." + +She caught the spirit of the hour. "Come, dearest, let's see if we can't +outwalk him." Philip ran up ahead in great glee. + +"If you get tired, young lady, I'll carry you," Harcourt called after +him. + +"I can carry my own se'f," was the proud answer. + +"That will fix her," said Harcourt. "I never saw a youngster so afraid +of being helped." + +They walked back to the broad walk running along the bay front and +turned east. The walk was some distance back from the water here and lay +between clumps of white birches left to their natural irregularity, but +growing so thick that they formed a shadowy aisle for them to walk +through. + +"Now, I will be showman. This house," pointing to a square-built yellow +frame house with verandas on three sides, "they say is one of the oldest +on the grounds--one of the pioneers, in fact--but it doesn't look it." + +"It certainly has an air of solid comfort, and its owner must have had +first choice of sites. See those birches there at the east--" + +She broke off to say excitedly, "Oh, Philip, look! Did you see that dear +little squirrel? there, running up the tree." + +"'Philip'!" John Harcourt said to himself. "Well, that's queer!" He did +not refer to it when they started on, and she was plainly unaware that +she had used the name, but he laid it away in his memory for future +reference. Philip!... Bess had said-- + +In gayest mood they wandered on down the bay until they came to Roaring +Brook. Here, taking Philip's hand, Harcourt led the way under +low-hanging boughs to a foot-path which took them straight into Nature's +solitudes. A board walk (which seemed almost an impertinence in its +newness--a parvenue except for its considerateness in walking around +instead of over the gentry of the forest) followed the windings of a +stream dark and shadowy. In its shallows swam schools of minnows which +they watched from the rustic bridges, and flecks of sunlight fell upon +it in patches here and there. + +They were in a tanglewood of tall timber--mammoth cedars that looked +centuries old, and lofty elms and maples and hemlocks lifting their +heads defiantly. But it was a pitiful defiance after all, for on every +side lay fallen giants that had succumbed as they must one day succumb +to a force stronger than themselves, and their stricken forms, their +outstretched arms told of the vanquishment. Not even the mosses and the +friendly vines clambering from limb to limb could hide their shame. + +"Oh, this is nature's tragedy!" cried Margaret. He had observed in her a +habit of endowing inanimate objects with life, and suffering or +rejoicing with them. "They had to give up! They simply had to give up to +a power that was mightier than they!" + +"If they had only bent," he said, "they might have been standing yet." + +"How can an oak bend?" she cried. "Even a tree must live according to +its nature, and then--when the storm overpowers it--go down. So must we +all." + +He stood idly throwing pieces of bark into the black depths of the +stream and watching them float off. He was thinking. "What an intense +creature she is!" + +When next she spoke it was to repeat the opening lines of Bryant's +"Forest Hymn,"--her hands clasped on her heaving breast and her head +thrown back. It would not have surprised him much if she had dropped to +her knees and begun crossing herself, or have prostrated herself upon +the walk, her forehead in the dust. + +"It is not altogether flattering to my vanity," he mused, "but I'll bet +a nickel she has forgotten that I am in the world. She is up in the +clouds to-day for some reason. And yet--I could bring her down with a +word--one little word." A boyish impulse came over him to try it. He +called softly to the child who had run on up the walk, + +"Philip!" + +And yet more softly, + +"Philip!" + +She turned toward him with a look of such abject terror that he repented +the experiment. The color had simply dropped from her face, leaving it +white and rigid. + +"Why do you call him--why do you use that name?" she asked with dry +lips. + +"I heard you say it." + +"I?" she said incredulously, "when?" + +"Not a half hour ago. It sounded to me as if you dropped into it from +habit." + +She laughed uneasily, but her color was coming back. "Her name is +Philippa. You probably heard me say that and thought I said Philip. +She--she doesn't often get her real name." + +He was looking at her with a quizzical smile. He knew from Bess--or +thought he did--that the child's name was Margaret. + +"You don't lie as if you were used to it," he said coolly. "Try it +again." + +"How dare you talk to me like that?" she cried. "And by what right do +you question me?" + +"I haven't questioned you. What you have told has been told voluntarily. +I hardly think you would stick to it if I _should_ question you, but I +have no intention of doing it." Then he came nearer to her and spoke +very seriously. + +"Mrs. Osborne, I beg your pardon for speaking as I did. My foolish habit +of flippancy has misled me into doing a thing I had no right to do, or +rather into speaking in a manner that I had no right to use toward you. +I really think that my friendship for you, which you have not forbidden, +at any rate, does give me the right to put you on your guard. I have not +the remotest idea of the reason for the deception that you are +practising, but surely it is a dangerous thing to keep it up." + +His kindly tone and the manliness of his apology completely disarmed +her. + +"Oh," she said, clasping her hands in distress, "it is because there is +so much at stake that I must keep it up. I am driven to it." + +They were walking along the woodsy path now, but neither was noticing +tree or fern or stream. After all, it is the human interest that +overpowers every other. + +"I do not wish to force your confidence, but--if I could help you--" + +She shook her head. "You cannot help me. There is only one person in all +the world that could help me, and he--" + +She broke off abruptly, saying later, "Mr. Harcourt, I--I cannot +explain, but will you not trust me that it is all right?" + +"You have not set me a good example in trust," he said, looking down +into her troubled eyes, "but certainly there has been nothing to shake +my confidence in you--except in your judgment. If the time ever comes +that I can help you, you know where to find me." + +She put out her hand and he held it for a moment in his. Then looking at +his watch he said, "I think it is time we are getting back." He whistled +to Philip who was still proudly walking ahead, and when he came back +took him by the hand and relieved the situation by devoting himself +entirely to the child, showing him all manner of wonderful things that +the woods contained. + +He did not speak to Margaret again until they were in the bay path, and +then it was only to call her attention to the different kinds of +evergreens growing along the road, and to show her how to identify them. + +Over the broiled whitefish at breakfast they discussed their walk and +plans for the day. Harcourt was his old irrepressible self, and +Margaret's equilibrium was restored though he noticed that her buoyancy +of the early morning was gone. He could not help wondering many times +through the day what the trouble was that so darkened her life, and who +the one person was who could help her. + +Toward the middle of the afternoon, two days later, they all sat on the +piazza talking intermittently. It seemed very pleasant to sit idly +watching the changing lights on the water, and listening to the sound of +the wind blowing where it listed. Around them was the faint hum of the +insect world that somehow tells us summer is nearly gone. One by one +they had declined the bay trip that Mr. Harcourt had proposed. He turned +his attention then to an acorn basket he was carving for Philip, looking +up after a while to remark, "By the way, I ran across that man Smeltzer +up at the station a little while ago. Strange that he should come to a +place like this for his vacation, isn't it? You'd think now--" + +"Did you talk with him?" interrupted Mrs. Pennybacker, looking startled. + +"Yes. I had some curiosity to see if he would remember me.... Oh, yes, +perfectly." + +"Is he registered here?" + +It occurred to Harcourt that Mrs. Pennybacker was taking an unusual +interest in Smeltzer. + +"Must be, I guess. This is the only hotel on the grounds. He says he has +left Washington. I rather guess from something he said that he is with +the Pinkertons." + +Margaret had risen hastily and gone to the end of the porch. + +"Who are the Pinkertons?" asked Bess. + + + + + CHAPTER XVIII + THE TRAIL OF THE SERPENT + + +"Where is Philip?" + +Margaret put the question in a low, tense voice to Mrs. Pennybacker who +had followed her. + +"He was down there at the spring just a moment ago." + +He was not there now, and Margaret went quickly down the steps and +looked up and down the avenue in front of the hotel and down to the +pier. He was nowhere in sight. She turned into the walk leading west, +motioning Mrs. Pennybacker to take the other direction. + +"Well, my audience seems to have melted away. What's the occasion, I +wonder. I have almost lost the thread of my discourse." + +"You were talking about the Pinkertons," said Bess, who was herself +consumed with anxiety, but kept up her end of the log bravely. "I think +they are looking for Philip." It had been a relief to them all to drop +his aliases. "Suppose we walk up towards the station. Perhaps he is +there." + +Mr. Harcourt's little piece of news had thrown Margaret into the +greatest alarm. What but a purpose, and that a menacing one, would bring +a detective from Washington to We-que-ton-sing? She had no faith in +Smeltzer's change of residence. She was wondering as she hurried on +whether she would know him if she should come upon him. There was +nothing she could recall about his appearance except that he wore a gray +suit and had a big mustache--black, she thought.... Where was Philip? +What if this man should have spirited him away already? + +Her fears proved groundless, however, for as she peered anxiously up the +first grass-grown avenue on which foot of beast was not allowed to step, +there just beyond where the spring--set round with ferns--bubbles from +its cement confines, she saw him standing in front of a tiny bungalow. +It was a modest, unpretentious place, but she had noticed it before, for +such a luxuriance of plant life enveloped it that it stood out with a +distinction all its own, even in this place of beautiful homes. + +A curtain of climbing nasturtiums veiled the south end of the piazza, a +riotous growth of scarlet geraniums and foliage plants and trailing +green things made a hanging garden round the porch, and the delicate +Alleghany vine twined itself about a hardier colleague and ran races +with it up the posts and round the eaves, and then--grown tired--dropped +down again in graceful sprays that responded to every wooing breeze. + +"Those flowers grow in an atmosphere of love," Mrs. Pennybacker had said +the day before in passing by, "and if I am not mistaken their roots are +planted in the soil of patient care and intelligent plant knowledge." + +By the side of this porch garden stood a little lady in a red shawl +which glowed among her greens and matched her geraniums, and at her +side, his hands full of flowers, was Philip. + +"Why, dearest!" cried Margaret across the lawn. Then in apology to the +lady, "I hope my little one has not troubled you." + +"Not in the least. She stood and looked so longingly at the flowers that +I called her in. Even then she only said, 'Do you think you could spare +me just one?'" + +Margaret laughed. "That was modest, certainly, but a little suggestive. +The child is really unusually fond of flowers." + +"I thought so. I can always tell when the true love is there. I often +hear grown people say, 'I am fond of flowers, but I don't know much +about them.' I say to myself, 'You haven't the true love or you would +know.'" Then looking down at the child, "I am always glad to share with +those who have it, especially little girls that ask so nicely for them. +It is when they come and pick them without asking that I don't like it. +You wouldn't do that, would you, little girl?" + +Philip shook his head and looked pleadingly at his mother. The look +being interpreted said, "This seems to be a very pleasant lady. Couldn't +I just tell her?" + +Her eyes denied him. + +"You have a beautiful location here. And I think it must be your own +home." + +"It is. I come early and stay late." + +"We-que-ton-sing is a lovely spot. These glimpses of the water are +charming." + +As they looked down toward the bay, her grasp on Philip's hand +tightened. He looked up at her in wonderment and tried to draw away, but +she held him as in a vise. At the entrance to the avenue, just turning +into it was a man with a big mustache and a gray suit. She was sure it +was the one she had seen at the Island House. He was headed toward her. + +"Come, dearest! We must go. No, not that way." And with a hasty word to +their surprised acquaintance of the bungalow, she hurried him down the +walk leading to the railroad tracks, stopping to cast a glance behind +her as she turned east. The man was sauntering up the walk, just as +everybody did when they first came here--there was really nothing to +alarm her--it was foolish of her to suppose that he was after them--but +still, the corner turned she made Philip run to keep up with her in her +haste. At the corner where the post office stands she turned down toward +the hotel, but the boy seeing a squirrel across the street escaped from +her grasp and ran after it. Calling him sharply Margaret followed. A +glance back showed through the trees a glimpse of the gray suit and she +hurried on. + +As she caught up with Philip she found herself in front of a pretty +cottage close to the walk with hanging baskets and rustic boxes filled +with ferns around its many porches. A sweet-faced woman was sitting at a +table writing. She looked up at the child with a smile, such a kind, +gracious smile, that for a moment Margaret contemplated throwing herself +on her mercy and begging shelter. But just then others came out upon the +porch and the opportunity was past. + +They had come now to the back of the yellow, square-built house that Mr. +Harcourt had pointed out to her as a pioneer. She had noticed it often +since. Philip, again catching sight of the squirrel in the clump of +birches with the hemlock growing sociably in their midst, dashed after +it, and Margaret after him. As she turned into the yard under the +spreading beech trees and dodged behind them, a backward look showed her +the man in the gray suit standing on the post office corner, looking as +if he had lost a clue. + +A tall lattice divided the back of this place from the front. In an +instant Margaret had caught up Philip and dashed to the other side of +it. She was leaning weakly against it and Philip saying, "Why, mama! +what's the matter?" when a door opened in front of her and a tall lady +in black appeared. + +"Well?" she said in surprised interrogative which was not in the least +aggressive. It was as if she only meant to understand before she passed +judgment. + +"I beg your pardon, madam, but my little b--my little girl ran into your +yard after a squirrel and I came to get her. I--I feel very faint. Would +you mind my sitting down?" + +"Certainly not. Come in." She opened the door through which she had come +out and Margaret, who had supposed the door led into the house, found +herself on a long, broad porch at the side of the house and looking out +upon the bay in front. There were curtains on the east side, and it was +a homelike place with rugs and rocking chairs and tables and books. But +to Margaret's excited imagination it was but a place where one could be +spied out and trapped. + +"You will find it more pleasant here nearer the front," the lady said, +but the girl drew a chair into the furthest corner, saying something +about the wind, and sat down with Philip held tightly in her arms. Then +desperate with the fear that any moment might bring her enemy upon her, +she asked in a choking voice, + +"Is--is there a place that I could lie down?" + +"Why, certainly, come right in and lie down on my sofa." + +Inside the room which had a glazed door and a broad window looking out +over the water, Margaret hesitated and then, instead of lying down on +the old-fashioned mahogany sofa, drew close to her rescuer. + +"I am not ill," she said, seizing the soft hand of the elder woman and +speaking quickly, "it was only an excuse to get inside. But I am in deep +trouble. Will you not help me?" + +"How can I help you, my child? What is your trouble?" + +"A man is following me--is trying to get my child. I don't know whether +he saw me come in here or not, but if he comes--oh, do not let him get +us!" + +"He shall not see you if you do not wish to be seen." + +"But if he should force himself in?" + +"He will not try that, I think." Then, with gentle, courteous +directness, "Is this man your husband? Has he any right to the child?" + +"Oh, no--no. My husband--" She hesitated, took one more look into the +strong, forceful face before her, and trusted it. "My husband is dead. I +haven't time to explain, but his brother is trying to get my child. Oh! +there's that man now!" + +For a step was heard on the west porch and coming around to the glazed +door. + +"Go into that bedroom," said the lady quickly, pointing to an open door. +"And don't be afraid." + +It proved to be a boy distributing notices. As the lady went outside to +pick the paper up she looked around casually. The ferry-boat was nearly +in and several persons were hurrying down the pier to meet it. A man in +a gray suit was standing on the sidewalk but a few feet from her west +porch, looking as if he were undecided about something. As she turned to +go in he raised his hat and spoke. + +"I beg your pardon, madam, but I am looking for a lady and a little boy, +friends of mine that I have got separated from. Perhaps you have--" + +"I saw a lady and a little child pass here a few minutes ago," she said +quietly. "Are they the ones down there on the pier? I don't see very +well." + +He looked in the direction indicated. A woman about Margaret's build +with a child was hurrying toward the boat. With hasty thanks he started +after them. + +When Margaret, trembling, came out from the inner room the lady had +taken a glass that she always kept on her window ledge and turned it on +the man hurrying to the dock. + +"What sort of looking man was this?" There was something about her quiet +manner with its reserve force that quieted the frightened girl. + +"He had a black mustache--a very long one--and wore a gray suit. I can't +remember anything else." + +"This is the one, I am sure. Well,--he asked me for information and I +gave it to him. I should not have volunteered it ... Still, I am not +sure but it was a falsehood, though it was the truth. I really suppose a +thing can sometimes be both, don't you?... Here, your eyes are younger +than mine--take the glass. Can you see him?" + +"Yes," cried Margaret, excitedly. "The boat has stopped and he is +running to make it. Oh, he won't get there! They are taking in the +plank!... No, they are waiting for him. He has got on! The boat is +pushing off and there isn't a soul left on the dock!" + +"Then you are safe for a while at least. It will take him the best part +of an hour to get back. What are you going to do now?" + +"I must leave this place--at once!" cried Margaret. "Can you tell me +about the trains?" + +"Yes. They go to Petoskey every half hour. But this is a dummy line and +ends at Petoskey. Shall you risk staying there? The place is very +accessible from We-que-ton-sing." + +"No, I shouldn't dare to do that. We will go back to Mackinac as soon as +we can get a train out of Petoskey." + +"I should lose no time. You could hardly be ready for the next train, +which comes in fifteen minutes, but if you make the one following it +will connect you with the G. R. and I. for Mackinac." + +"Oh, thank you so much. It is such a help to know this." + +At parting, Margaret pressed her lips to the elder woman's soft cheek. +"You have been so good to me! I knew I could trust you!" + +On the porch Philip turned back. A chipmunk had just run up the steps +and stood looking at them. "Are the squirrels your children?" he asked +politely. + +"My children?" She was not used to the fanciful vagaries of a child's +brain. "No, my dear, I haven't any children." + +"Oh!" said Philip, disappointed. "The other lady said the flowers were +_her_ children, and I thought maybe the squirrels were yours ... +Goodby!" + +When Margaret got to the hotel Mrs. Pennybacker was partly packed. She +had foreseen what the next move would be. John Harcourt swore softly. + +"She is the most capricious woman I ever saw!" he declared to Bess on +the dummy. "Now we're cheated out of that inland trip again!" + +"Suppose you stay over and take the inland trip alone," she suggested. +"Then you could make sure of it. We haven't any baggage that needs +attending to." + +"I suppose I am needed only in the capacity of baggage tender," he +reproached her. + +At Petoskey, after putting them on the train, he stepped outside and +delayed his coming back until Bess began to wonder if he had taken her +at her word. But he swung himself on as the train started. + +"I've just seen Smeltzer out on the platform. Funny how I run across +that fellow! He's on his way to Chicago. Says We-que-ton-sing is too +slow for him. Had to go to Harbor Springs to get a drink." + +Margaret, in her safe corner, with Philip close beside her and the train +speeding away from Smeltzer, was thinking, "I wonder if that could all +have been imagination. Perhaps he wasn't the man at all!" + + + + + CHAPTER XIX + THE DEVIL AND THE DEEP BLUE SEA + + +The morning after they got back to Mackinac Margaret invited Mr. +Harcourt to take a walk with her, and for almost the first time since he +had known her she left Philip behind. Bess looked at them a little +wonderingly when they went out, and still more so when they returned, +for Margaret's face showed traces of tears and John Harcourt was +unusually serious. + +She had led the way to the fort steps and on the top landing where so +many confidences have been shared, she told him her story. She had +agreed with Mrs. Pennybacker the night before that the time had come now +when he should be told. It seemed almost his right. She had told it very +simply, not striving after effect; but the pathos of that story was in +the situation, not in any words that might be used to depict it. +Harcourt was strongly moved by what he heard. + +As they neared the hotel on their return she said to him, "I am known +here only as Mrs. Osborne. Perhaps you'd better continue to call me so." + +"Let me call you Margaret," he begged. "I cannot bear to call you by a +false name and I do not dare to use your true one." And she consented, +for she felt that her confidence, far more than anything that he could +call her, had set the seal upon their friendship. + +After this he fell into the habit of looking out for her, of going to +the boats when they came in and haunting the hotels. True, Smeltzer had +told him he was on his way to Chicago, but he had not implicit +confidence in that gentleman's word. But though he kept up a close +surreptitious watch, no Smeltzer appeared. + +It was perhaps a week after this that the party with the exception of +Mrs. Pennybacker started off for a two days' trip up to the "Soo," as +the interesting little town of Sault Sainte Marie, with its rapids and +its great ship canal, is called. + +They went off in high spirits, and a little later Mrs. Pennybacker saw +their handkerchiefs waving to her from the little steamer, _John A. +Paxton_. Indeed, Margaret had seemed like another person after learning +that Smeltzer was on his way to Chicago. That proved to her that he was +not looking for her, or that he had given up the search in this part of +the country at any rate. There was probably no safer place for them +anywhere now than right here. + +The boat was almost ready to start when they reached it, and they lost +no time in securing good places on the landward side of the stern where +they could see all that was to be seen of the receding island. This took +them away from the dock side, to Philip's great distress, and Margaret +said at last, + +"Go over to that side where you can watch them if you want to." Philip +joyfully obeyed, and from the deck looked down with a child's interest +on the moving life below. This was immensely more interesting to him +than any view of land or sea could be. + +He was not alone in the feeling. A man below who was evidently not a +dock hand stood idly scanning the people on deck. A little child with +long curls and a girl's hat and dress leaned over the railing. The man +had formed the habit of noticing children, a very pleasant habit in any +one, but somewhat unusual in a man of his type. + +"Hello, little girl," he called up. + +Philip ignored the friendly greeting. The situation was very cruel. It +was bad enough to have to wear these detestable girl's clothes, but to +be taunted with femininity by a person he had never in his life seen +before--this was rather too much. His mother had cautioned him never to +speak to strangers and never upon any account to disclose the secret of +his sex--but his mother was now at the other side of the boat and he +felt sure he was leaving this man for good. The _John A. Paxton_ was +even now drawing in her cable. He looked around him, dropped his voice +to a safe pitch, and announced defiantly as the boat pulled off, + +"I isn't any girl! I'm a boy!" + +"The--devil you are!" the man said, whistling softly, and swung himself +over the low rail. + +The marine view with Mackinac receding in the west is not so beautiful +as the approach from the other side, but it was attractive enough to +enlist the close attention of our party as long as there was a green +shore in sight. + +"Upon my word," said Harcourt at last, looking off to the north, "there +is the light-house that tells us we will soon be at our first +stopping-place. I'll go down and see what the chances are for dinner." + +He came back in a few moments and drew his chair close to Margaret. + +"I don't want to alarm you unnecessarily, but I am afraid there is +trouble ahead of us. I have just seen that fellow Smeltzer again.... +Yes, down on the lower deck." + +Margaret called Philip to her and caught him up with a despairing +gesture. "Do you really suppose he is after us?" she asked with dry +lips. + +"I am afraid he is. I shouldn't have said anything about it if it hadn't +been for a word I overheard him say to the captain about his being an +officer and authorized to take 'them' into custody when he reached the +'Soo'." + +"But what can I do?" asked Margaret. "There is no possible chance now to +get away." + +"I think," said Harcourt, after a moment's thought, "that I would take a +stateroom and keep Philip out of sight until I can have a talk with the +man. I will try to make an opportunity without exciting his suspicions. +If I find out definitely that it is you he was talking about I think +perhaps it might be well for you to invoke the captain's +assistance,--and don't lose heart; we have the day before us in which to +concoct some scheme to outwit him." + +"But on the water--" Margaret said despairingly. + +She went at once to see the stewardess about a room, Philip--frightened +and mystified at her still face--clinging to her, and Bess following, +not much less alarmed. + +The stewardess was a buxom Irish girl, and if ever a face indicated a +good heart it was Norah Brannigan's. Looking into it and realizing her +sore need of a friend, Margaret called her into the room after she had +sent Bess back to Mr. Harcourt, took the woman's freckled hand, and +poured out her sorrows and her fears.... And would she not help her? + +In her desperate need she had thrown herself upon an utter stranger, but +she had not read amiss the honest face. + +"'Will I help you?' Sure, mem, and it is Norah Brannigan will do that +same! I wud do it for the swate eyes of ye, darlint, to say nothin' o' +divilin' that black-hearted vilyan--come aboard a dacent boat for the +purpose o' stalin' your b'y, bad luck to him! And what is it ye was +wantin' me to do, mem?" + +"I want you to hide us," said Margaret hurriedly, brought face to face +with the emergency by Norah's question,--"hide us anywhere you can about +the boat--down in the hold, if you haven't any other place." She said it +with a vague remembrance of the stowaways crossing the ocean thus. "And +then tell him that we are not here--that we have fallen +overboard--anything--to throw him off the track." Then, with sudden +fear, "Would you mind telling what was not true to save my boy?" + +"Divil a bit wud I moind!" said Norah, with a snap of her brown eyes. +"Sure, mem, it wud rej'ice the heart of Norah Brannigan to lie to a +vilyan loike that--bad luck to him!--st'alin' women's childer that they +have borne--Ah-h! they're a bad lot, mem, is men--a bad lot!--barrin' +Michael Callaghan, who is as foine a b'y as ye wud wush to see. There's +few loike him--more's the pity! But whisht now, who is this divil you're +a-fearin' and what is he loike?" + +Margaret described the man as far as she was able. + +"I seen him!" cried Norah Brannigan. "I seen him shtandin' on the dock +a-talkin' to this blissed child jist as we was castin' off--after the +plank was in--and then he took a handspring, he did, over the rail." + +"Philip!" + +"Mama!... mama!... I didn't say anything--only--only--" It ended in a +burst of weeping. + +"Only what, Philip?" She was wild with anxiety. "Tell mama what you +said." + +"Only that--that--mama!... I thes told him--I--wasn't--any--girl-l!" + +"Oh, Philip! Philip!" + +While mother and son were thus reckoning their accounts Norah Brannigan +had on her thinking cap, and this article on the head of an Irish girl +often covers quick wits. + +"You are dead sure, mem, that this man will get the child once we reach +the 'Soo'?" + +"Oh, yes, yes! I am perfectly certain of it now." + +"Well," said Norah Brannigan, with an encouraging wink of her left eye, +"what's the matter wid givin' him the shlip?" + +"How can I--away off here in the Lake?" Margaret asked despairingly. + +"We are not in the Lake now, mem, nor in the Straits of Mackinac, +nayther. We are at this moment enterin' St. Mary's River, mem, and sure +it is a good omen that it is named for a mother that had to run off wid +her own child. Pray to her, mem! pray to her!" Then, her religious sense +appeased, she went on with shrewd acumen, "And wud ye take a chance, +now?" + +"I would do anything! anything!" + +"And cud the gur-l or b'y, whichever it is by that time--" she was +looking down sternly at Philip, winking one eye at Margaret +meantime--"cud he be depinded on, mem? because," added Norah Brannigan, +cruelly, "ef he should turn baby now, and git skeered--and cry--or +blab--" she spoke slowly, that he might take it all in, and Philip was +regarding her with the closest attention--"why, he wud upset our whole +kittle o' fish, mem." + +Philip turned to his mother with the most earnest protestation. + +"Mama, I _won't_! I won't cwy--or--or b-blag--or upset any fish!" + +"I think," said Margaret, taking the little tear-stained face between +her palms and looking searchingly into his eyes, "I think--I +believe--that he can be depended on. Now, what is your plan?" + +The stewardess took her to the stateroom window and pointed over to the +mainland at the left. + +"Ye see them houses, and the shmoke--there just beyant the light-house +on the point?" + +"Yes, yes." + +"That, mem, is Detour, our first shtop. Within the hour we'll be there, +and--" + +"Well?" + +"--and there," said Norah Brannigan, with a nod and a significant +closing of her left optic, "is where we give him the shlip." + +"Oh, we can't! we can't!" cried Margaret, in despair. "Don't you know +that he will be on the watch for everybody that leaves the boat? If +there was only somebody there to help us!" Margaret groaned. "But +alone--" + +"Sure, mem, and there is." + +"Who?" + +"Michael Callaghan." + +"And who is Michael Callaghan?" + +"A dock hand at Detour,--and as foine a b'y as ye cud wush to see." Then +with a very conscious look on her honest face, "And what Michael +Callaghan wuddent do for Norah Brannigan--why, mem, it can't be done! +Now, set down here on the berth, darlint, and let me tell ye me plan." + + * * * * * + +As the _Paxton_ made the landing at Detour Bess and John Harcourt stood +on deck just above the gangway and watched the scene with interest, +though it must be confessed that Bess had many disturbing qualms of +conscience at enjoying anything while Margaret, shut up in her +stateroom, was in such straits. She felt that she ought to go and share +her isolation, but Mr. Harcourt had pointed out that if Smeltzer +happened to be sauntering around it would be better for it to appear +that they were not on their guard. He convinced her that there would be +ample time for conference and sympathy after they left Detour, and she +might as well see what was to be seen there. There is something very +fascinating about watching a boat's unloading at a country landing, and +in the end she yielded and stayed, compounding with her conscience by a +vow to go the minute the boat started again. + +Detour is on the west side of St. Mary's River and has an unusually +broad dock with a warehouse at the right, and another much farther back +on the left. This makes a broad frontage which was unbroken that day by +even a goods-box or a barrel. If Norah Brannigan was hoping to hide her +proteges behind a chance pile of lumber or the usual impedimenta of a +dock, there seemed scant hope for her here. Detour had all the time +there was, and used it in taking care of her freight. The road trailed +off up the hill where was "the store," a blacksmith's shop, and a +somewhat pretentious hotel. On the dock lounged half a dozen men who +enlivened the time of waiting by sparring with one another. + +A coil of rope was thrown out to one of them who caught it with a +dextrous hand. In a moment the great cable was over the post and the +_John A. Paxton_ crunching against the timbers of the dock. Then the +gangway was shoved out and the passengers were going off. + +"How many do you say will get off?" said Harcourt. "Quick!" + +"Oh,--twenty." + +"Twenty! I'll say four--caramels against a cigar." + +"All right!" + +One man followed by a dog had already stepped ashore. A country woman, +in a blue calico with a dejected looking back and a sunbonnet, followed, +and then a half-grown boy. That was all. The dock hands brought out a +couple of plows, a crated sewing machine, and a white iron bedstead with +brass knobs. Then they went aboard and reappeared in a minute with a +line of wheelbarrows loaded with soap boxes, nail kegs, etc. Detour +evidently bought by the small quantity. + +"Are the passengers all gone?" asked Bess, incredulously. "Surely that +isn't all." + +"That's all. I've won as usual." + +"You didn't win! You said four and there were only three." + +"Four!" + +"Three. Just three." + +"Three? You can't count. There were four passengers--two men, one woman, +and a dog. There! fifty cents, please!" + +The last wheelbarrow, trundled by a sturdy Irish lad, had in it a +clothes-basket with a blue-check apron tied neatly over it. + +"Look out there, Moike!" cried the stewardess, springing to the side of +the basket and steadying it across the narrow gangway. "Don't ye drop me +table linen or--ye might git dropped yeself--see?" She said it with a +saucy air and leaned toward him threatening a friendly cuff which he +dodged while the man in front looked back and laughed good humoredly. +"Give it to him!" he said. + +"She just wants to flirt with him," said Harcourt. "That's the way you +all make fools of us. Well, I don't suppose they have much to enliven +their days." + +As he said, it was not much time that Norah had with her sweetheart that +day, but it was enough. As the cable was pulled in she called out gayly, +"Put them clothes in the warehouse, Moike, till the wash-lady comes. +She'll be there 'gin two o'clock." + +The woman in the blue calico was toiling up the dusty street. She had +not waited to see the unloading. + +As the boat headed up-stream Bess started up. + +"I _must_ go and see about Margaret. I feel too mean for anything!" + +"Wait just a minute and see these islands. Aren't they pretty?" + +They were indeed, and of assorted sizes,--some, tiny disks of +green--some, larger, with low grassy banks extending out from the copse +like a green fringe--and beyond, the wooded shores of St. Joseph which +looked as if it might be the mainland. But Bess would not stay to see. + +She was not gone long. When she came back she looked cautiously around +and went close up to him. + +"Margaret is gone!" + + + + + CHAPTER XX + SELF-CHAPERONED + + +"Gone! Gone where?" + +"Don't talk so loud. She got off at Detour, and is going back to +Mackinac on the down boat this afternoon." + +"Why, how could she have got off at Detour?" he asked incredulously. "We +saw every living soul that left the boat. There was only one woman." + +"And that one was Margaret--the one in the blue calico." + +"Well, I'll be--jiggered!" he said, most inelegantly. "We are two babes +in the woods, aren't we? I hope Smeltzer will be as dead easy. And, by +Jove! I think he was for I saw him standing right by that gangway as she +went off!" + +"_Don't_ talk so loud!" + +They went then up into the bow beyond the chance of being overheard, and +he asked breathlessly, "Where is Philip? and why did she leave him?" + +"Leave him? Why, she wouldn't leave Philip any more than she would leave +an arm. He went with her." + +"Do you mean to tell me," he said severely, "that Philip too walked off +before our very eyes and we didn't know it? I suppose he went as the +dog?" + +"Do you remember what was in that last wheelbarrow?" + +"No. Wait! let me think. Was that the one with the clothes-basket in it +that the stewardess helped the man off with? She said it was her table +linen." + +"Well, for a man that can guess at the number of passengers and their +destination as you can--making your cigars off of innocent, trusting, +unsophisticated damsels, you certainly are at times most astonishingly +dull." + +"Do you mean to say that Philip was--" + +"Why, of course, tied down snugly under the blue check apron." + +"Well, by George, he was game! And that stewardess! I hope she will get +her reward in heaven." + +"She's getting a part of it on earth. When Margaret found that the woman +wouldn't take money for her help she took off her watch and gave it to +her, telling her that she must wear it because it was hers, and Miss +Brannigan is now shut up in a stateroom, pinning and unpinning in a most +ecstatic state of mind, and saying, probably as she was when I left her, +'And sure, mem, what will Michael Callahan think of me now wid me gould +watch and pin?'" + +"Did she leave a letter or anything?" + +"Yes, just a note for me. Most of it was taken up with telling me how +sorry she was to leave me in such a position, but how she couldn't help +it--that it was her one chance and she must take it--that Norah would +tell me all the details--and that I would know by the time the letter +reached me whether it had failed. Mercy! if she only gets off with him +she needn't think of me! Anyway, it isn't as if I were left by myself. +Of course grandma will be uneasy about me--she is so afraid of +water--but she will be glad I am with you. I know that because I heard +her tell Margaret one day that she knew you were a man that could be +trusted." + +"_You bet I am!_" thought Harcourt, looking down into the innocent +girlish face. Aloud he said, "What do you think we'd better do?" + +The aspect of the case that troubled Margaret had already appealed to +him. + +"Why, there isn't anything we can do but go on, is there?" + +"Nothing that I can see--unless I put you in another basket and chuck +you off at Sailor's Encampment. That's the only stop between Detour and +the Soo.... Say!" + +"What?" + +"Oh, nothing." It was not worth while to alarm her, but a startling +thought had struck him. Suppose Smeltzer, finding out that she had +escaped him, should get off at Sailor's Encampment, wait for the down +boat, and be on it waiting for her when she took it at Detour.... Then +he felt sure that the quick wit that had thought of a way of escape in +the first place would have thought of that. The stewardess was +acquainted with the time schedule if he was not. Still, the fear haunted +him until they had left Sailor's Encampment behind them, and looking +down he saw Smeltzer below at the gangway. It was funny the way Smeltzer +hugged the gangway when they made a landing. + +After that he gave himself up to a boyish enjoyment of the trip. They +were there without a chaperon, it was true, but it was through no fault +of either one,--and it was all right. The trouble almost always was with +the gossip that such things gave rise to, not in the things themselves, +and here there was nobody to gossip. Still he had it on his mind, and +said to Bess just before getting into Sault Sainte Marie, "You haven't +any acquaintances here that you could spend the night with?" + +"Not a soul." + +"Would you like for me to look you up a quiet boarding house?" + +"Why, no, I think not--just for one night. We start down early in the +morning, don't we?" + +"Yes." + +After a pause during which he did some thinking, he said again: + +"Perhaps I'd better take you to the Iroquois and go down myself to the +house just below. I forget the name." + +"Why, no," she said, surprised. "I'd rather go where you go. I don't +think grandma would want me to be at a hotel alone." + +He gave it up then. + +When they reached the dock Smeltzer was the first man to step ashore. He +took his station beside the gangway. He had watched it from the time +they had left Mackinac and he was not going to be cheated out of his +reward now. There was an exultant look in his eye, it seemed to +Harcourt, as from the upper deck he watched the man. + +"You'd better go on ahead," he said to Bess, "and among the first. I +will catch up with you. No, I don't know that he associates me at all +with your party, and I don't even know that he would recognize you as +belonging to it, but it is just as well to be on the safe side." + +He saw her run the gauntlet unchallenged. Smeltzer was looking for a +woman and a child. He had spent the last few minutes before the boat +stopped in studying a picture he had in his possession. One after +another passed out, but no woman and child. Harcourt could have jumped +up and down with delight to see Smeltzer's look of anticipated triumph +merge slowly into anxiety and then to mystified chagrin. Nothing but a +realization that it might be an awkward position for him prevented his +staying to witness the detective's interview with the captain. That one +was impending was evident from the man's face. The last passenger to +leave the boat was Harcourt. + +"Hello, Smeltzer! You here? You didn't get off to Chicago." + +"No," said Smeltzer curtly, starting back across the gangway. Harcourt +hurried on after Bess. They had walked but a little way when she said, +in great perturbation, "Oh, I've left my umbrella. Can't we go back for +it?" + +They had reached the boat and he was stepping aboard, when he was +arrested by the sound of Smeltzer's voice in altercation with the +captain and the stewardess as they stood at the head of the gangway. + +"Then she's on this boat," they heard him say. + +"Did any woman get off at Detour?" asked the captain. + +"Yis, sor. The wash-lady." + +"Was there any child?" + +"None that I seen." + +"What was in that clothes-basket?" demanded Smeltzer, with sudden +suspicion. + +"Not a thing but me table-linen, sor, and that's the Lord's truth ef I +was to die fur it!" said the woman whose heart it would "rej'ice to lie +to a vilyan like that." + +"Come on," said Harcourt, drawing Bess back, "we'd better get out of +this. You and I can't compete with _her_. We are not in her class! I'll +buy you an umbrella if you need it." + +Of course they stopped at the locks the first thing. Everybody does. It +was while they were standing there that he said in a low voice, "Look +over to the other side. That's Smeltzer, rushing post-haste for the +station--and the train has just gone." + +"Oh, has it?" + +"Yes. And there isn't another till morning. I have just enquired. That +will give her twelve or fifteen hours the start." + +"She can't get off the island to-night, can she?" + +"No, but she won't lose much time in the morning, I'll wager." + +It is a most fascinating occupation--watching the locks at the "Soo." +There is always the temptation to stay for one more performance,--and +they come thick and fast on this famous ship canal. They stayed till the +throes of hunger sent them across the park to the hotel. She stood +beside him as he registered, but when he caught her eye and laughed +afterwards she did not respond very heartily. + +"Being on the water has made me awfully sleepy," she said at the dinner +table. "I think I shall write a letter to grandma and go to bed." + +"You will get there as soon as the letter will." + +"No. If it goes down in the morning it will get there by noon. That will +be some help." + +"It is moonlight," he pleaded. "Let's go over to the locks for an hour +or so." + +"No, I'm sleepy. I'm going to bed." + +It was easy to see that he had in some way offended her. + +He went out alone after she had gone to her room and walked up and down +the sidewalk between the park and the locks. The place was most +beautiful by moonlight, but he was not thinking much about its beauty or +its wonders. His mind was dwelling on the strangeness of their position, +on Bess's sweet childish womanliness, but most of all on Margaret and +what she would do next. How glad he would be if he were only able to +dispel the shadow that had fallen upon her. + +The next morning as they stood beside the locks where they had agreed to +stay until the boat went, Bess asked abruptly, + +"Why did you write our names on the hotel register 'John Harcourt and +sister?' I didn't like that very well, because--it seemed as if I--as if +we--had done something you were ashamed of." Her lips were in a pretty +childish pout. + +He placed his hand on his heart with a gesture of exaggerated sentiment. +"I did that because I wanted to make sure of your bearing my name at +least once in your life. You know you told me the other day you intended +to be an old maid, so this was the only way." + +"Silly!" she said, blushing and looking away. + +When they got back to Mackinac that night Bess found a room bearing +evidence of hasty packing and a letter from her grandmother. + + * * * * * + +"My dear child," it said, "I am going to leave you for a little while. +Margaret needs me now far more than you do, and I cannot be with both. +Of course you got her letter and know what she did and why. When she +came in last night you could have knocked me down with a feather. I +certainly hope the Lord will reward that girl according to her +works--and Smeltzer too. Of course we will have to go away at once. We +shall be starting somewhere within an hour--where I do not know. We will +go where the Lord directs, and stop when he tells us to. As soon as I +know anything further I will let you know it. In the meantime you must +stay just where you are until you hear. Have everything packed and ready +to go at a moment's notice, though I think I shall write instead of +telegraphing. + +"Say good-by to Mr. Harcourt for me and tell him I sincerely hope that +we may meet again some time. Ask him to go over to Mackinaw City with +you when I write for you to come, and see about your trunks. By the way, +we leave ours for you to bring. It would be easier to track us if we had +to check." + + * * * * * + +"Look here," said Harcourt, when he had got this far in the letter--she +had brought it directly down to him, and they were reading it in the +parlor--"do you suppose she expects to shake me like this?" + +"Well, anyway," said Bess, "I am glad I am not entirely alone." + +The letter ended, "May God bless you my child, and keep you safe from +all harm, is the prayer of your devoted grandmother." + +There was a yearning note in the closing sentence that was at variance +with the confident tone of the earlier part. In truth, Mrs. Pennybacker +had been torn between loyalty to Margaret and love for Bess. + +"Well," said John Harcourt as he handed the letter back to her,--he +really looked more cheerful than Bess felt--"there's nothing to do but +to make the best of a bad situation. Suppose we take a walk up to the +fort in the morning and talk it over." + +They had time to talk that and many other things over in the three days +that elapsed before the letter came. Harcourt felt it his duty to amuse +and interest her during what was a trying period of waiting, and was +unremitting in his attentions. + +The letter came at last. She read it on the porch and handed it to him. +It had got to the point now where she gave him her full confidence. It +ran: + +"South Haven, Mich., Sept.--, 1895. + +"Dear Bess: + +"At last we are settled, and I embrace the first opportunity to write, +for I fear you have been consumed with anxiety." ("And I have been," +said Bess when he looked at her out of the tail of his eye, "but I +didn't think it was necessary to cry my eyes out!") + +"Well, to begin at the beginning,--we started on the first boat that +left the Island for Mackinaw City,--a very few minutes after my letter +to you was finished, and were soon on the cars headed south. We only +went as far as Petoskey, however, for I remembered that there we could +take the Pere Marquette directly to Chicago, which would save time. We +bought tickets to that point, being uncertain about our plans, and +thinking that we might consider it best to go straight on to Missouri. +But you know I told you we should go where the Lord directed us and stop +when he said so. Well, just before we reached Grand Junction, a little +station where a branch of the Michigan Central crosses the Pere +Marquette, I heard some people behind me talking about South Haven--what +a nice place it was, but how it was almost deserted now. I thought to +myself that a deserted place was about the kind we wanted, so I asked +them some questions about how to get there and found that we were right +at the place where a decision must be made, for we would have to take +the other road at Grand Junction. I went to Margaret and told her it +seemed to me the Lord said stop, and she agreed with me. Then we began +to hustle. If we had had our trunks we never could have done it, for we +had only about three minutes. But when the train stopped at Grand +Junction we stepped off and let it go on to Chicago without us. This was +blind number one. We figured that if that man should try to trace the +two women that bought tickets in Petoskey he would be likely to follow +them to Chicago, and there he would lose the scent. + +"South Haven is directly west of Grand Junction, and Kalamazoo, the +other end of this little branch road, is directly east. We bought two +tickets to Kalamazoo, making a good many inquiries of the agent about +the railroad connections there to different points." + +("That's funny," said Bess, "if they were going to South Haven." + +"Not at all," returned Harcourt, "that was blind number two. Now you +will find that they discarded those tickets and boarded the train for +the west." + +"Yes, sir! that's just what they did," she said, looking ahead. "Wasn't +that cute in grandma?") + +"Well," the letter proceeded, "having put him on a wrong trail if the +thing were ever inquired into, we went out on the platform and waited +for the west-bound train. There were a lot of people waiting who called +themselves 'Saints' and had been off for some camp-meeting. That made it +easier for us to lose ourselves. The train came along in a little while +and we got on, intimating to the conductor that we hadn't time to +procure tickets, and paying our fare to South Haven." + +("Look here," said Harcourt, "this thing is catching. If she keeps on +there'll be another one in Miss Brannigan's class!") + +"We are now comfortably established at a boarding house called The +Oakland, where they have a queer little dining-room in the basement and +the best brown bread you ever put in your mouth. We think we shall +settle down here for several weeks. I don't like the idea of going back +to Missouri just now for that man would be sure to follow us there. +(There are some objections to being named Pennybacker instead of Smith.) +I want you to come on immediately." Then followed a page or more of +minute directions as to route, bills, etc. + +"I don't know whether I'll have money enough for all that," said Bess, +wrinkling her brow for the first time in her life over the financial +problem. + +"I'll lend it to you if you haven't." + +"How could I get it back to you?" + +"That's so!... I guess I'll have to go down with you and collect it +myself." + +"Really?" cried Bess. + +"Sure! Your grandmother left you in my care and I'm not going to prove +recreant to a trust at this late day. Besides, I've got three more weeks +to put in somewhere before I can go back to Washington. I guess South +Haven will do as well as anywhere else. Don't you want me to go?" + +"Why, yes. I'd love to have you go. I don't know anything about +attending to trunks. I almost know I couldn't manage three." + +A postscript to this letter said, "I have written at length about that +Grand Junction business because I thought Mr. Harcourt would feel +interested in hearing about it, and we will not see him again." + +"And that's where she's going to fool herself," he said with a grin. + + + + + CHAPTER XXI + IN THE TOILS + + +September was almost over. Golden-rod and wild asters fringed the low +banks of Black River now, and the cardinal flower bent its stately head +to peer suspiciously into the still waters, seeing there a line of red +so vivid that it might well pass for a rival. The grapevines in their +late luxuriance ran riot, climbing over the underbrush that grew down to +the river's brink and pushing out across old trees that had been +undermined and lay half buried, a menace to the boatman, but a joy--with +all this greenery over them--to a nature-loving eye. Here and there a +sumach, blood-red, threw in a needed touch of color, or a maple lifted a +flaming branch. + +They were much upon the river in these days. It was pleasant to get away +from the people, though there were not many left. South Haven was very +quiet; the boatmen were laying up their boats preparatory to the +winter's painting. The crowds were gone. The steamers had taken back to +the great city across the lake regretful loads of summer visitors who +could not tarry to see the river in its autumn glory. This was hard for +those who went, but very pleasant for those who stayed. They had plenty +of room and nothing to mar the tranquil quiet of the place. It seemed to +Margaret as they rowed through the shadows of the overhanging boughs +that the very spirit of Peace was brooding over it all. She almost +forgot that there was such a man as Richard De Jarnette living to cast a +shadow over her path. Perhaps she would never cross it again. + +They always took the same places in the boat--Harcourt rowing, Margaret +in the bow, and Bess and Philip in the stern to steer. Mrs. Pennybacker +would seldom go. This left her to herself and brought Harcourt face to +face with Bess. The girl was wonderfully pretty, with the freshness of a +swaying anemone, but he used to wonder sometimes why Margaret never +steered now as she did at first. + +There was a woman's reason--perhaps rather a woman's intuition--back of +it. She and he had been sitting one evening on the sands watching the +sun go down, while Bess and Philip wandered up the beach looking for +lucky stones. It was a gorgeous sunset. Such an orgy of color as flamed +in the sky befitted the ceremonious passing of a king. It seemed as if +all the pigments Nature's palette held had been laid upon the canvas, +and--endowed with life--were there struggling for mastery. Even to the +zenith and beyond the heavens were aglow. Nor was it all overhead. A +band of gold stretched across the broad expanse from the sun's disk to +the lapping waves at their feet, and on each side the shimmering +opalescent waters reflected back the changing tints above. The little +fruit boat on its daily trip back from Glen Pier was crossing the golden +shaft now, and its smoke line stood out against the yellow sky. It gave +the needed touch of life to complete the picture. + +They sat in silence. It was not a time for words. Margaret, susceptible +to the influence of color as many persons are to that of music, was +watching it with a joy that was almost pain. + +As they looked the yellow tints merged into the blue of the robin's egg, +pinks melted into lilacs and the high lights paled. + +"Oh, let us go!" she said. "Let us go before it fades! I want to carry +it with me forever. I cannot see it put on the dust and ashes of defeat! +It always makes me think then of a life from which the coloring has gone +out!" + +He caught her by the hand. He too was stirred to the depths. + +"Margaret, don't go!" There was a note in his voice that she had never +heard there before--that it hurt her to hear now. "It is not always over +when the sun goes down. Sometimes the later glory is beyond that of the +first. Wait! Wait for the after glow!" + +She drew her hand away, saying quickly, "I must go to Philip." + +He did not try to detain her, nor did she see him again till the next +morning, when he was in his usual mood of hilarity. + +In thinking about it afterwards she felt sure that he had had no thought +of anything but the sunset--no thought of what she had said about gray +lives--but still the next day when they took their places in the boat, +she had stepped into the bow, leaving the steering to Bess, who made a +pretty picture with Philip beside her grasping with both chubby hands +the steering rope as children hold the lines. He felt that it was his +right to steer for he had now donned masculine attire, thanks to Mrs. +Pennybacker. Divested of his restraining garments he was having a +blissful time these days with his mud turtles down at Donahue's dock, +his mother watching him, or over at the life-saving station, his hand +held close in hers. Never for one moment was he out of her sight. + +She was growing to love the place as much as Philip did. From her seat +in the bow, her eyes resting upon the child, and the pleasant, healthful +nonsense of the young people falling lightly on her ears, Margaret was +beginning to put the past behind her and to live in the present. Perhaps +it was the conviction, growing stronger as the weeks went by, that they +had eluded Smeltzer,--perhaps that the needed companionship of youth was +working a cure,--or it may have been only that here she was so close to +Nature as to hold communion with her visible forms and that gradually +the old mother had + + "glided + Into her darker musings, with a mild + And healing sympathy, that stole away + Their sharpness, ere she was aware." + +One day they had gone up to Cold Spring in the "Phylidy," as the captain +called his launch, with the intention of going on up the North Branch. +Mrs. Pennybacker was with them this time. They were out for an all day's +jaunt and were to have dinner in the woods. + +They secured a large boat at Cold Spring, piled their hampers and +hammocks in and started off in high spirits, Mrs. Pennybacker's +trenchant comments on all they encountered making fun for the company. + +Margaret from her post in the bow looked back upon the track they made +as they turned into the North Branch. The place stood out ever afterward +in her memory,--the lily pads at the river's fork, and the towering elms +on the south shore; in the distance the sloping grounds of the hotel +they had left behind, with the drooping willow over the spring; just +before her as she looked back the railroad bridge across the South +Branch and two lovers in a row boat gliding under it into the shadows +beyond. It was such a tranquil scene. It took her out into the clear +sunlight. + +It stood out in John Harcourt's memory, too, for it was just here that +she had said only two days before when he had taken her alone for a row. + +"Some day you will find a sweet woodland flower that has never been +trampled on. Plant it in your garden. And then tend it. Oh, tend it +carefully! It will not need much to make it grow--only the sunshine and +a little care, a little tender handling, a little shielding from the +blast or from the heat. No, it will not take much. Only--let it be +constant! It is neglect that kills a plant--the doing for it to-day and +forgetting it to-morrow." It was as near as she had ever come to a +confidence about her own married life. + +One "winds about and in and out" on the North Branch. There are many, +many turns, particularly as one gets farther up. They were rounding one +of these points when Margaret, still looking back over their tortuous +track, saw a boat in the distance. It was only for a moment and then +another bend took it from view. In it were two men. She could not help +feeling disturbed though she said nothing. She would not be constantly +obtruding her specter upon others. But she found herself watching for +the boat at every turn. Sometimes she could see only a white hat against +the green of the bank. + +They rowed on and on. They were going to the head of navigation, +Harcourt said, and there was all day to do it in. All the pay he claimed +was his dinner, but by the time he got this "floating scow of old +Virginny" to a landing place he rather thought he should need it. And he +rested on his oars. + +"Mr. Harcourt," said Margaret in a low tone, "have you noticed those +men--in the boat, I mean. They've stopped now. They always slow up when +you do." + +The shadow was upon her again. + +"I've noticed them," he replied quietly. "They are probably coming up +here to fish. They say there are bass in the North Branch." But he took +up his oars. + +They landed at last and climbed up the bank, the ladies going toward the +woods to find a place for hammocks and the dinner for which Philip was +clamoring. Harcourt stayed behind to make his "scow" fast. He had hardly +done so when the other boat pulled around the bend and drew up beside +him. There were two men in it; one was the light-house keeper--the other +Smeltzer. + +"Hello, Smeltzer!" was Harcourt's off-hand greeting as the other sprang +out of the boat and stood confronting him. He spoke with a jaunty good +fellowship that he was far from feeling. The women were out of sight, +but his strained ear could detect sounds coming from their direction. He +knew that Philip was likely to appear at any moment on the bank above +them. "You after bass too?" + +He rather ostentatiously displayed his fishing tackle. + +Smeltzer came directly to the point. + +"No, sir, I'm not after bass to-day unless you might call it calico +bass. I'm after the woman you've been spiriting around the country. I +guess she'll not give me the slip this time." + +"My good man," said Harcourt, a little haughtily, "I think you are +suffering under a misapprehension. We are innocent tourists out for a +picnic." + +"You'll get your picnic all right, before you get through, but you may +not be able to run it to suit you. Where is she? You may as well stand +aside now, Mr. Harcourt. I mean business." + +At this moment the thing that Harcourt had been fearing happened. Philip +appeared on the bank just beyond them. Harcourt motioned him back with a +quick gesture, but in the meantime Mr. Smeltzer had sprung nimbly up the +bank and was close behind the frightened child. Harcourt and the man who +had done the rowing followed. When they reached the spot that had been +selected for the picnic, the terror-stricken women were huddled together +and Margaret had Philip in her arms. Smeltzer was explaining his +business. + +"I am sorry to interrupt this party, ladies, but I have an order here +authorizing me to take Mrs. De Jarnette and child into custody and bring +them to the City of Washington, D. C." + +"An order from whom?" demanded Margaret. + +"From the guardian of this child, Mr. Richard De Jarnette." + +"You may go back to Mr. Richard De Jarnette and tell him that I do not +acknowledge his right to control either me or my child. I refuse to go." + +When Mr. Smeltzer replied to this it was in a tone so reasonable and +conciliatory and withal so earnest that it alarmed Mrs. Pennybacker more +than bluster would have done. + +"I hope you will not persist in that decision, Mrs. De Jarnette. It will +be far better for you in the end to go back peaceably with me. Mr. De +Jarnette has had men on the search for this child for nearly five years. +You can depend upon it that he will not give him up now that he is +found. But--it may be that when you see him and talk it over with him +you may be able to come to some sort of a compromise about it." + +"See here, Smeltzer," said Harcourt, "you can't bulldoze us in any such +way as this! You haven't the power to take Mrs. De Jarnette or her child +back to Washington on an order from any private individual, and you know +it. If you propose to arrest her you'll have to show a warrant for it. +Isn't that right, Captain?" + +"That's right, sir," replied the captain, who was an interested +spectator. + +"I haven't said anything about arresting her, have I?" demanded +Smeltzer. "I am trying to persuade her to go peaceably without any such +humiliation." + +"You may as well give it up," she said, "for I shall never go." + +"I hope you will think better of that, Mrs. De Jarnette. Because--" he +was drawing from his pocket a yellow envelope marked 'Western Union +Telegraph'--"if you don't it will force upon me a very painful duty." + +He took a dispatch from the envelope and unfolded it slowly. "I located +you last night--saw you first as you and the child were coming down from +the light-house." They had been there as they had often gone before to +see the light-house keeper light the big lantern. The captain was very +fond of the child. "I followed you and found out where you were staying. +Then I wired Mr. De Jarnette for instructions. Here they are." + +He handed her the dispatch and they gathered around her to read. It +said: + + "Bring her back peaceably if possible. If she refuses to come, swear + out a warrant for her arrest on charge of kidnapping. + + "De Jarnette." + +"You see," said the man, quietly, "I am given no discretion in the +matter. If you refuse to go with me I _must_ swear out this warrant--and +then--" + +"Then what?" asked Margaret with white lips. + +"When once this prosecution is begun even Mr. De Jarnette cannot stop +it. It will then be out of his hands and the law will have to take its +course." + +Margaret drew a quick sharp breath. "If I could only talk with Judge +Kirtley!" + +"Why can't you telegraph him?" suggested Mrs. Pennybacker. Then, turning +to the detective, "You would, of course, allow her to do that?" + +"Certainly. I will wait any reasonable length of time or do anything you +suggest that will further the peaceful settlement of this case. In the +meantime, I shall have to keep her in sight." + +As they were preparing to take to the boats the captain came up to +Margaret. + +"I just want to say to you, madam," he said, wrathfully, "that if I had +known what that cuss was up to he--he wouldn't have got _me_ to row +him." Then raising his voice a little to insure its carrying as far as +the detective, "I lost a leg, madam, fighting men. But I've never got +down yet to hunting women and children!" + +"Oh, Captain, I know you wouldn't have done anything to harm him if you +had known. You have always been so good to Philip." + +"Mama," said Philip, anxiously, as they packed the baskets for their +return, "can't we eat the picnic on the way home?" + +It was a sad and thoughtful little party that rowed slowly back, the +detective discreetly following in his own boat. For Margaret, at the +first appearance of Smeltzer, there had been a moment of absolute +terror. That had now given place to dull despondency; and the anguish in +her eyes was piteous to see. + +Mrs. Pennybacker from the first counseled returning to Washington with +Smeltzer. "If that man has been hunting you for four years and a half, +he will not give the thing up now that you are found--the detective is +undoubtedly right about that. But it may be as he says that you can make +terms with Mr. De Jarnette when you see him." + +"Oh, I can't. I know I can't," said Margaret. + +"There is no telling where a determined man will stop," Harcourt said. +"And--Smeltzer is not going to lose you again." Then they fell to +wording the telegram. + +When the party reached Donohue's dock Mr. Smeltzer followed them at a +respectful distance up the street to the Oakland. + +"You will excuse my going with you to your boarding-house," he said to +Harcourt, who dropped behind to ask him some question. "I stayed there +last night." + +"You did?" + +"Yes, sir, I did! You wouldn't suppose I would risk another Detour slip, +would you?" + +"Say! I want to find out some time how you found us." + +"All right. After we get up to the Oakland I'll tell you." + +It was several hours after the telegram was sent to Judge Kirtley before +his answer was received. Much of the time was spent in earnest +consultation in Miss Crosby's little parlor--and a part of it by +Margaret in throes of anguish upstairs as she made plan after plan only +to be brought up always at the last by the impossibility of eluding +Smeltzer. A poignant recollection of Mammy Cely's "beating her head +ag'in' a stone wall" rose before her. That was what she was doing.... +Whichever way she turned there was the stone wall!... What must she do? +What could she do?... Nothing. She was powerless. Richard De Jarnette +had run her to earth at last.... She clenched her hands in impotent rage +until the nails sank into the delicate flesh. + +"If she goes," John Harcourt was saying to Mrs. Pennybacker downstairs, +"I shall go with her." Bess looked startled. "It is time I am getting +back anyway.... Oh, yes, I hope she will consent to go. It wouldn't do +for her to risk prosecution on a criminal charge at the hands of a man +like that." + +"That is exactly the way I feel about it. I think I will go up and talk +with her again." + +Harcourt sauntered out doors to where Smeltzer quietly stood on guard. +"Now, then," he said. + +"I can't say that this affair redounds much to my glory," Smeltzer +began, half quizzically, "except that I've got her. But--" + +"The thing that I don't understand is why if you were going to find us +at all you didn't do it sooner." + +"The old lady threw me off the track, that's why! But we may as well +begin at the beginning. I had never connected you with my game till I +saw you here. I suppose now you are the one that got her off at Detour." + +"You do me too much honor, Smeltzer. My will was good, but my wits were +lacking. You may lay that to the charge of Miss Norah Brannigan, of the +_John A. Paxton_." + +"Aha! I mistrusted that she had a hand in it anyway. But can't she lie?" +He seemed lost in admiration of Norah's talents. + +"Go on with your tale. We can all lie when occasion calls for it. You +are not an infant at it yourself." + +"Well," grinned Smeltzer, "I found at the Soo that the lady had given me +the slip. I went through that boat from top to bottom--the stewardess +giving me all the help in her power, and assuring me she hadn't seen any +such people on board. Then I made for the depot." + +"I saw you. You made good time, Smeltzer." + +"Yes.... Well, when I found the train gone I sat down and figured it +out. She had a good long start, but I knew she couldn't leave the Island +till morning and I would take the first train down myself. I telegraphed +the ticket agents of the G. R. and I. and the _Pere Marquette_ at +Petoskey to be on the lookout for these parties (description following) +and note their destination. The _Pere Marquette_ man identified them all +right and said he sold them tickets for Chicago. I took the next train +for that blooming metropolis, telegraphing ahead for another man to be +there when they got off, and hold them. Well, sir, when I reached +Chicago and heard report, no such parties had got off! Well, sir, I +fooled away a day or two in Chicago. Then all at once it came to me that +we had crossed a railroad away back there somewhere and I couldn't get +it out of my mind. You know men in my business get into the habit of +noticing pretty closely." + +"I've observed it!" + +"I made some inquiries and went back to Grand Junction. Agent remembered +the parties perfectly--had had a good deal of talk with the old lady +about roads out of Kalamazoo,--had to show 'em to her on the map." + +"Yes. She's from Missouri." + +"I took the next train for Kalamazoo, perfectly dead sure I was on their +track. I monkeyed around there one week. Nice place. But I tell you I +didn't enjoy it! I got a lot of clues there from hackmen and gatemen +that were sure they had seen these people, but a pile of good they did +me! You see I was so sure they were in Kalamazoo that I made that sort +of headquarters and when I had exhausted one lead would go back there to +take up another. Well, finally, I made up my mind that I would go back +over this little South Haven road and take the boat for Chicago. I got +here about half-past four yesterday and while idling away the time at +the life-saving station, before the boat left, who should I see across +the river but the woman and child I had been scouring the country for!" + +"Fool luck!" said Harcourt. "Nothing short of it. I wonder if that isn't +the way a lot of you fellows rise to eminence in your profession." + +"Say--do you think she is going back without that warrant?" + +"Can't tell. I hope so. I think it will depend somewhat on the telegram. +And there it comes now." + +Mrs. Pennybacker was at the door to receive it. She had been watching +for it behind the curtains, and called to Margaret that it had come. +They read it on the porch. Smeltzer, with a delicacy that they hardly +expected from him, had turned his back upon them and appeared absorbed +in the view of the lake. + +The telegram ran: + + "Come peaceably by all means. Will try to arrange matters. + + "KIRTLEY." + +"Tell him I will go." said Margaret, in a voice of despair. She had +promised Mrs. Pennybacker that the telegram should decide it. + +Mr. Harcourt returned in a moment to say that Mr. Smeltzer would be glad +to go by the late afternoon train if they could be ready. + +"H-m," said Mrs. Pennybacker, reflectively. "That won't give us much +time. Bess, can you be ready? I told you not to unpack all those +things!" + +"Are we going too?" cried Bess in ecstasy. "To Washington?" Then +catching the child's face between her hands and giving a swift +sidelong glance beyond, "Oh, Philip Second, son of Margaret, +won't--that--be--fine!" + +She punctuated the sentence upon the rosy lips but Philip brushed the +marks aside, considering such demonstration decidedly beneath a boy. + +"Aunt Mary?" + +To the mute questioning of Margaret's sorrowful face Mrs. Pennybacker +replied by taking the girl into her motherly arms and saying with an odd +mixture of Scripture phraseology and Pennybacker pluck, "Yes, child! It +is 'Whither thou goest, I will go,' from this time on, if you want me. +I'm going to see this thing through! 'Thy people shall be my people, and +thy God my God.'" + +"I have no God!" cried Margaret, passionately,--then fell to weeping on +her old friend's neck. + + + + + CHAPTER XXII + AT BAY + + +Unfortunately, matters were not so easily arranged in Washington as +Judge Kirtley had intimated in his telegram they might be. After +learning of the situation, Mrs. Pennybacker had a strong suspicion that +the dispatch was intentionally optimistic. Nor was she far wrong. Judge +Kirtley was convinced from his knowledge of Mr. De Jarnette that his +object was not to bring punishment upon his sister-in-law, but to get +the child. He was equally convinced, however, that when Mr. De Jarnette +found her blocking the way to the accomplishment of his purpose she +would be swept aside regardless of the consequences to herself. He was, +therefore, exceedingly anxious to avoid the possibility of her forcing +his hand. + +It was found when the party reached Washington that Richard De Jarnette +was inexorable. And as Judge Kirtley explained to Margaret, the child +was now of such age that his guardian could reasonably claim to be able +to care for him, as he could not have done for an infant. The situation +was grave. + +They had gone directly to the Massachusetts Avenue house, which had been +closed since Margaret's flight except for the periodical visits of a +caretaker. It had been Mrs. Kirtley's task to see that it was ready for +the sorrowful home-coming. + +"No, I am not going to Maria's," Mrs. Pennybacker had told Bess. +"Margaret needs us. And besides, Maria always rubs my fur the wrong way, +and just now I want it to lie straight." + +Several days elapsed after their return before Margaret saw anything of +Richard De Jarnette. When she did he came to make a formal demand for +the child. + +She refused absolutely to give him up. + +In thinking of that interview when he was gone she felt depressingly +aware that she had done her cause no good, for she had said many bitter +intemperate things, being under great provocation. To them all he +listened without reply until she had spent herself. Then he said, + +"My dead brother's will gave me this child. I accept it as a sacred +trust. The courts have sustained that will and my claim. I shall have +the child. I beg that you will not deceive yourself, nor let any one +else deceive you into thinking that my determination is subject to +change." + +"You will never get him," she said, "unless you tear him by force from +my arms!" + +He bowed gravely then and left her. + +The next day an officer appeared at the Massachusetts Avenue house with +a paper to serve upon Mrs. De Jarnette. + +Habeas corpus proceedings had been instituted in the District Supreme +Court by Richard De Jarnette to recover the custody of his ward, Philip +Varnum De Jarnette. Margaret Varnum De Jarnette, the mother of the +child, was named as respondent in the suit. The paper was an order duly +signed requiring the respondent to show cause October twelfth at 10 a. +m. why writ of habeas corpus should not be issued. + +October twelfth was one week away. + + * * * * * + +The court-room was crowded to its utmost capacity when the De Jarnette +case was called. A contest for the custody of a child rarely fails to +excite interest, and in this case it was greatly enhanced by the social +position and financial standing of the litigants. Besides this, the case +had attracted much attention because of the legal points involved. + +The daily papers had done their best to prepare the public for this +trial. The account of the finding of the child after years of search had +been given in full (with one notable exception) from the Smeltzer point +of view. The details of the sensational will case were revived and the +kidnapping by the mother on the night following the decision which +awarded her child to the guardian under the will. The accident by which +Victor De Jarnette lost his life was recalled and related with much +circumstantiality and some enlargement. It was all discussed in many a +household in Washington during the week preceding the trial, and it +brought to the court-room a good attendance that day. Women were there +in unusual numbers, drawn thither by their sympathies as well as their +curiosity. John Harcourt, looking back of him, thought he had never seen +so many there before. + +Margaret, accompanied by Mrs. Pennybacker, Bess and Mrs. Kirtley, sat +beside the old Judge,--Mr. De Jarnette by his counsel. This by a chance +brought the two who were fighting for the child side by side, while +Philip, in childish ignorance of what it all meant, sat between them. Of +course nothing had been said to him about the case, and the arguments of +counsel threw no enlightenment upon the matter to him. + +But there was one book that Philip had learned to read if he did not +know anything about the weighty volumes they were quoting from, and that +was his mother's face. He saw from it now that something was wrong, and +climbing up into her lap, he took her cheeks between his chubby hands +and kissed her gravely on lips and eyes. Then, satisfied at the faint +smile his caress evoked, he slid down to the floor, placed his chair +close to hers, and laid his head against her shoulder. The little byplay +was not lost on those in the vicinity, and the clerk, looking up just +then, wondered what it could be that he had lost. The women spectators +and some of the men were wiping their eyes. + +There had been a fearful strain upon Margaret in these last few +days,--the journey, the suspense, the constantly-growing fear of how it +would terminate were almost more than she could stand up against. She +had a strange sudden sense of unreality. She looked around to see if it +were really she. Then by one of those quick reversions that the mind +sometimes makes, it seemed to her that she had been in precisely this +place once before, not in that other trial, but in one just like this, +that Mrs. Pennybacker sat beside her then as now, that Philip leaned +against her thus, and that a man was saying this identical thing. She +looked around at the court officers half dazed. + +As the trial proceeded she lost hope, Mr. De Jarnette's attorney was +making out such a clear case. But when Judge Kirtley spoke it did not +seem that there was room for doubt as to how it would go. She _must_ get +the child. He closed with a powerful plea for a mother's supreme right. + +After the closing of the arguments the Judge spoke: + +"The question to be determined," he said, "is not one of sentiment, but +of law. Briefly stated it is this: Whether the statute of Charles II, +Chapter 24, Section 8, is in force in this District to the extent that +the father of infant children may be deed or will transfer their +exclusive custody and control to a guardian, regardless of the fact that +the mother, his wife, may be competent, willing, and in all respects +qualified to maintain, educate, and train them properly. + +"There has been, both in and out of court, a good deal of sentimental +declamation indulged in, in regard to this statute, and it has been +reprobated as being in conflict with the natural rights of the mother, +and in conflict with the present civilization of the people. But while +it is sufficient to say that courts of justice, and especially of common +law, are not at liberty to disregard the statute and act upon any mere +feeling of repugnance to it, we must bear in mind that this statute of +Charles II has been in force in England for more than two centuries, and +that it is still in force there, and has stood the test of English +civilization, with the slight modification," he went on to explain, +"that the chancellor or master of the rolls may, upon petition of the +mother, where the infant is within the age of seven years, order that +such infant shall be delivered to and remain in the custody of the +mother until attaining the age of seven; provided the mother be a fit +and proper person to have the custody of the infant. + +"There may be reasons," he continued, "why the wife should not be +selected as the guardian of the child. In the first place the father, as +the head of the family and the responsible one has the right to say who +should have the training of his children." + +Mrs. Pennybacker's eyes snapped. + +"Who gave him that right?" she asked in a fierce whisper of Bess, who +was the nearest at hand, but Bess, not knowing the answer, could only +look blank. + +The Judge went on to say that another reason was the probability of a +second marriage and the consequent introduction of his child to the +treatment of a stranger, possibly hard and unsympathetic. ("Of course +_men_ seldom marry," commented Mrs. Pennybacker satirically.) + +"And yet another reason might be in the age or ill health, to say +nothing of the mental or moral unfitness of the mother." He proceeded to +emphasize just here that while no stress had been laid upon the mother's +unfitness in the present case on account of mental or moral +incompetency, it had been clearly shown by counsel for the plaintiff +that she was guilty of wilfully and forcibly kidnapping and abducting +said child after the will devising it to the said De Jarnette had been +admitted to probate, and while it might be argued that this was an +unwitting violation of the law, still it must be admitted that the act +showed the defendant to be deficient in that sound judgment which would +make her a safe guardian for the child. + +Margaret sat looking at him with wild startled eyes. + +"Like all powers of appointment," he continued, "this power in the +father to appoint by testament a guardian to his children is liable +sometimes to be exercised in what might appear to be an arbitrary +manner, and in disregard of the feelings of the mother. But the history +of the statute does not show this to have been frequently the case in +reality. Many times the act has a most beneficent operation. The +principle of the statute, taking it all in all, appears to have been +beneficial to the family relation, and to have furnished the means of +securing the welfare of the children, which after all is the thing that +the court has always to consider. If not so, it could hardly have been +retained in force in the English and American statute law to the present +day." + +Concluding, he said: + +"In 1873 this subject was fully discussed before the Court of Queen's +Bench. It was held that a person who had been duly appointed under +Charles II, Chap. 24, Sec. 8, by the will of the father to be guardian +of his child, stands in _loco parentis_, and having, therefore, a legal +right to the custody of the infant, may in order to obtain possession of +such ward, claim a writ of _habeas corpus_ which a common law court has +no discretion to refuse, if the applicant be a fit person and the child +too young to choose for itself. + +"The court, therefore, gives the custody of the child to the guardian +under the will, and counsel may draw a decree in accordance with the +decision of the court." + +For a full half minute there was silence in the court-room. Then, before +Judge Kirtley could speak or put out a hand to stop her, Margaret De +Jarnette stood up, white as the dead. + +"The decision may be according to the law," she said in a low tense +voice--"the law made by men for men. But it will not stand. Mark that!" +her head was thrown back now and her eyes blazed. "For it is against +Nature's law and that is God's very own. This child is mine! I bore +him--through pain of body and anguish of soul. Does that give me no +claim upon him?" + +She stretched out her hands in an unconscious gesture of appeal. A +silence like that of the grave was over the room. Men and women bent +forward and held their breath in their eagerness to hear. The Judge did +not stop her. The Probate Court is very patient with women. + +"And that is not all," she went on. "Oh, no! _no!_ that is not all. +Through all those weary months--days of pain and sleepless nights--he +lay, part of my body, his very life entwined with mine, his very soul +fashioned by mine, his being absolutely dependent upon mine--he lay +there, I say, close to my heart--_and every throb was for him_! You tell +me that the man who gave him only life and a name and then deserted +him--" the words were pouring out tumultuously now--"that this man has +the right to will that child away from me, his mother, as he would his +horse or his dog? I tell you it is a lie! _a lie!_ He has no such right! +The child is mine! There is no power in earth or heaven or hell that can +take him from me! _I'll have him!_" + +She stopped. The world grew black before her. She swayed backward; there +was a sudden stir; and it was Richard De Jarnette springing forward that +caught her as she fell. + + + + + CHAPTER XXIII + MOTHERS AND FOSTER MOTHERS + + +From the court-room she was carried straight to the hospital. The +doctor, summoned hastily to attend her, told them gravely that it was +probably the beginning of an attack of brain fever. There was never any +telling where that would end. The strain of the last week had been very +severe. She should have the most skilful and experienced nursing that +could be secured, and constant medical attention. + +Then, too, as Judge Kirtley hurriedly explained to Mrs. Pennybacker, +who, having some confidence in her own ability as a nurse and a country +woman's distrust of hospitals, had urged Margaret's removal to her own +home, at the hospital she would be spared the further strain of seeing +the child taken away. It would be hard for her to come back to a house +without him, but not such an ordeal as his forcible removal would be. +After this Mrs. Pennybacker said no more. + +With Judge Kirtley she herself had taken Margaret to the hospital, the +girl still mercifully oblivious to all around her. Then she had returned +to Massachusetts Avenue to get Philip ready for his removal to Elmhurst. +Life seemed to be moving on pretty rapidly just now. + +When she reached the house the child was gone. Mr. De Jarnette had come +for him almost immediately, Bess reported. + +"Did he object to going?" + +"No. I told him in Mr. De Jarnette's presence that his mama was sick and +he was going to his Uncle Richard's for a little visit. I guess I +emphasized visit, maybe. I think Margaret had prepared Philip for it. I +heard her tell him last night that perhaps he would go to his Uncle +Richard's for a while, and that he must be a brave little boy and not +cry." + +"I know. I think she lost courage last night. Perhaps she had a +presentiment of how it was to be. I am glad she took that way of +preparing the child. Did he cry?" + +"No. But his chin quivered, the way it does, you know, when he tries to +keep from crying." + +"Poor little thing!" + +"Grandma," said Bess, thoughtfully, "I don't believe Mr. De Jarnette is +going to be unkind to Philip. He didn't say much, but he seemed to be +looking out for him--asked if he hadn't some favorite playthings that +could be taken along. You wouldn't imagine his thinking of such a thing +as that, would you? Isn't he a strange man?" + +"Incomprehensible, to me. What did you give him?" + +"His train of cars and the little red wagon. And Grandma! I gave Mr. De +Jarnette that picture of Margaret and Philip together--the one, you +know, that we call 'the Madonna.' That is the sweetest thing she ever +had taken, with Philip's baby face pressed up against hers. I told him +it might help Philip at night to have it to look at if he was homesick." + +"Bess!" + +"Yes'm, I did! I knew it would make him howl. I hope it will! Any way, I +thought the picture would do Mr. De Jarnette good." + +"Bess," said Mrs. Pennybacker, in a burst of grandmotherly admiration +which she did not always display so openly, "for a young girl you +certainly have a great deal of sense. I hope Philip won't be too brave. +I'd like to see Mr. Richard De Jarnette with a homesick child on his +hands. And if he doesn't have one to-night I'll miss my guess. _Bess!_ +There's Maria--and that idiotic little poodle!... Oh, dear! I did hope I +should be spared that to-day." + +Looking from the window Bess saw Mrs. Van Dorn alighting from her +carriage, the footman holding what looked like a jet-black silky ball +with dashes of pink about it. He deposited it carefully in his +mistress's waiting arms. + +"That's Toddlekyns!" announced Mrs. Pennybacker. "I asked Maria the +other day why she didn't give the thing a decent Christian dog's name. +'Toddlekyns' sounds to me like a weak attenuated cat." + +Toddlekyns was in reality a very rare variety of Russian poodle, upon +which Mrs. Van Dorn was just now lavishing the wealth of her unattached +affections. Mrs. Pennybacker had found him on her return to the capital +occupying so large a space in the center of the Van Dorn stage that her +sense of proportion had been greatly outraged. She never passed him +without wishing to administer a surreptitious kick that would send him +into the wings. + +The years had dealt kindly with Mrs. Van Dorn. Or perhaps it was that +her emotions had been of that flabby kind that do not leave their +impress on the face. She gave herself careful grooming. Once when she +discovered an incipient line about the corner of her eye she +straightened it out with court plaster over night, not sleeping much in +consequence, and massaged it for two hours the next morning, excusing +herself from attending divine service by saying firmly, "A woman's first +duty is to herself. I simply will _not_ have wrinkles." + +"I thought I must come right over and hear all about it," she exclaimed, +sinking gracefully into an arm-chair and lifting Toddlekyns to her lap. +"So the case went against her. I heard something about it from Mrs. +Somerville. And she will really have to give him up! Too bad! Can I see +her? I suppose she feels dreadfully just at first.... At the hospital? +You don't say so.... Brain fever? Why, they always die of that, don't +they?... Well, I feel very sorry for her, though I must say I sympathize +with Richard too." + +"On what account?" demanded Mrs. Pennybacker. + +"Oh, because everybody is so down on him. It has almost broken off the +intimacy between him and Dr. Semple, they say." + +"Good for Dr. Semple!" + +"Well--I don't know--I suppose I am broader-minded than some people. I +can always see both sides." + +"So can I when there are two sides. This case has but one." + +"Well," said Mrs. Van Dorn, in an argumentative tone that was new to +her, "anyway, I think it was very natural that Richard should want to +carry out his brother's wishes. But," she cast her eyes down modestly +and toyed with Toddlekyns' silky ears,--"wouldn't you almost think he +would _have_ to have somebody to help him--in bringing this child up?" + +"Humph!" came from her aunt. + +"He has Mammy Cely," said Bess, innocently. + +"Oh, Mammy Cely--an old negro--yes. But anybody that has a child to rear +would feel the need, I should think, of a sympathizing--well I don't +care, _I_ think if Richard De Jarnette is really going to take Philip, +he should look out for somebody to be a mother to him." + +"And I think he had better let him stay with the mother the Lord gave +him!" cried Bess, indignantly, with a flash of her grandmother's spirit. + +Mrs. Pennybacker contented herself with looking keenly at her niece over +her spectacles. There was something about the look that embarrassed Mrs. +Van Dorn. + +"I don't want you to think I don't sympathize with Margaret, Aunt Mary." +she began. "It isn't that, at all. I feel awfully sorry for her. I know +she will feel lonely at first. I thought about it at home--how lonely I +should be if I should lose Toddlekyns--and I just made up my mind to let +her have him for a few days--till the worst of it is over. I may yet, +when she gets back from the hospital." + +Mrs. Pennybacker shut her lips firmly together and shook her head. + +"I wouldn't do it Maria," she said, hastily. + +She moved over to the window and took up her knitting, leaving Mrs. Van +Dorn to Bess's entertainment. It was hard for anything to hold her +thoughts long to-day away from the child of her adoption. She had come +back from the hospital sorely troubled about her and was falling back, +from life-long habit, upon her inevitable resource when burdened--work. +But as the knitting needles flew in her swift fingers, her thoughts were +with Margaret and her fight against fate. + +How would Margaret bear it now that the hope which had been a sheet +anchor to her soul was gone? She had been very brave through it all, +even in these last trying days but it had been in the confident belief +that no court in the land would decree against her. With that prop gone +upon what would she stay her soul? She recalled the girl's passionate +outburst in the court-room with apprehension. It was not like her to +forget time and place and the proprieties like that. She thought of the +doctor's words, "You never can tell how a thing like this will end." +_She_ knew that it ended sometimes in death--and sometimes in---- + +Mrs. Pennybacker did not finish it. She would not acknowledge even to +herself the fear that was tugging at her heart. Margaret had been under +a fearful mental strain. Would she be able to stand up against it? Would +her physical vigor be such as to enable her to--She broke off again in +her thoughts. She was thinking in fragments to-day. Suppose the next +trial of the case--in whatever form it would come--should go against her +too. Had she the strength of will, of character, to recast her life +still another time and live it out without her child? She had been +amazed at the buoyancy of the girl's nature which had enabled her to +rise above her sorrows and thrust them beneath her feet. But then she +had Philip! Now---- + +"Aunt Mary," said Mrs. Van Dorn, turning to her and breaking in upon +these somber thoughts somewhat abruptly, "I must say that I was very +much surprised at Margaret De Jarnette's conduct in the court-room +to-day. Mrs. Somerville was telling me about it. Of course people are +different, and I don't expect everybody to have my high standards, but +it seems to me that her allusions were decidedly indelicate--not to say +coarse. Mrs. Somerville says she was actually violent--_swore_, I should +call it. Anyway she said 'hell' or 'damn' or some of those things that +nobody ought ever to say but a man. Mrs. Somerville didn't seem to feel +so, but I am surprised at Margaret. Such bad form! And before gentlemen +too!" + +Mrs. Pennybacker's needles clicked. She was knitting fast, and without +much regard to stitches dropped. Those needles were her safety valves. +Her lips just now indicated that steam was at high pressure.... It was +positively no use to talk to Maria! + +"Of course it is hard for her to give up her child," Mrs. Van Dorn +continued with the air of one willing to make every reasonable +concession--"any woman can understand a mother's feelings--(come here, +darling, let mama tie his little wibbons)--but to say 'hell'--" + +"Maria!" Mrs. Pennybacker gave her yarn a jerk that sent the ball on one +of its perennial journeys across the room--"if you will excuse my saying +so, it is not very becoming in you to criticise Margaret De Jarnette +just at this time. A woman who has never been anything more than +_step-mother to a poodle_ is not authority on maternal feelings!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXIV + THE MAN WHO WON + + +Richard De Jarnette sat alone in the library at Elmhurst--the home of +his fathers for generations back. It was a gloomy room. The furniture +and the hangings were dark and massive. Everything spoke of a bygone age +and a lack of woman's touch. Faded moreen curtains hung over Venetian +blinds and shut out God's glorious sunlight. Both had been new when +Richard De Jarnette's mother was a bride. Nobody had ever thought it +worth while to change them. + +In the center of the room the claw-footed mahogany table was piled with +books and papers. Mammy Cely kept the place beautifully clean, but she +was forbidden to touch the table. + +The very books on the shelves belonged to another century,--the English +poets bound in sheep, Hume, Gibbon, Johnson's Dictionary--well worn, +Josephus, D'Aubigne's "History of the Reformation," and kindred sorts, +and on the lower shelves Scott's Bible--in many ponderous tomes, and the +"Comprehensive Commentary." On one shelf in the old-fashioned +"secretary" were a few volumes that spoke a woman's taste at a time when +women must not read the virile things their brothers found good food. +Mrs. Hemans and Mrs. Sigourney in blue and gold, a Flora's Album, the +"Language of Flowers," and Gift Books and "Annuals" in resplendent +bindings that suggested the poverty within. These books had been +Richard's mother's, and they looked cowed and overshadowed by the +masculine array that lined the room. All the moneyed De Jarnettes had +been planters, but with the reading habit, and there had been a preacher +and a doctor in the family who, dying without issue, had bequeathed +their libraries to the shelves of Elmhurst. The red cover of the book +that Richard De Jarnette held in his hand seemed almost an impertinence +among this staid, respectable assemblage in sheep and calf. It looked so +new, and fresh and modern. + +But while it was all this, it was not holding him to-night. It would +have taken more even than dear John Fiske to shut out from his ears the +echo of this day's doings--fragments from the attorney's pleas, Mrs. +Pennybacker's incisive whisper which reached his ear and lodged there, +"Who gave him that right?" + +He tried to throw it all aside. It was over now and he had won. The +child was upstairs safe asleep. He was sick and tired of the subject. He +would get his mind on something else. It was for this that he had +brought out "Virginia and her Neighbors." And he turned resolutely to +the book. + +But somehow the face of the woman he had defeated rose up between him +and the printed page. He could not see the words for it. For one brief +space he had held his vanquished enemy passive in his arms, her head +against his breast. He could not rid himself of the sight of her face as +she lay there. + +He put the book down and threw his head back against the leather-covered +chair. His eyes encountered those of his mother fixed upon him--his +young mother whom he had never known. She looked down upon him from the +portrait over the mantel. With the hateful pertinacity that the eyes in +portraits sometimes show, they followed him whichever way he turned. +They were very sad eyes. He had never liked to look at the portrait on +that account. His mother had not been a happy woman. That he knew from +Mammy Cely, and he would have guessed it, he had sometimes thought, from +the character of the face that hung beside it. There was a sternness +about the features of his father that did not promise much for a woman's +happiness. + +Richard De Jarnette was not an imaginative man, but there was something +about his mother's eyes that in all these years he had never seen +there--a questioning, reproachful look. They had never followed him +about as they did to-night. He moved impatiently, half turning away from +the portrait, and took up his book again. He read on resolutely, turning +page after page with clock-like regularity. He would not give up to such +folly! + +Then all at once he perceived that what John Fiske was saying was, in a +voice of anguish, + + "_The child is mine! I bore him!_" + +He shut the book. He could not evade the thing. And after all what was +there to evade? He was right. The law had justified him in what he had +done. And the courts knew less about the case than he did too,--that was +another thing. He had not injured her reputation in any way. He had seen +to that. The world would know her always as an injured wife. He was +content that it should be so. It would know him as a hard-hearted +unnatural monster. He knew that because a candid man had eased an +over-wrought mind to-day by telling him so. Even Semple, his friend, his +own familiar friend,--he winced now as one does when a bare nerve is +touched,--had avoided him as they left the court-house. Only those who +have few friends could know how that cut. + +Well, let the world think what it chose of him. He knew he was right. He +could have justified himself before them all, but it would have been at +her expense. That he did not choose to do. He had heeded his brother's +dying request and spared her. Victor, in shielding her with his latest +breath, had made what reparation he could for the wrong he had done her. +It was left to him to administer justice. And why should he not? he +asked himself with a sudden sense of bereavement. She had taken from him +his best beloved. He had done no more by her. And he knew and she knew +why he had done it. That was enough. Pity? No. Had she had pity? + +Richard De Jarnette had the eyes of his mother, but his mouth, as it +tightened now, looked singularly like that of the man in the portrait +above him. + +A knock broke in upon his perturbed thoughts and Mammy Cely's dark face +appeared. + +"Marse Richard,--" + +"Well?" He was impatient at the interruption. + +"--I reckon, sir, you got to come up sta'rs to that chile. I can't do +nothin' with him." + +"What's the matter with him? Is he sick?" + +"He's wuss'n sick! He's homesick." + +"Can't you quiet him some way--by rocking him or something of that +sort?" He had a vague idea that rocking was a panacea for all childish +ills. + +"Marse Richard, that chile done pass the cradle age. And look lak he +don't crave nobody's lap but his ma's." + +"Why don't you tell him stories? You know how to quiet a child." + +"I done tole him all I know," said Mammy Cely,--which was not at all the +truth, for she had an unlimited supply and had purposely withheld +them,--"but he don't seem to take no _in_trus. He's in that ongodly +state of mind he don' keer _what_ turnt the robin's breas' red! No, sir! +He wants his ma!" + +"Well, tell him he can't have her,--that she is sick and can't come." + +"My Lord, Marse Richard! I done tole him that fifty times! But he don't +accep' the pronouncement. He say he's bleeged to see his ma." + +Mr. De Jarnette scowled. + +"It is a strange thing to me that you can't quiet a five-year old +child," he said, looking very straight at her. + +Mammy Cely returned the look unflinchingly. Anybody that sought to +overawe her had entered upon a large contract. + +"Marse Richard, is you ever tried to pacify a homesick chile?" + +"No, you know I haven't, but--" + +"Well, sho's you born, sir, 'taint no easy job." + +"A child of five and a half is old enough to be reasoned with," he +declared. + +"Marse Richard, you can't reason homesickness out of a grown person, let +alone a baby! I been discoursin' to him fur an hour on that tex' but he +don't seem to sense the argyments. Maybe he would ef they was white, but +he don't 'spond to the colored ones. No, sir! I done got to the end of +my rope. I don't know what to do. Look lak he gwine cry hisself to +death." + +"He was all right this afternoon, wasn't he?" + +"Yes, sir, long as daylight lasted. He tuk right smart _in_trus helpin' +me feed the chickens and put 'em in the hovels, but--Marse Richard, when +dark comes it's the nacher of a child to want its mother. They can't +he'p they nachers." + +He did not answer her. In his ears the impassioned cry was sounding, +"And Nature's law is God's very own!" + +In his perplexity--for Mammy Cely was persistently, though humbly, +waiting for instructions--Richard De Jarnette remembered the picture +that Bess had given him. With a faint spasm of hope he took it from his +pocket and put it in the hand of the old woman. + +"Here, show him this. Let him take it to bed with him. That young girl +that came on with his mother gave it to me. She said it might help him +if he was homesick." + +Mammy Cely took the photograph and looked at it with interest, shaking +her head and setting her lips together. + +"That sholy is got the favor of Miss Margaret,--and Philip too. Jes' +look at the little thing with his face pressed up ag'in hers. That's +what he wants to do now! A chile don't want no mo' heaven than that. +Yes, sir,"--respectfully--"I reckon that'll do him a heap er good. That +young girl certainly was thoughtful! She was so." + +There was the slightest drawing down of the corners of Mammy Cely's +mouth, as if to combat a tendency they had to go up. + +Richard had not much more than settled himself again with John Fiske +when he heard Mammy Cely lumbering down the stairs. + +"Marse Richard!" + +"Well? What do you want now?" + +His tone was decidedly irritated. + +"I reckon you'll have to come. The picture don't 'pear to meet the case. +Hit's worse an' mo' of it! Soon as he seed his ma's face he busted right +out. He's jes' howlin' now." + +Very reluctantly Mr. De Jarnette ascended to his nephew's room. +Frightful wails corroborated the truth of Mammy Cely's assertions and +the accuracy of her descriptive powers. The sounds stopped abruptly as +the gentleman entered the room, for a man was an unknown quantity in +Philip's experience, and his uncle was a stranger to him. But such a +tempest of lamentation cannot be shut off entirely at a moment's notice. +The child's breath came in convulsive sobs that threatened to disrupt +his little body. + +"What is the matter, Philip?" asked Mr. De Jarnette, sitting down by the +bed. "What are you crying about?" + +"I--I want--my--my--my _mama_!" + +"You can't have your mama now. She isn't here." + +"But--I--_want_ my mama!" + +"Philip, didn't you hear me say your mama was not here?" Mr. De Jarnette +spoke rather sternly. Then, with full confidence in his nephew's +reasoning powers, he proceeded to explain that his mama was in the city, +miles and miles away from here--that even if he could see her in the +morning it would be impossible to do it to-night--that if he was a good +little boy, _maybe_-- + +There is no telling what imprudence he might have been led into by his +desire for peace, but at this juncture Philip, who had been quieted for +a while by the strangeness of a masculine voice, broke out afresh: + +"I want--my ma-a-ma!" + +"He's answerin' yo' argyments the same way he did mine, Marse Richard. +The color of 'em don't 'pear to make no diff'unce." + +It didn't indeed. However forcible and logical was Mr. De Jarnette's +line of reasoning, however convincing it seemed temporarily, no sooner +was it ended than Philip, with a child's insistent iteration, made +reply: + +"But I want my ma-a-ma!" + +"You git a chile in that frame of mind," moralized Mammy Cely, "and hits +reasonin' powers is mighty weak. Jes' as well try to argue with a dose +of ipecac after it's down." + +"Go on out of here!" commanded Mr. De Jarnette, pausing in his strides +across the room with Philip in his arms. And Mammy Cely retired, greatly +pleased with the turn affairs were taking. + +At the sound of the closing door, Philip broke out into renewed +lamentations. His only friend was gone. + +"Philip! Stop your crying! Stop, I say!" + +In his desperation Mr. De Jarnette spoke far more sternly than he felt. +Philip stopped in sheer astonishment. But his mouth and chin puckered +themselves up in that most pitiful of all things--a child's attempts at +self control. + +"I isn't been use--to--scolding," he said, reproachfully. + +"I don't want to scold you," Mr. De Jarnette hastened to say, for there +were signs of another inundation. "You are going to be a good little boy +now and--" + +"Is it bad to want my mama?" asked Philip. + +"No, but it is foolish to keep on asking for what you can't have." + +"Why can't I have my mama?" + +"Because she's not here." + +"Why ain't she here?" + +"Because she is at the hospital." + +"What for?" + +"She's sick." + +"What makes her sick?" + +"Philip, if you will go to sleep now, I will bring you some candy in the +morning. Will you do it?" + +Philip considered. + +"Would it be gum dwops?" + +"Yes. Or any other obtainable variety. And some peanuts too--and popcorn +balls." + +"I'd rather have a jack-knife," said Philip, with faintly-reviving +interest. + +"Well, you shall have a jack-knife too--and +some--fire-crackers,"--ransacking his memory for childish tastes. + +"Is it going to be Christmas?" asked his nephew, beginning to feel that +life was still worth living. + +"Yes. We have Christmas once a month at Elmhurst--oftener if needed." + +"Are you Santa Claus?" asked Philip in an awed voice. + +"I'm a friend of his," returned Richard gravely, with an odd sense that +this was a plagiarism which would be detected. + +But there is nothing like the trustingness of childhood. + +"Then can you get anything you want from Santa Claus for little boys?" + +"Almost anything," said Mr. De Jarnette cautiously, remembering mothers. + +It was a fruitful vein and Philip worked it for all it was worth. When +at last his eyelids closed over the bright eyes and the curly head lay +still against his uncle's breast, Santa Claus's friend stood committed +to a bushel of candy, a bag of peanuts, some pink lemonade, a balloon +(showing the connection of ideas), a dog, two white rabbits, a sure +enough engine, and a billy goat. He considered peace cheaply purchased +at that. He would have impoverished the exchequer rather than have had +another two hours of conflict. + +"Is he likely to keep this up long?" he asked Mammy Cely whom he met in +the hall just as he had laid his young nephew on his bed and tip-toed +from the room. He wiped his brow nervously. + +"Lord, Marse Richard, sometimes a homesick chile will carry on this way +for a month. Yes, sir, they will so." + +The drops broke out on Richard's forehead. + +"He won't be apt to have a return of it to-night, will he?" + +"You can't never tell," said Mammy, cruelly. "He may have another spell +inside of an hour. Ef he does I'll call you. Seems lak you can pacify +him a heap better than what I can. Yes, sir." + + + + + CHAPTER XXV + THE MADONNA PICTURE + + +The master of Elmhurst returned to it the next night loaded down. He +might have passed for a gentleman delivering his own groceries. In the +toy store, with a shuddering recollection of what it was to be void of +material from which to fashion a bribe, he had made purchases right and +left. One would have thought that judiciously doled out they might be +made to spread out over the month of weeping that Mammy Cely had darkly +hinted at. + +Philip had not waked when he left home that morning and there had been +no opportunity to see how far a night in his new domicile had succeeded +in reconciling him to it. Mr. De Jarnette had what he himself felt was +an almost unreasonable anxiety about it. Before he came to live with him +the personality of this child seemed a thing of no moment whatever. Now +it assumed gigantic proportions. What if Philip did not like the things +he had bought for him? What if he refused to be bought by them? He +shuddered as he thought of last night and the possibility of its +duplication. + +Before leaving home that morning he had informed his housekeeper that he +had shut up the town house for the present and would come out every +night. Moreover, he had directed that Philip should have his dinner with +him. That this was a sacrifice was certainly true, but it was one that +his conscience demanded. Unsuspected in the depths of Richard De +Jarnette's nature was an active volcano, never sending up fire and smoke +that could be seen of men, but keeping up a low rumbling a good deal of +the time. It was this that had brought him to live at his country home +at a time when he specially desired to absent himself from it. It had +issued the fiat that he must forego his quiet evening meal and make +himself a martyr to a child's presence. He thought of it with anything +but pleasure. But, so ominous was the rumbling within that though he +could have avoided it all by a word, for the life of him he could not +say the word. He had forcibly taken this child into his own life. He +could not evade the responsibility that came with the act. + +And yet Richard De Jarnette was considered a hard man. + +The dinner proved less of an ordeal than he had expected. Indeed, after +the first embarrassment of that strange small presence, it really was +rather interesting. He was so unused to children that his small nephew's +observations seemed rather remarkable. He did not know that the only way +a child learns language is to experiment in its use. + +Philip was a well-behaved child, with a natural sense of propriety. +Having been reared with grown people he had a somewhat startling use of +words, but for the same reason he was entirely self-possessed without a +trace of pertness. He had been accustomed to meeting older people on +equal terms. He was secretly rather ashamed of his childishness of the +night before. As he explained to Mammy Cely it had been because he could +not help it. + +Seated at the table with freshly brushed locks and all traces of tears +gone, he looked quite the little gentleman. Mammy Cely had cautioned him +not to talk too much. But Philip knew enough to hold up his end of the +conversation. + +"Well, Philip, how have you and Mammy Cely got along to-day?" + +"Pretty well," said Philip, cheerfully. + +"What have you been doing to amuse yourself?" + +Philip considered. He had done a great many things, for Mammy Cely had +taken a day off to amuse and entertain him. + +"I can't explain it," he said at length. "I forgot the number." What he +meant Richard never knew, and it is quite likely that Philip had no very +definite idea himself. + +Later he remembered about putting the chickens in the "hovels," which he +related with animation. After a pause he asked politely: + +"Do you have any turkles around here?" + +"Turkeys?" suggested his uncle. + +"No, sir--turkles--mud-turkles. We had a gweat many in Sous Haven. I had +four--only Vi'let got away and Lily got _squshed_." + +"Did you name your turtles?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"What were their names?" Mr. De Jarnette was surprised at his interest +in carrying on this conversation. + +"Rose, and Lily, and Vi'let,--and--Alcohol," said Philip. + +Richard gave a sudden cough. + +"Isn't that rather a remarkable combination?" he asked, gravely. + +"I think Alcohol is a good name for a turkle," said Philip, positively. +"It's such a long name. And turkles are round." + +"What did you say happened to Lily?" + +"Why, once I took my turkles upstair in a cup so I would have them as +soon as I got up, and--they got out and was promenadin' around, and--in +the morning Mama didn't see 'em and she stepped on Lily and she +_squshed_." Then with a spasm of reminiscence, "Mama don't 'preciate +turkles." + +When Richard De Jarnette went into his library that night it was with a +strange feeling of the freshness of life. He had been walking up and +down the garden walks for an hour, holding his nephew by the hand. + +Mammy Cely had come for him at last, saying in an aside. "I'm gwineter +git him off while times is good." Then to Philip, "Tell yo' Uncle +Richard good-night, honey." + +"Good-night, Uncle Wichard," he said, obediently. + +"Good-night, Philip." + +The child stood as if waiting. + +"He's waiting fur you to kiss him," prompted Mammy Cely. "He ain't used +to goin' off 'thout bein' kissed." + +Richard De Jarnette stooped down to the little boy, who put his arms +around his neck as if that were the only way to do. + +"Good-night, Philip," he repeated. + +"Good-night. Uncle Wichard. Now you have to say, 'God bless my boy.'" + +"God bless my boy," said Richard De Jarnette, after a moment's surprised +delay. + +"God bless my mama--my Unker Wichard," Philip said, as simply as he said +it every night, and went away quite satisfied. + + * * * * * + +An hour or two later, when darkness had descended upon the land and the +whippoorwill was sounding his lonely call, Mammy Cely appeared at the +library door. + +"Marse Richard, the circus done let in." + +"He hasn't begun that performance again!" + +"Well," replied Mammy Cely, conservatively, "not to say the reely +pufformance. But the band's chunin' up. And look lak you 's the +ring-master. I ain't got no mo' to say now than one of the spotted +ponies or the clown. He done call fur _you_." + +It was inevitable. Mr. De Jarnette laid down his book. + +"What is it, Philip?" he asked kindly, as he sat down by the bed. + +"Nothing--only--I thes 'emembered it was Lily instead of Vi'let got +away. It was Vi'let that got squshed." + +"Oh!" + +"He's jes' makin' talk, Marse Richard," explained Mammy Cely in an +undertone. "He can't go to sleep and he wants you to stay with him. I +know chil'n." + +There is something irresistible in a child's turning from some one else +to us. It is the subtlest kind of flattery. + +"I'll stay with him a while. Go on down-stairs if you want to." He half +wanted to try the experiment of managing him alone. + +When she was gone he said quietly, "Philip, would you rather have me +stay with you than Mammy Cely?" + +"Yes, sir. You see--I isn't used to--any black person at night." + +"I see. If I stay with you will you be a brave little boy and not cry?" + +"Yes, sir. My mama told me--I must be bwave, but--" one little hand +covered his lips in a futile attempt to shut off a sob--"I'm afraid +I--can't--be--ver-r-ry bwave!" + +Richard De Jarnette held out his arms. Coming up the stairs he had vowed +he would not do this thing. "Do you want to sit in my lap?" + +"Yes, sir!" + +In his uncle's protecting embrace, the nervous, over-wrought child said +stoutly: + +"They isn't any big black dogs 'wound here, is they, Unker Wichard?" + +"No, indeed." + +"And they isn't anybody trying to get me away from my--from anybody, +_is_ there?" + +"There is nothing that is going to hurt you, Philip," was the grave, but +reassuring reply. + +Philip lay still a few moments in relieved content. Then he enquired +seductively, "You don't know any stories, do you, Unker Wichard?" +Adding, with a little catch in his voice, "My mama always tells me +stories." + +"Stories are not much in my line, Philip. But perhaps I could grind out +one." + +"I 'most know I couldn't go to sleep on one," said Philip, with thrifty +providence. "Maybe I could if you could 'member three. I'd try." + +"All right." + +Philip settled himself for solid comfort. If there was one thing that he +loved better than all the world except his mother, it was a good story. + +"This is a story about a dog I saw to-day on Pennsylvania Avenue." + +"What was his name?" + +"I didn't hear his name." + +"Was it Rover?" + +"I don't know." + +"Do you think it was Carlo?" + +"I told you I didn't know his name." + +"Well, I never knew any people told stories they didn't know," commented +his auditor. + +Thus chastened at the outset, Richard lost that confidence which is the +prime essential to success in the gentle art of story-telling. He +proceeded a little doubtfully. + +"This morning, Philip, as I was getting on a car--" + +"What car?" + +"One on Pennsylvania Avenue." + +"Was it a green car or a yellow one?" + +"It was a yellow one." + +"It wasn't a wed car?" + +"No, it was a yellow one." + +"Oh! Well--" + +"Well, as I got on, a man stepped on the back platform, and his dog +wanted to get on, too. But the man drove him back and then got on, +thinking, I suppose, that the dog had gone home. But instead of that the +dog ran to the front of the car, and when the car started he walked in +and stood in front of his master, as much as to say, 'Well, I did it, +anyway!' Wasn't he a smart dog?" + +Philip was silent a moment. + +"Didn't he say anything?" + +"Who--the man?" + +"No--the dog." + +"Why, certainly not." + +"Didn't he wink?" + +"Wink? No." + +"What did the man say?" + +"He didn't say anything. He opened his paper and went to reading." + +Philip waited. + +"What's the rest of it?" he asked at length. + +"There isn't any more. That's the end of the story." He said it in +rather a shame-faced way. + +Philip raised himself to a sitting posture and looked his uncle straight +in the eye. + +"Unker Wichard," he said, quietly, "did you think that was a story?" + +"I had thought so," acknowledged Mr. De Jarnette. "I see my mistake +now." Then, with a momentary flash of spirit, he enquired, "What's wrong +with that story, any way?" + +"It don't begin right. You have to say, 'Once on a time--'" + +"Oh, you do? Well, if you know my story better than I do, suppose you +tell it." + +"I can't," said Philip. "I'd rather tell you when you get it wrong," +thus unconsciously enunciating a principle of criticism as old as time. +If all the critics had to pass a novitiate as image-makers before they +were admitted to the bar as image-breakers, there is danger that the +race would become extinct. But this critic was not through. + +"And then--Unker Wichard, do you think a dog that don't say anything in +a story 'mounts to much?" + +"But, Philip, dogs don't talk, you know." + +"Wolfs talk." Philip was reasoning from analogy. "And so do bears. Don't +you 'member the old papa bear saying, 'Who's been sitting in my chair?' +and the little baby bear saying, 'Who's been sitting in my chair?'" +suiting his tone to their respective ages and sizes. "And don't you +'member 'bout _Brer Fox and Brer Rabbit_?" + +"But they were not dogs," weakly suggested the story-teller, conscious +that he was begging the question. + +"The dogs talk in my mama's stories. And she knows their names, too. +Unker Wichard! _where_ is _ma-a-ma_?" + +With the blue eyes filling and that blood-curdling sentence on the +grieved lips, Richard De Jarnette felt the hair of his flesh rising. + +"Philip," he said, hastily, "do you want me to tell you 'Little Red +Riding Hood?'" + +This was Philip's favorite story, and he swallowed his tears and +prepared to listen. + +Mr. De Jarnette was not very sure of his ground, but in a general way he +remembered the story and with fatal fatuity trusted to be able to supply +satisfactory details. Alas for the success of such a scheme! A child's +memory for stories is verbal and circumstantial, and a deviation is a +crime. + +"Once on a time," began Mr. De Jarnette--he was sure of this +much--"there was a little girl named Red Riding Hood. I don't know why +she was named that. It was almost as odd a name for a girl as 'Alcohol' +was for a turtle." This was padding. He had perceived that his other +story was too condensed. + +"It was 'cause she had a little red cloak with a hood," said Philip. +"That's part of the story." + +"Of course. I hadn't thought of that." It came to Mr. De Jarnette +whimsically that he was sharing the fate of all padders. Philip had +instantly picked out the spurious material and thrown it aside. + +"Well, this little girl lived with her mother, but she had an old--an +old-d--aunt--" + +"It was her grandmother," corrected his audience. + +"So it was--her grandmother. Don't hesitate about setting me right any +time, Philip." + +"No, sir, I won't. I see you don't know it very well." + +"H-m. Well, this little girl went over one day to take her aun--her +grandmother some flowers--" + +"Unker Wichard," said Philip in a tone of real distress, "it wasn't +flowers! It was a pot of butter." + +"I believe you are right. Well--" + +The story went on haltingly, and with many corrections and amendments. +It seemed incredible to Philip that anybody could tell a story so +poorly. + +Once when the thrilling part was reached detailing the colloquy between +the little maid and the wicked wolf, Mr. De Jarnette unhappily dropped +into the indirect quotation--a thing that has spoiled many a dramatic +passage in the pulpit. + +"--So when the little girl asked the wolf what made his eyes so large he +told her it was so that he could see everything." + +Philip had been sorely tried before. But at this mangling of a fine +thing he cried out in utter exasperation, + +"Unker Wichard! _That_ isn't the way! Little Wed Widing Hood says, +'Gwandmother, what makes your ey-y-es so big?'" His own matched the +wolf's. "And then the old wolf says, 'To _se-e-e_ the better, my dear!'" +His voice was terrible to hear. + +"That's what I said, Philip--in substance." + +"Yes, but you didn't say it like you believed it. When my mama tells it +I can just _hear_ the old wolf. _Unker Wichard, where is_--" + +"Philip, I haven't finished the story yet." + +In his alarm he threw himself into the remainder of the narrative with a +frantic eagerness that was fairly satisfactory. Even with the highly +dramatic close Philip found no fault. But when it stopped he sat with +muscles tense, and eyes eager. He was plainly waiting for something +else. + +"Well?" he said. + +Mr. De Jarnette was puzzled. + +"Well? That's the end." + +Philip became limp. + +"My mama always jumps at me, and kisses me, and eats me up," he +announced in a dignified manner. He felt distinctly defrauded. "The end +is always the best part of my mama's stories." + +What merciless critics children are! How by instinct they see the weak +point and how unerringly they strike for it! + +They rocked in silence for a while and then Philip asked in a polite +tone in which there was still a note of hope, + +"Do you know Bible stories any better than you do this kind, Unker +Wichard?" He was willing to give his uncle another chance. + +But that humiliated gentleman was forced to acknowledge that he knew +even less about Bible stories than the kind he had been relating. + +"Then I guess I'll go to sleep," his nephew decided, with unflattering +renunciation. + +But sleep was hard to woo to-night. + +"I do shut 'em tight and tight and tight. But they fly open." Then after +a further trial, "Unker Wichard, I can't never go to sleep without +kissing mama." + +"Philip, suppose you tell me a Bible story," suggested Mr. De Jarnette, +hurriedly. "What do you know?" + +Philip reflected. A story of his telling would keep his uncle there just +the same. + +"I know 'Moses in the Bulwushes.'" + +"That will do nicely. Wait a minute. Let me turn down the light. Now +I'll rock you while you tell it. Go on." + +"Well--Once there was a little boy named Moses. And he looked thes like +me." + +"Oughtn't you to say, 'Once upon a time'?" suggested his uncle, +maliciously. + +"Why, no, sir! Not with Bible stories." + +"Oh!" + +"You have to say, 'Once there was a little boy named Moses.' And my mama +says he looked thes like me. He was so sweet--and so sweet--and so +sweet! His mama used ter kiss him and kiss him and kiss him and kiss him +and kiss him and kiss him and--" + +"There! she's kissed him enough now. Go on." + +"Well, there was a wicked man in that country and he was going to take +all the little chilwuns from their mamas." + +"Where was that country?" + +"I don't know, sir. I asked mama where it was and she said she guessed +it was Washington." + +"Humph!" + +"But I don't believe it was, though, 'cause Gwandma Pennybacker thes +laughed the way she does when mama is fooling. But anyway he was a' +awful bad man, 'cause he wanted to take the chilwuns from their mamas." +He waited a moment for indorsement of this sentiment, and receiving +none, asked, "Ain't that wicked, Unker Wichard?" + +"Supposed to be--yes." + +"Well--Moses's mother didn't want him to get her little boy, so she hid +him--in the bulwushes. She did! I know she did, 'cause my mama said so. +And-d, she set the basket down in the bulwushes at the edge of the +wiver--Black Wiver--wight where the fwogs and the turkles was. Unker +Wichard, once I was Moses!" + +"Indeed? In a former incarnation, I suppose." + +"No, sir. It wasn't in a carnation, at all. It was in a basket. And it +was on a wiver." + +"Philip, what are you talking about?" + +"I _was_ Moses. My mama said I was--her little Moses. We was on a boat, +and there was a wicked man trying to get me, and my mama put me in a +basket, and--" + +Richard began to listen with interest. He had never known how that feat +had been accomplished. Smeltzer had not dilated on it much. + +"--and she covered me up in the basket--thes like Moses--and that woman +my mama hugged that day said maybe they would think I was soiled +clothes--but I _wasn't_ any soiled clothes! Gwandma Pennybacker said I +wasn't even _clean_ clothes, and I kept thes as still, 'cause mama said +that wicked man would get me if I made a noise." + +"What did they do with you?" + +"Why, that woman and another man lifted me out of the boat and took me +somewhere--and I stayed there a hundred hours--and then the boat was +gone--and another boat come along (but it wasn't the Gwand Wapids), and +we got on it and my mama thes cried and cried and cried. Wasn't that +funny that she cried when we had got away? But she didn't put me down +with the fwogs and the turkles! She held me tight and tight and tight." +The recollection of that sweet embrace was too much for him. + +"Unker Wichard--" + +With a child all roads lead to Rome. The story ended as the others +had--"Where's my ma-a-ma?" + +When Richard De Jarnette got back to his library he felt as if he had +had a nerve tapped. If this was to continue indefinitely he would became +a driveling imbecile. The plaint had such a haunting, piteous ring! + +As he was turning over the papers on the library table his hand +accidentally encountered the picture Bess had given him. He took it up +and looked at it. + +It was Margaret at her best. The roundness of curve belonging to young +womanhood was still there, but when he thought of her as a bride it +seemed to him that this face had in it a subtle something that the +bride's face did not have. Maternity had deepened the shadows around the +eyes, and care--inseparable from maternity--had added lines here and +there that would never be retouched. The mouth was firmer than he +remembered his sister-in-law's to have been. He recalled how like a +child's that mouth had been the day he told her Victor was gone. + +It was a rare face, in contour and in character. He smiled to think how +faces, like figures, could lie. Yes, a beautiful face, but not one +especially to stir a man. It was pure madonna. A pair of chubby arms +were clasped about her neck, and to her softly rounded cheek was pressed +a baby face--so like her own--and yet to Richard's eyes so like another +baby face that he remembered well. The picture was good of Philip now, +though it must have been taken--well, perhaps-- + +He turned the picture over to look for a possible date. + + "For Grandma Pennybacker," + +it said in Margaret's writing, and then + + "Baby Philip--aged two." + +Below this was a newspaper clipping pasted neatly on the card. He read +the title curiously: "My Page," and then the lines. It seemed to have +been put there as though the picture and the poem belonged together. + + "Long years ago I held within my grasp + An open page--a fair, white, goodly page-- + Whereon to write a life. I filled it full,-- + With love and love's sweet ministries,--with home + And the dear homely cares which make most full + A woman's life--my husband's sheltering care, + And the soft prattle of a baby's voice. + And then, in very peace and restfulness, + I closed my eyes and said, 'I thank Thee, Lord, + For life!'" + +He turned the picture over and looked long at the face. He did not see +Philip's this time. What was this thing? Had she written it herself, or +only found it somewhere and pasted it on the back of the photograph +before giving it away? Perhaps the older woman had put it there. He read +on: + + "A moment only--then I heard, + 'A happy, sheltered life--but 'tis not thine.' + I reached my hand to grasp my treasured page; + It closed upon a bare, blank sheet--no more. + And still the voice said, 'Write!'" + +He looked again at the picture. This sounded as if it might be an echo +from her own life. Was it? Yet he had always thought her so cold. + + "Through falling tears + That blurred the page and well-nigh hid the lines, + With fainting heart and faltering hand I took + The pen. It seemed that there was nothing more + To write. I could not fill the page. One bare, + Bald word came to me as I wrote. That word + Was Duty, and I wrote it o'er and o'er. + And then--so tender is our God!--so kind!-- + The words grew luminous beneath my pen, + And as I wrote were changed to 'Peace' and 'Joy.' + + "'And was it then the same fair page?' Ah, no! + This had a margin, wide and deep and bare, + With many a name erased and line left out; + But 'twas my own--my very own--and all + I had; and clutching it with death-like grip, + I held it to me as I wrote once more." + +There came to him the very sound of her voice as she said passionately +to him the day he tried to effect a reconciliation, "All I want now is +to be allowed to live my own life--with my child!" + + "A whirlwind came--a tempest fierce and wild, + Broke on my helpless head and bore me down; + It wrenched my page away and beat it in + The ground. And then it passed and left me there, + A broken, prostrate thing. But ere the surge + And roar had ceased there fell upon my ear + The same word, 'Write!' + + "'Why, Lord!' I cried, 'how can + I write? My page is gone!--the fragments torn + And soiled and beaten to the earth! _One scrap + Alone I hold of all that once was mine!_' + The voice said tenderly, 'Take that thou hast + And write.' Awe-struck, I listened and obeyed. + + "I took the scrap, so pitifully small, + Smoothed out the crumpled edges, and began. + And as I wrote--oh, marvel unforeseen!-- + A hand invisible, divine, joined on + Another scrap, and smoothed the seam, and made + It ready for my pen. + + "And thus, as days + Go on, the page still grows. 'Tis not the one + I fain would have; 'tis seamed and tempest-stained + And blurred with many tears. 'Tis not the one + I planned; but as I look at it I know + It is the one my Father meant for me, + And so--because He bids me--still I write." + +Richard De Jarnette laid the picture down gently and went outside. He +felt bewildered. It was a moonless, starless night. For an hour or more +a glowing spark moved back and forth, back and forth, in the rose garden +his mother had planted. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVI + FACE TO FACE + + +It was weeks before Margaret emerged from the shadow of death that fell +upon her that day in the court-room. When she did she looked like one of +the shades. The fever had wrought sad ravages. + +"It's too bad!" whispered Maria Van Dorn to Bess the first time she saw +her. "A woman has lost all when she's lost her beauty." And she glanced +with a degree of satisfaction at her own fair reflection. The contrast +was striking. Maria had never been in better flesh or color. + +"I hadn't thought of that," said Bess. "I'm so glad to see her alive." + +But if Margaret's cheeks were hollow and the rose tint gone, the light +that shone above them was undimmed. From their deep setting her great +eyes glowed like smouldering coals. + +They kept her at the hospital as long as they could, delaying the +home-coming upon every possible pretext. When at last she came the house +was swept and garnished but very empty. + +She went from room to room. They had removed every trace of a child's +presence as people do when the dead are laid away. + +"I want every thing put back in its place," she said,--"his bed, his +chair, his playthings. They must be ready for him when he comes." Then, +as Mrs. Pennybacker looked up with quick apprehension, she said with a +smile, "No, it is not fever; it is faith. I thought it all out while I +was at the hospital. God will never let me lose my child." + +When Judge Kirtley came she talked it over with a calm cheerfulness that +amazed him,--listening to his report of what had been done and putting +in now and then a question which showed her mind to be clear and alert. +While she was helpless Judge Kirtley had not been idle. His next move, +he told her, would be to attack the validity of the law upon which the +will rested. Since the will itself had been sustained by the Probate +Court, and that decision had been practically reaffirmed by the court +which had just awarded the custody of the child to the guardian, and +they had no new evidence to offer, this seemed to him their best show. +In all his practice he had never known a case of this kind before, and +he proposed now to test the law. He had associated with himself a firm +of successful attorneys in middle life who were working upon the case +with much interest. + +"We may not see the end of this for a long time, my child, but when we +do I expect to have a decision in your favor." + +"It will be." + +She said it with such implicit confidence that he felt impelled to say, +remembering her former hopefulness and its disastrous overthrow, "Still, +it is always wise to look the possibility of defeat in the face." + +"No," she said, "I will not look the possibility of defeat in the face. +Some day I will get him." It seemed almost as if her faith were +inspired. + +The court had provided that she should see the child at stated +intervals, he told her. Philip was now at Mr. De Jarnette's country +home, and was, he was informed, well and happy. + +Her lips tightened. "I will go to him to-day," she said. + +"Margaret, if this thing could be settled out of court it would save you +a great deal of anxiety and tedious waiting. It is just possible that +having been successful, Mr. De Jarnette might be in a compromising frame +of mind. Sometimes it works that way. Could you make up your mind to see +him yourself?" + +"I can make up my mind to do anything that is necessary," she said. + +It seemed to the old Judge that no heart of flesh and blood could +withstand her as she looked that day. + + * * * * * + +Sitting by the window of his office the next afternoon Mr. De Jarnette +saw his sister-in-law's carriage drive slowly down the street and stop +before the Conococheague building. Mr. Harcourt was beside her. He was +much at the Massachusetts Avenue house these days, and Mrs. Pennybacker +encouraged it. "Your nonsense will do her good just now," she told him. +"She needs a breeze from the outside world that will freshen the air +without blowing directly upon her." After this he fell into the habit of +dropping in at odd times--after office hours, and occasionally for +Sunday night supper. Mr. De Jarnette had noticed on the day of the trial +when Margaret lay in a faint that he came directly to her as though his +place were at her side. Looking at them now as they sat there together +and thinking of all that had occurred in this room he felt somehow +bereft anew. + +After his brother's death he had given up his own room across the hall +and moved into the one Victor had occupied. Dr. Semple had urged him to +give up the suite and go somewhere else, but with an obstinacy which was +a part of the man he refused. + +On the floor was still the dark spot made by Victor De Jarnette's life +blood. His brother would never even have the carpet changed. Only the +luxurious furnishings of the room had given place to the plain office +furniture of the room across the hall. + +It was here that he received Margaret. If he had planned her coming he +would have received her here. + +It was the first time she had been in the room since the day her husband +lay dead on the floor. Instinctively her eyes sought the place, and +Richard De Jarnette watching her closely, saw a shudder pass through +her. The same expression of horror that convulsed her features that day +came over them again. It was but momentary, however. She had come here +for a purpose and she was not to be deterred. She threw her soul into +that plea. + +"You come to me here," he said at length, in a tone that promised +little--"in this room--to urge the setting aside of my dead brother's +will?" + +"Why should I not? You know he had no right to make such a will--no +moral right." + +"He had a legal right," he said, cruelly. "On that I stand." Then +looking at her fixedly and speaking with slow emphasis as if weighing +every word and giving her time to do the same: "Had he been permitted to +live out his life he might, himself, have changed the provisions of that +will--have rescinded that which you feel to be cruel and unnatural--that +which I do not say was _not_ cruel and unnatural. But--" his eyes sought +the brown spot on the floor, and hers followed them,--"before he could +do this his life was cut off--" + +"By his own hand," she protested. + +"--and the possibility of undoing what he had done was wrested from him. +Well! Let it stand." + +She looked at him as if she were trying to fathom his meaning. But his +face was inscrutable. Then she rose. + +"I have made my last appeal to you," she said. "It is useless to +humiliate myself further. I came here hoping against hope that having +vindicated before the world your legal right to the guardianship and +custody of my child, you might then be so just, so generous, as to give +him back into the keeping of his natural guardian. But I have overrated +you." + +He surprised her by a reply to this. + +"Did it ever occur to you," he asked quietly, "that you might have +underrated me?" + +"No. Never." + +"Suppose for one moment--for purposes of argument only--that I am not +the black-hearted thing you think me--that I would not drag shrieking +children from their mother's breasts for the mere pleasure of the +thing--can you then conceive no reason why I should feel that I and not +you--_you_--" he was looking searchingly at her now, his eyes narrowing +and concentrating their gleam upon her face--"should have the keeping of +my dead brother's child?" + +She shook her head slowly, wonderingly. + +"I can conceive no reason, no possible reason. Oh, I have made mistakes, +if that is what you mean. But they were the mistakes of a brute mother +robbed. A tigress when she sees a cobra hanging near does not wait to +have the Jungle's Lord High Magistrate pass upon the case! She springs +and falls upon it, or--despairing of that--snatches up her cub and flees +with it to a place of safety. _I did that--no more!_ I was a woman--I +could not strike--and so I caught up my child and fled. The Judge says I +broke the law,--" she threw back her head with the old imperious +gesture--"I say I kept it--Nature's law, implanted by a greater than +judge or jury. But, humanly speaking, it was a mistake--I grant you +that. I should have stayed and trusted to the chance that a stone might +melt, have knelt, a suppliant at your feet, saying, 'Oh, sir, I +recognize your right! The law, of course, is just! But--give a poor girl +back her baby!'" + +Richard De Jarnette sat motionless before her, not taking his eyes from +her face, not indicating in any way that he felt her thrusts. If this +was acting it was good of its kind. + +Dropping her tone of bitter satire she went on. + +"Yes, a mistake--but one that I shall not make again. I was then +scarcely more than child myself. A child fighting against a strong man +and the law.... But let it pass. Now I am a woman, full-grown and old, +old! A few years like these would crowd eternity." She stopped a moment +and then went on. She was not through yet. + +"Richard De Jarnette, you have might on your side,--the will--a wicked, +wicked one; a law--so infamous that its very wording reeks to high +heaven; and the decision of the court. Against all these I put my +woman's patience and the right--and I defy you! I shall win! This time I +shall be patient,--oh, so patient,--and tireless as the insects on a +coral reef. It will be long,--perhaps I may be gray-headed when it +comes--but some day--" again she threw her head back, not raising her +voice above its former low pitch, but speaking with incisive utterance +that cut the air--"some day _I shall have my child_. For it is right. +And in the end right wins." + +She made a movement to pass out, but he stopped her by a gesture. + +"One moment, please. There is something concerning Philip about which I +would like to speak to you. Will you not be seated?" + +"Thank you, I will stand." + +He raised his brows slightly and went on. + +"While I have declined, and shall decline, to relinquish my right to the +custody of my dead brother's child--" Margaret's eyes flashed--he always +spoke of the child in this way--never as hers--"_and I think you know +why_--I do not wish to make it harder for you than is necessary. The +court has granted you the privilege of seeing him at stated times. For +reasons that it is not necessary at this time to give, I prefer that +those meetings should be at my home rather than at yours. The boy will +be kept for the present at Elmhurst under the care of his old nurse whom +you know and trust." + +Margaret bowed assent. + +"I will say to you frankly that I do not consider it for the child's +best good that your visits should be more frequent than provided by the +court--" + +"In other words, you want him to forget me," she broke in bitterly. + +He did not answer the outburst. + +"--but the trains run past Elmhurst at such hours that it would be +difficult to make the trip in a morning or afternoon. At any time that +it suits your convenience to be there at luncheon, I trust you will feel +at liberty to do so." + +She looked at him in amazement. Then she said proudly, "Pardon me. I +could hardly bring myself to do that, Mr. De Jarnette." + +He bowed gravely. + +"As you will. Another thing: the station is some distance from the +house. If you will let them know when to expect you, the carriage will +always be there to meet you." + +There seemed the strangest incongruity in this iron man's arranging for +her comfort and convenience, while persistently doing the one thing that +broke her heart. She felt suddenly ashamed of her ungraciousness. + +"Thank you," she said "for your courtesy. I--I beg that you will pardon +my rudeness. True, the right to be always with my child is already +mine--I do not relinquish one jot or tittle of that claim--but I realize +that you have done more than the law required of you. For this I thank +you. But it must be distinctly understood that I am not to be bought off +by it. Nor will my efforts to recover my child be relaxed. The fight is +on between us, and I warn you that I shall _never_ give it up." + +"Never is a long time," he said as he opened the door for her and bowed +her out. + +"A long time," she repeated, "except for God and mothers." + + * * * * * + +When Richard De Jarnette went back into his office he sat down with his +long legs stretched out before him and his eyes staring at the brown +spot on the carpet. For a long, long time he did not stir. At last he +roused himself. "I would give ten years of my life," he said, "_ten +years_--to know." + + + + + CHAPTER XXVII + AT ELMHURST + + +If there had been any latent doubts in the minds of Margaret's friends +as to her force of character they were dispelled in the weeks that +followed. She had come back from the hospital wasted in flesh but +resolute of soul. Her period of convalescence had been a season of +gathering strength for a protracted effort. She would waste no force +after this in beating her wings against restraining bars. It almost +seemed to Mrs. Pennybacker as she watched her that she had had a new +birth. Her whole nature was deepened and broadened. Even her interview +with Mr. De Jarnette did not daunt her. + +"I have been too impatient," she said once. "I can see now how I have +injured my cause by injudicious haste. If I had not run off with Philip +I might have him now. I know Judge Kirtley thinks that prejudiced my +cause, and you know what the Judge said." + +"Still, it was instinct." + +"Yes, but I find that this is a thing about which I must use more than +instinct. Oh, I am going to try to be very prudent and very patient. I +don't want to do anything that will lose me one point." + +"Margaret," said Mrs. Pennybacker, plainly, "you are losing more than a +point in refusing the opportunity that Richard De Jarnette puts in your +hands. A whole day instead of an hour is a great gain. If you take my +advice you will not only accept that offer but you will thank him +personally or by letter for it." + +"I cannot," Margaret said passionately, the prudence and patience she +had felt so sure of cast to the winds. "I will not be indebted to him +for one thing. Even for the sake of being with Philip I cannot do it." + +"You are very foolish. It means more than being with Philip." + +"How could it possibly help me in any other way?" + +"There is a principle of human nature involved in it. This is a kindness +that Richard De Jarnette meant to do you,--you will acknowledge that?" + +"Ye-s, but--" + +"Well, a kindness done always disposes the heart of the person doing it +toward the person to whom it is done." + +"I don't want his heart disposed toward me!" cried the girl. "He is a +cruel, despotic man. I hate him and I want to hate him!" + +Mrs. Pennybacker looked at her over the top of her glasses. + +"Patience has hardly had her perfect work with you yet, Margaret," she +observed, dryly. + +It was true, as Margaret had said, that she did not want any favors at +Mr. De Jarnette's hands. She was angry with him for placing her under +obligation in the matter of the carriage: angry at herself for allowing +him to do it: and angry and hurt both at Mrs. Pennybacker's censure. +They ought to know how she would feel, she told herself, with that +isolation of soul which comes to us when our nearest friends fail to +understand. + +But when she found herself the next morning at the little country +station a mile and a half from Elmhurst in a drizzling rain, saw a +solitary carriage in waiting, and heard a respectful voice that belonged +to a past age saying, as a respectful hat was raised from a grizzled old +head, "Is you de lady wha's goin' to Elmhurst, ma'am?" she could not but +acknowledge to herself that her brother-in-law knew more about +conditions than she did and had thoughtfully prepared for them. + +"Yaas 'm," the old driver explained as she stepped into the carriage, +"Marse Richard he say you'd be comin' out pretty _cornstant_ fur a while +an' I was to keep de carriage up dem days so's you could have it +whenuver you say de word. He 'low you'd mos' likely not want it tell +evenin'." + +"I shall want it in about an hour," she said, with a sinking sense of +the shortness of the time, "to meet the noon train." Then she clenched +her hands in a swift fierce anger that this man should be able to impose +restrictions upon her movements. + +When she reached the house and got Philip in her arms she was almost +sorry she had committed herself. How quickly the time was flying! + +She had hoped that the child would not be unhappy, but she was mortally +afraid of his ceasing to mourn for her. Her illness had kept her away so +long, and he was so young! Mammy Cely with intuitive tact dilated upon +the scenes of those first few nights when he had refused to be +comforted, and it was all as manna to her hungry soul. Then Philip, +expecting commendation, said "But I don't cwy any more, mama. Unker +Wichard bwings me candy, and he says I'm a good little boy now." + +"Philip," she cried despairingly, "don't you care for mama as you did at +first? Don't you still want her at night?" + +It seemed to her she could not bear it. + +"Why, yes, mama," the child said wonderingly, "but you said I must be +bwave." + +She caught him to her arms in a passion of jealousy. After all, bravery +was an unnatural virtue in a child. + +"Oh, Mammy Cely," she begged when at last she tore herself away from +him, "_don't_ let him forget me!" + +"I aint gwineter let him forgit you, Miss Margaret--don't you worry! +_Whenever I think of Cass_ I gwinter call you to that chile's +'membrance. Yaas 'm, I is so!" + +And on this assurance she was forced to rest. + +Twice a week the court had said. Those visits came to be Margaret's meat +and drink. To the child as time went by they were only an incident in +his daily life. He had settled into the every-day routine of the place, +lonely sometimes, but finding in Mammy Cely and Uncle Tobe companions +very much to his taste. Every old negro of the ancient school is an +Uncle Remus to some child, and Uncle Tobe was no exception. He and his +wife, Aunt Dicey, lived in one of the cabins behind the house as they +had done before the war. They had been pensioners of Richard De +Jarnette's through all the years of his residence in Washington. Now +that he had come back to Elmhurst with his little nephew, they fell into +line as cook and coachman. The old carriage, so long unused, was brought +out for Margaret's special use, Uncle Tobe furbishing it up for the +occasion with tremulous eagerness. It seemed to him almost like a +revival of the old days when "Miss Julia" had to be driven around. + +They were all very kind to the child. He fed the chickens and hunted for +eggs, and played with the gourds that Aunt Dicey still planted and +hoarded. She always had pomegranates too that she took from some +mysterious place about her bed. But he liked the gourds best, because +they were of so many different sizes that he could play they were almost +anything. + +He followed Mammy Cely about incessantly through the day and as evening +came on would run down through the lawn with the big elm trees in it to +meet his Uncle Richard. Mr. De Jarnette fell into the habit of looking +for the solitary little figure perched on the post of the big gate. When +he saw him Philip would sing out, "Hello, Unker Wichard!" and then, +dropping to the ground, would tug manfully to open the gate which +Richard by a sleight-of-hand performance most remarkable to Philip, +could open from his horse. It was such a manifest mortification to the +child not to be able to do this from the ground that Mr. De Jarnette +sent Uncle Tobe down one day to remedy the sagging so that the feat +could be accomplished. Then Philip's joy and pride knew no bounds, and +when the gate was opened with much tugging and blowing, Richard would +lean down and lift the child in front of him for a canter up the road. +He came to look forward to it with almost as much pleasure as Philip +did. He could remember when Victor did the same thing. + +The day Margaret came Mammy Cely had shown her Philip's room, a great +gloomy unattractive apartment, whose windows like those of the library +below were carefully curtained from the light. + +"A horrible room for a child!" Margaret had exclaimed. "It looks like a +prison." + +Mammy was deeply disappointed. For her part she could see nothing the +matter with the room. It was exactly as her Miss Julia had left it. It +had never been changed even by the second Mrs. De Jarnette. And it was +scrupulously clean. She had herself painted the hearth that morning with +a preparation of brickdust and milk laid on with a rag, which was +supposed in her day to put the finishing touch to an apartment with an +open fireplace. + +"A child ought to have cheerful surroundings and light," Margaret had +said, pushing back the heavy curtain. "And this paper! It is enough to +give him the horrors." + +Mammy Cely had never thought any of these things about the room, but the +next morning she spoke to Mr. De Jarnette as he was starting to town. + +"Marse Richard, is it ever occurred to yo' mind that Philip's room ain't +no fittin' place fur him to stay?" + +"No," said Mr. De Jarnette, in surprise. "What is the matter with it?" + +"That room's too sorrowful lookin' fur a chile, Marse Richard. Hit ought +to have some sort of hilarious paper on the walls, and tarletan curtains +or somethin' that will let in the sunshine. Yaas, sir. Chil'n needs +light, jes' like plants." + +Mr. De Jarnette listened without replying, but he turned back and went +to Philip's room. + +It certainly was rather a gloomy place, he reflected, though he had +never thought of it before. The Brussels carpet was big-figured and dark +and worn, the moths having consumed a yard or so around the edge. Loving +darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil they had found +here a congenial home. Mammy had seen to it that the curtains were +closely drawn. He groped his way across the room and shook them +impatiently, remembering that a child needed light. They gave out a +musty smell. Then he looked at the walls. The paper certainly could not +be called hilarious. + +He looked around the room with a growing discontent and uncertainty of +himself. Strange that an old negro should have thought of all this. He +could see now that it was no place for a child. But he had been into +that room time and again and it had never occurred to _him_. Women +seemed to have a sort of instinct for these things. + +He made no comment when he came down, nor did Mammy Cely. Being wise in +her generation she left her seed to germinate. But he said to her one +morning a week or two later, "Get the things moved out of Philip's room. +I am going to have some work done in it. The men will be out to-day." + +The painters and paper-hangers were hardly through when a load of +furniture came out from Washington. Mr. De Jarnette being in doubt as to +the exact amount of hilarity that the good of a child demanded, had gone +to a decorator and put the matter in his hands; then to a furniture +store, telling the proprietor that he wanted suitable furniture and +drapery for a child's room which must be light and cheerful. The bedroom +suit already in it was solid mahogany and almost priceless as an +antique, but Mr. De Jarnette gave him _carte blanche_, and the dealer +naturally made the most of his opportunity. + +There was a scurrying around at Elmhurst that last day as there had not +been since the advent of the second Mrs. De Jarnette. Mammy Cely was +bent upon having all in readiness by the time Philip's mother came. Mr. +De Jarnette apparently did not know that Philip had a mother. He had +never asked any questions about her comings or her goings. What he was +doing was for Philip. + +When Margaret came Mammy Cely took her with great pride to the room. In +view of her disapproval before there was every reason to expect approval +now. And then the room itself commanded it. + +On the walls morning-glories climbed over a neutral ground, clustering +thick over a trellis at the top where an occasional butterfly and +humming bird poised as if just ready to fly. The dark stained woodwork +had given place to an ivory white. A pretty matting was on the floor and +over this a cheery rug in such colors as a child might like, while the +four great windows were hung with simple muslin curtains draped high to +let in the autumn light. + +Margaret stood just inside the room and surveyed it all--the little +white bed, the diminutive dresser and chiffonier of bird's eye maple +where last week had been the heavy mahogany--even a set of shelves which +held Philip's rapidly accumulating treasures. + +"And see, mama, my little wocking chair that Unker Wichard bwinged me," +said Philip. + +She turned away with mouth so stern that Mammy Cely asked anxiously, +"Didn't they fix it right, Miss Margaret?" Somehow the room had not been +the success she had hoped. + +The human heart is full of strange contradictions. As she looked at all +these things--just what she herself would have chosen for a child's +room--there came to Margaret a fierce anger that he, her enemy, should +have done it. He was trying to worm himself into the child's +affections,--trying to buy his love. She had gone home the week before +telling of that gloomy room and hugging to her soul this grievance. +Robbed of it, she felt defrauded. + +A sudden thought struck her. "Did you tell Mr. De Jarnette what I said?" + +"No, _ma'am_," declared Mammy Cely, not doubting that what she said was +Gospel truth. "I ain't tole him nothin' 'tall 'bout what you said. I +jes' mentioned to him that the room was sorter mournful, an' that was +enough. Miss Margaret, honey, it look to me lak Marse Richard's tryin' +to do what's right by this chile--" + +"Bring me his clothes," said Margaret, coldly. "I'll put them in the +drawers myself." She did not mean to be unkind, but she was consumed +with jealousy. + +But before she had disposed of the things in the various drawers she +felt ashamed of this unworthy feeling. + +"I am glad it is changed," she said. "It was very--" She could not bring +herself to say kind or good or thoughtful. But Mammy Cely supplied the +word. "He's mighty good to him, Miss Margaret--ain't he, honey?" + +"Yes," said Philip. "He bwings me candy. And every night I go down to +meet him. _I_ can open the big gate now." And Margaret's heart felt +another twinge. + +"Mama's brought you something, darling. A dear little baby to hang on +the wall. He will be company for you." + +It was a Madonna picture--a Bodenhausen with the flowing tresses and the +deep, sad eyes. Philip was full of interest in the baby. + +"He's thes been havin' a bath," he explained, and Mammy Cely who had +little knowledge of art but much of nature, commented, "Jes' look at the +creases in the little laig! Aint that natch'el?" + +"That is the way mama used to hold you, darling, when you were a dear +helpless little baby. I am going to hang it over there in front of the +bed so you can see it the first thing in the morning." + +"It looks like you, mama," he said thoughtfully. "It's got the smile of +you." + +The smile of the Bodenhausen is very sad. + +She caught him passionately to her arms. + +"Does it look to you like mama? Then every morning when you look at it +you must say, 'That is mama and little Philip.'" + +"I will," he promised eagerly. "And I'll show it to Unker Wichard." + +"Philip!... Philip!" She felt that he was slipping away from her. "Oh, +Mammy Cely, make him remember me!" + +"I will, Miss Margaret!" the old woman declared, and to Philip's +mystification they were both in tears. "The baby in that picture is +white and my baby was black, but somehow the crease in that little laig +make me think of Cass. _I_ ain't gwineter let him furgit you. No 'm!" + +In their interest in the picture and all it stood for they forgot the +time till Aunt Dicey announced dinner. Margaret looked at her watch in +dismay. The noon train was gone. + +"Go on down to dinner, Miss Margaret," insisted Mammy Cely. "Look to me +lak you're cuttin' off yo' nose to spite yo' face. Marse Richard ain't +never ast once does you stay. And he ain't gwineter. He jes fix it so +you kin and then leave you free. That's Marse Richard's way. He ain't no +talker. Why, honey, fum the day he come and foun' Philip gone he ain't +never once mention to me yo' catnippin' that chile. No 'm, he ain't!" + +"I don't want any dinner," said Margaret. "I think Mr. De Jarnette's +bread would choke me." + +"Miss Margaret, honey, that's foolishness! Nothin' ain't gwine choke you +after you make up yo' min' to it. Sho's you born, chile, you kin swaller +a heap er things in this world you think you can't!" + +"I guess that's so," said Margaret. "I used to think--" Then with sudden +helplessness--"I don't know what I think nowadays. Well--I'll stay." And +when she sat down to the cosy meal with Philip across from her and Mammy +Cely in beaming attendance, she wondered that she could ever have been +so blind as not to see that this gave her an advantage that an hour's +stay never could. How much easier to keep herself in Philip's +remembrance if she sat thus with him every time she came.... Surely +Richard De Jarnette could not have thought of this. + + + + + CHAPTER XXVIII + HEARTS AND SKINS + + +"Mammy Cely," said Philip one day after a thoughtful consideration of +her face, "what makes you black?" + +"I can't he'p it, honey. God made me that way." + +The child looked at her in perplexity. + +"Well, what did he do it for?" + +There was no answer to this somewhat difficult question, and he +continued, "Wouldn't you rather be white?" + +"Co'se I'd ruther be white," replied Mammy Cely, "but when the Lord made +me He wasn't askin' 'bout my druthers." + +"Oh!" said Philip, wondering what her "druthers" were, but adding after +a while in extenuation of the Almighty's ways, "Perhaps he forgot it." + +He felt convinced that it was a mistake and it might not be too late yet +to remedy it. He determined to incorporate into his nightly prayer for +her a petition for a change of color. He was careful never to voice this +when he was saying his prayers to her for he wanted it to come to her as +a surprise. Every morning his first concern was to see whether the +transformation had been wrought in the night. Mammy Cely could not +understand his eager look into her face each day and his subsequent look +of disappointment. Still he prayed on. + +One day a sudden thought came to him and he hunted her up. + +"Mammy Cely, I know now what will make you white!" + +"Well, 'fo' the Lord!" said Mammy Cely to herself. "He's still harpin' +on that same ole string." Then with animation, "What is it, honey? What +gwineter work that meracle?" + +"You must wash in the blood of a lamb. I've thes 'membered about it. And +it will make you whiter than the snow." + +"That's so!" said the old woman, reverently. "Bless the Lord, I gwineter +be white some day!" + +She said it so confidently that Philip was still looking for the time to +come. + +He was a mature child for his years, like most children reared without +companions of their own age. To Mr. De Jarnette, unaccustomed as he was +to children, it seemed sometimes that the things he said were positively +uncanny, when in fact they were but the natural working of a childish +brain. Mammy Cely told him what Philip had said about the lamb. + +"Where in the world did he get that?" he asked, wonderingly. + +"I reckon he had heared the song and thought it meant changin' of the +skins 'stidder the hearts." + +The child had settled down now in his new home and seldom made any +protest. Mammy Cely was very good to him and he followed her about from +morning till night. His Uncle Richard had fallen into the habit of +having him in the library with him for an hour after dinner, a privilege +which Philip greatly valued and did not abuse. He seldom cried now or +asked for his mother, appearing to understand instinctively that this +was a subject which his uncle would not like. But he talked freely of +"Sous Haven" and the life there, the boats--particularly the "Gwand +Wapids"--about the turtles that Mr. Harcourt caught for him, the forts +he made him, and the bonfires they had on the beach. Mr. Harcourt was in +most of his tales and Richard read a good deal between the lines. + +One cool autumn night Philip sat in front of the library fire in his +little chair that Richard had brought out for him. + +"Unker Wichard, do you ever woast marsh-mallows in your fire?" + +"I never have--no." + +"I think this would make a dandy beach fire," said Philip, suggestively. +"We used to woast marsh-mallows at Sous Haven. We had a big fire on the +beach and Mr. Harcourt and me worked hard and hard getting brush for it, +and Mr. Harcourt got us some sticks and we woasted 'em in the fire." + +"The sticks?" + +"No, sir, the marsh-mallows. And Gwamma Pennybacker was there. +And--d--Mr. Harcourt chased me wound the fire and we had lots of fun. +And--d--then my mama and Mr. Harcourt and Bess singed songs. That's the +way you have a marsh-mallow woast." He sat still for a moment and then +said persuasively, "Unker Wichard, s'pose we play that you was Mr. +Harcourt, and the big chair was Gwamma Pennybacker, and the little one +was Bess, and--Unker Wichard, what could we have for mama? We would most +have to have mama." + +It was a dangerous subject. "We'll arrange about that to-morrow," said +Richard, hastily, "when we have the marsh-mallows. Now tell me what +you've been doing to-day." + +"I've been keeping off the calves," Philip said promptly, thinking of +the latest feat. His mind was easily diverted now. + +"Aha! and have you learned to milk?" + +"No, sir. I can't make them little things go." + +Mr. De Jarnette threw his head back with a laugh that woke the echoes in +the silent old room. His nephew surveyed him with mild wonder. + +"Aunt Dicey can though," he added. + +"How does she do it?" + +"Oh, she puts her bucket down and gives old Spot a slap wiv her hand and +says, 'stan' over!'--an--d--then she stoops down and--groans--and says, +'Oh--h, my Lord!'--and then--" + +"Well?" + +"Then she thes pulls the triggers." + +Mammy Cely, coming at that moment to take Philip to bed, stopped short +in the doorway. She had not heard her Marse Richard laugh like that for +many a long year. + +Richard found himself smiling over his paper when they were gone. The +child said such unexpected things. He recalled the beach scene too. +Philip had made it stand out vividly. He hardly thought he could take +Mr. Harcourt's place. + +In about an hour Mammy Cely returned. Philip was restless and would be +satisfied with nothing but his Uncle Richard. + +"He 'low he wants to say his prayers to you." + +"His prayers?" repeated Mr. De Jarnette in perplexity--there were always +some new developments about this child--"what does he want to say his +prayers to me for? This is incipient Catholicism." + +"Marse Richard, a chile always has to say his prayers to some person. He +don't know nothin' 'bout sayin' 'em to God. God done put the mother of a +chile in His place--He knows how chil'n is. And when the mother is tuk +away--" + +"That will do--" interrupted Mr. De Jarnette, curtly. + +"Scuse me, Marse Richard," Mammy Cely returned, humbly, "I didn't mean +nothin'--" + +"Yes, I know. You didn't mean anything except to say exactly what you +wanted to say. And you've said it now. So go on!... Tell him I will be +there after a little," he added as she left the room. + +He felt that it was a weakness in him to go. He had told Philip that he +must never send for him again. If he went now he would probably be +expected to do so every night, and that he certainly should not do. But +for the life of him he could not refuse the child's request. Philip's +tyranny was so affectionate, so gentle, the flattery of it was so +insidious that it was simply irresistible. Besides,--there was something +in what Mammy Cely had said. + +"Well, Philip, they tell me you've got balled up in your devotions," he +said, sitting down by the little white bed. + +"Sir?" + +"Couldn't you say your prayers to Mammy Cely?" + +"No, sir, I--I can't say 'em very good--to any--black person." In the +next room Mammy Cely was chuckling to herself. + +He did not seem very particular about saying them to any white person. +He talked instead about all the things he could think of to ward off the +evil hour of going to sleep. And Richard, his heart strangely soft +toward this mite of humanity who wanted him and called for him, defied +all the rules of hygiene demanding early hours and let him talk. Mammy +Cely was gone, having petitioned to go down to "Sist' Dicey's" on an +errand. It was her policy to leave uncle and child together as much as +possible at this hour. + +At length Mr. De Jarnette said firmly, "Now, Philip, you really must go +to sleep." + +"I have to say my pwayers first," said Philip. "I can't _never_ go to +sleep wivout saying my pwayers." He knew that this was an exercise which +could be prolonged indefinitely. + +"Well, go on." + +"I have to kneel down first." + +"Kneel down then." + +Philip slipped out of bed and stood before him. + +"I have to put my head on somebody's lap." + +"Put it against my knee." + +"I can't. It has to be somefin' soft." + +"Kneel down by the bed then." + +"I can't say my pwayers to the bed," Philip said reproachfully. Then, +catching sight of a comforter across the bed, he suggested, "Maybe you +could make a lap." + +To humor him Mr. De Jarnette threw the comforter across his knees, +conveniently spread apart. Philip dropped his head upon the manufactured +substitute to its immediate undoing. + +"My mama's lap don't come to pieces," he remarked critically. + +"Wait till I get this thing under my feet," retorted his uncle. "I ought +to be able to make a lap that will stand you. Now, sir, I'm ready for +you." + +It sounded like a challenge. His nephew, hungry for a romp, made a +battering ram of himself and again the lap caved in. When it was +reconstructed, Philip put his head down very gently, increasing the +pressure with every word. + + "Now I lay me down to sleep, + I pway Thee, Lord, my soul--" + +There was a gurgle of laughter down in the comforter. + +"Unker Wichard, it's giving way!" + +"Philip, you rascal! You're making it give way. Wait! Now I've got it!" + +With the comforter under both feet he made a lap that could withstand a +small boy even, and Philip, recognizing the fact that his romp was over, +folded his hands and bowed his head, saying reverently the sweet prayer +that so many infant lips have lisped: + + "Now I lay me down to sleep; + I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to keep; + If I should die before I wake, + I pray Thee, Lord, my soul to take. + And this I ask for Jesus' sake, + Amen." + +It came into Richard De Jarnette's mind as he sat thus what a ridiculous +figure he would cut if any of his business friends should see him at +this moment. And yet, strange to say, the situation was not all +ludicrous to him. He had never listened to a child's prayers before. + +"Good-night, Philip," he said, softly. + +Philip raised his head but made no motion to raise. + +"I'm not through yet. I haven't said the 'God bless 'em'." + +Then lowering his curly head again he repeated in an entirely +conversational tone: + +"God bless my mama and bwing her back to her _dear_ little boy; and God +bless Gwanma Pennybacker; and God bless Bess and make her a good girl; +and God bless Mammy Cely and make her white--be _sure_ to make her +white, cause she wants to be, and you forgot her druthers when you made +her; and God bless Uncle Wichard, and take away his stony heart." + +He stopped suddenly, thinking that perhaps he ought not to have said +this. + +"Where did you hear that, Philip?" + +"My mama said so. Unker Wichard, what is a stony heart?" + +Richard De Jarnette laughed a rather mirthless laugh, but did not answer +the question. + +"I suppose your mama has told you a number of pleasant things about me," +he said, and his tone had an infusion of bitterness in it. The opinion +of this midget was becoming important to him. + +"She said she didn't believe that anything would _ever_ change your +heart; but Gwanma Pennybacker said God could do anything--He could +change it--and I must ask Him every night to take away your stony heart +and give you a--a--" he was trying very hard to recall the words--"a +heart--of--_I_ don't know--somefin'--but it wasn't stone." + +"I am afraid you have two rather tough propositions, Philip,--my heart +and Mammy Cely's skin." + +"But she's turning, Unker Wichard," the child declared eagerly. "She is! +I saw it on the inside of her hands when she was washing. They are 'most +white now." Then earnestly, "Unker Wichard, _is_ yo' heart stone?" + +"I guess my heart is not very different from other men's, Philip, though +it would be hard to make some people think so." + +"But ever'body don't have the same kind of hearts," the child persisted. +He had got up from his knees and climbed into his uncle's lap. He looked +around the room in a half scared way and said almost in a whisper, + +"Some people have wolf hearts." + +"Nonsense." + +"They do! Honest, Unker Wichard!" + +"Philip," said his uncle, sternly, "where did you get all that from?" + +"Mammy Cely says so. I asked once did she ever have any little child +like me, and she said once she did but a man with a wolf heart came and +took it away from her. Unker Wichard, do people that take little +chilwuns from their mamas--gypsies and ever'body like that--do they +always have wolf hearts?" + +"I am afraid I am not authority, Philip, on the subject. I have never +known anybody with a wolf heart. In fact, there is no such thing. You +must not believe all Mammy Cely's stories." + +The boy snuggled down closer. + +"You haven't any wolf heart, have you, Unker Wichard? Or any stone heart +either." + +"No. Neither one." + +Philip gave a sigh of relief. + +"I'm awful glad! 'Cause if it was stone I feel 'most sure it would hurt +you sometimes. My heart thes thumps when I run. And if it was a wolf +heart maybe you might hurt somebody else--like that other man." + +The organ in question was beating rather tumultuously just now. Was it +possible that it was giving its impassive owner a few unseen blows? Or +was it that the fair head of his nephew was pressing upon it overhard? + +"It seems to me you have been having a good deal of heart talk lately," +commented Mr. De Jarnette, grimly. "I think I'll be looking after some +of it." + +He looked after it the next day by demanding sternly of Mammy Cely, +"What do you mean by telling Philip all this stuff about men with wolf +hearts? Don't you know he will believe it? I won't have him frightened +with your bug-a-boo stories." Then, thinking of her rooted antipathy to +his father, he added, "And I won't have you saying anything to him about +the De Jarnettes, either." + +Since finding from the child's talk that the Varnums were held up +constantly before him, he had felt a growing jealousy for the De +Jarnette name. + +Mammy Cely replied with her accustomed freedom. + +"I ain't tole him 'bout the Jarnettes havin' wolf hearts. _I done kep' +it f'um him!_ Nobody ever heared me runnin' down my own white folks." +Which was true, but she had never acknowledged the family into which she +had been adopted as hers, save the one lone descendant of her young +mistress--Richard himself. The rest to her were as Scythians and +Barbarians. "I suttingly ain't gwine do it to they offspringers." + +But Richard was not entirely satisfied. + +"Well, don't let me hear of his getting any more such notions in his +head." + +"Marse Richard, how I gwineter he'p the convolvolutions of that chile's +brain? Why, he axed me the other day is you God." + +"Asked you what?" + +"Axed me 'is you God?' Yes, sir, he did. Hit's the truth as I'm standin' +here. His ma had tole him there wa'n't nobody could help 'em now but God +(it was one er them days she looked lak she was gwineter die, she was so +low down), and the next day when he come to me and ax me, wouldn't I +_please ma'am_ take him to his mama, just for a little while. I says, +not knowin' she done put it on the Almighty,--'Honey,' I say, 'that's +fur your Uncle Richard to say.' And at that he look kinder scared, and +he crope up close to me, he did, and he say, sorter low like, 'Mammy +Cely, is Uncle Richard God?'... So thar now, Marse Richard, you done +stan' in the place of his Maker to that chile!" + +"Go along to your work," said Richard De Jarnette with unwonted +roughness, which Mammy Cely did not resent. In fact it rather pleased +her. She looked after him as he strode across the lawn. + +"I reckon I'm 'tendin' to it right now," she observed with an astute +nod. "He ain't gwineter furgit that. When a person know he stands in the +place of God to a _child_, he gwineter walk straight--less'n he's +mons'ous low down." + + + + + CHAPTER XXIX + "INASMUCH--" + + +Weeks lengthened into months and the days grew short. Philip was still +praying for Mammy Cely and his uncle Richard, but the black woman's skin +was not yet white and Uncle Richard's heart was unchanged. + +The case dragged its slow length along. The law's procrastination is +beyond the comprehension of the lay mind. Margaret chafed at it without +avail. + +"We cannot hurry it," Judge Kirtley told her, "and you would gain +nothing if you could. It may be six months before it is settled." + +During this enforced inactivity and its consequent restlessness Margaret +had gone one day to the Children's Home to execute an errand for Mrs. +Pennybacker. When she returned, that observant lady looked up at her and +said, quietly. + +"What is it, Margaret?" + +The girl's face was glowing. + +"Aunt Mary, I have seen the most beautiful child! So like Philip." + +"At the Home?" + +"Yes. The matron brought in a lot of little boys for me to try the +mittens on, and this one was the very last. His likeness to Philip +struck me so that before I had time to control myself I had caught him +up in my arms and was crying over him. I acted like a baby. But it came +over me all at once, what if Philip should ever be cast upon the world +like this." + +Mrs. Pennybacker wiped her eyes. "What was his name?" + +"Louis. Louis Lesseur. I should think he was just about Philip's age. He +seemed so sweet and affectionate. I took him to drive." + +"Are his parents living?" + +"His mother is. It is a very sad case, the matron says. She is a widow, +has no friends, and they think has only a few months to live. And she is +so desperately anxious about what will become of this child. Aunt +Mary--" + +"Yes, Margaret,--" + +"Would it be foolish and Quixotic in me to take him? I have more money +than I shall ever need for myself. And Philip has his own. How could I +ever use my surplus better than to give this child a chance in life?" + +"It might be foolish, Margaret, as the world counts wisdom, but it would +be a Christ-like folly. 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto one of the +least of these, ye have done it unto me.'" + +Later she said, fearing that she had given undue encouragement, +"Margaret, don't do this thing hastily or without sufficient +consideration. You would want in the first place to find out all about +his antecedents. I should go to see the mother. You don't want a child +with bad blood." + +"He is not responsible for his blood," Margaret said quickly. + +"No, but you would rather it would be good." + +"You quoted Christ's words a moment ago. Do you suppose he ever inquired +into people's blood before he helped them?" + +"No, I don't. But--" with a wisdom born of a study of the world, not of +the Scriptures--"it will pay you to do it.... Then you ought to find out +whether he and Philip like each other. Children have as strong likes and +dislikes as grown people." + +"It is partly on Philip's account that I want to take him. They would be +companions. Besides--oh, Aunt Mary, if the next trial should fail--the +house is so frightfully still." + +The following day she took little Louis out to see Philip. The two +played beautifully together, but Mammy Cely looked at him askance. Her +race is always on the lookout for "poor white trash." "No'm, he don't +look lak Philip," she said. "He's got the favor of some chile I've seen, +but it ain't Philip." + +He went with her one day to see his mother. It brought quick tears to +Margaret's eyes to witness the meeting. She came back full of pity for +the sick girl. + +"Aunt Mary, I don't believe she is as old as I am. So young to die! And +she is so gentle and lady-like. She says she has no relatives at all to +leave him to. Her husband died when Louis was a year old. And I think +she said that neither her husband nor herself had brother or sister. +Poor little tot! He is literally alone in the world. And the world so +big!... Aunt Mary, I think I will have to do it." + +She rather feared opposition from Judge Kirtley, but somewhat to her +surprise he acquiesced in the proposed plan without remonstrance. + +"Your money is your own and so is your life," he told her. "You are a +woman now, accountable to nobody." + +To Mrs. Pennybacker he said afterwards, "I am far from feeling sure +about the outcome of it all. We are doing all we can, but these things +are always uncertain. If it should go against her, it will be a good +thing for her to have this child." + +The next visit to the Home decided her. A lady from Chevy Chase had been +there looking for a little boy. She had her eye on Louis Lesseur. + +"I told her," reported the matron, "that we had given the refusal of him +to another lady." + +Margaret's brows came together in a quick frown. This seemed like +bargaining for flesh and blood. + +"If you could make your decision soon--" + +"I will make it now," she said. "I am ready to take him at any time." + +But when she got home Mrs. Pennybacker objected strongly to the +suddenness of her decision. + +"Go and see the mother, Margaret, and insist upon a history of the +family. Don't think of taking him without that." Caution is stronger at +sixty than at twenty-six. + +"I shall take him whatever the family history is!... Yes, I know it is a +responsibility. And so is not taking him. He will soon be a motherless +child, and my arms are empty. Aunt Mary," she went on thoughtfully, "I +never used to think about these things as I do now, but I cannot see a +helpless child these days without my whole heart going out to him. Is it +because I am older, or is it Philip?" + +"It is Philip, Margaret. This is the way God takes to enlarge our +sympathies. The true mother heart can take in more than her own.... No, +I know it, but all women who have borne children are not true mothers, +and sometimes the very essence of maternity bubbles up in the heart of +one who has never found a mate.... And there is another thing: When +sorrow sits at our fireside and talks with us, it always leaves us with +a quicker ear to catch what she has said to others. I doubt if you could +comprehend this poor mother's anxieties if you were not yourself +acquainted with grief." + +She smiled to herself an hour later as Margaret drove off to the +hospital, eager for the interview that would settle the matter. + +"For taking her out of herself," she said, "this is almost equal to the +whirl of society." + + * * * * * + +To a little white bed in the hospital ward Margaret went. Upon it a +young girl, beautiful even with death's seal upon her face, half lay, +half sat, propped up with pillows, her eyes from the contrast with her +white face seeming preternaturally bright. There was a feverish +eagerness of speech battling with a shortness of breath as she received +Margaret, which told its little tale of the flaring up of life's flame, +but back of that was a natural vivacity and profuseness of gesture even +in her weakness that hinted at Gallic blood. + +The ward was a lonely one. Over its portals a practiced eye could read, +"All hope abandon, ye who enter here." Its inmates went out sometimes, +but they never returned. A few beds away an old woman moaned +monotonously. She was near enough to have heard their conversation, but +the sands of life were running so low that hearing was dulled and +curiosity blotted out. It was a safe place to talk if one had anything +to say. + +Margaret's news that a home had been secured for little Louis was +received with manifest relief. + +"And is it a good woman that has taken him?" the mother asked, clasping +her hands, "Will she be good to him? Will she teach him to be good?" + +"I am sure she will try to do both," said Margaret. She felt a +disinclination to tell the girl just yet that she herself was the one +who was to take him. She would find out from her the story of her life +first and then tell her. "But she is anxious to know something more +about the child. Would--" she found it difficult to phrase her +sentence--"would you be willing to tell this lady, through me, something +of your life?" + +"My life?" faltered the girl, her eyes growing frightened. "Why--why +does she want to know--about my life?" + +"Her friends think that she should know something of the little +boy's--antecedents." It was Mrs. Pennybacker's word, not hers. "No, do +not misunderstand me--" a slight flush had crept into the sick girl's +face--"it is not idle curiosity, nor is it that she doubts you. This +lady wishes to know enough to satisfy the child when, in after years, he +begins to want to know something about his own history. There is--pardon +me--I feel that I must ask--there is no blot of any kind upon his name?" + +Her own face crimsoned as she put the question, but it was one that Mrs. +Pennybacker insisted must be asked, and indeed, as she talked to the +sick girl now, she felt herself that she must ask it. A child taken from +a Home so often had suspicion cast upon its parentage. The greatest +kindness she could do him was to have a plain answer to a direct +question--cruel though it seemed. + +The sick girl lay very still. When at last she spoke she looked into +Margaret's face and answered, + +"There is no blot upon his name." + +Her breath was labored. She put her hand once to her throat. Then +summoning her strength she went on rapidly. "He was born in lawful +wedlock. His father was--a carpenter,--a plain man but an honorable one. +He died when Louis was a year old--of pneumonia. We were poor but have +always been respectable." + +"I am very glad to know this." said Margaret, filled with contrition at +having forced her to say it. "I hope you will not misunderstand my +asking about it. The friends of this lady are more importunate about +this thing than she is, and--" + +"Ask me anything you wish," said the woman in a voice strangely quiet +and contained. "I was only distressed for breath a moment ago. I can +tell you anything now." + +"Some other time," said Margaret, rising. She could see that the girl's +strength had been overtaxed. "I will go now and see about the little +boy's being taken to his new home. And--" the thought of what it must be +to the girl to feel that another would take her place rushed over +her--"let me promise you for his new mother that she will strive to make +him all that you would have him--all that you would have made him had +you been spared to him--honorable like his father--pure and true as his +mother." + +"Oh, madam!" the sick girl cried, and caught her dress. "Oh, madam!"-- + +But Margaret gently disengaged herself and was gone. + +At the office she stopped a moment to ask some questions about Mrs. +Lesseur. + +"Ah, yes,--poor Rosalie!" the doctor said. She talked longer with him +than she intended. It was just a question of time, he said, and not a +very long time either. No, it was not tuberculosis, though it seemed +something like it. It was a form of Bright's disease. With that malady +people sometimes simply faded away. It was probable that she would go +that way.... Ah, he was very glad to know that a place had been found +for the child. She had worried so about that. + +As Margaret was stepping into her carriage an attendant came hastily +down the steps and spoke to her. + +"I beg your pardon, madam, but are you not the lady who has been +visiting Mrs. Lesseur in Ward Five?" + +"I am." + +"The nurse has just been down to say that her patient is very desirous +of seeing you a moment before you go,--upon a matter of some moment, I +believe." + +"Very well. I will go back. Rogers, you may wait." + +At the door of the ward the nurse said to her, "You had scarcely gone, +madam, before she seemed in great distress and bade me call you back. I +think there was something she had forgotten to say.... Oh, no, it will +not hurt her to talk." + +And again at the little white bed Margaret sat down. The girl had her +eyes closed, and her lips moved as if in prayer or preparation for +something she had to say. + +"Rosalie," said Margaret, gently, with a sudden impulse using the girl's +first name, "was there something you wanted to say to me?" + +The girl wrung her hands. + +"My poor child, what is it? Talk freely to me as you would to a sister." + +"Oh, madam, it breaks my heart to have you speak so tenderly. I--I am +not worthy of it. I am not fit to touch your hand. I--I told you falsely +when I said there was no blot upon my little Louis's name. Oh, madam, do +not turn away from him! He is innocent though he is--the child of +shame!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXX + "NOT WISELY BUT TOO WELL" + + + + + "Oh, it was pitiful! + In the whole city full, + Friend she had none." + +The child of shame! Margaret drew back. She was not prepared for this. +Neither was she prepared, when the test came, to take into her home and +her life a little waif upon whom this blight had fallen,--so little do +we know ourselves. + +The girl, her understanding quickened by her anguish of mind, saw the +gesture and interpreted it aright. + +"You cast him off!" she cried. "Oh, I knew you would. That is why I told +you falsely. I did not mean to tell you the truth--ever. But, oh, madam, +when you said that she, this lady, would make him honorable as his +father had been--would keep him pure as his mother was pure, and true, +as both had proved--I felt that it was a curse I had drawn down upon his +helpless head. Then, oh, then, I could not keep back the truth. His +father was not honorable nor his mother pure." + +"Rosalie," said Margaret, calming the girl with the quiet womanliness of +her manner, "do you want to tell me your story? Is it this that you have +brought me back to hear?" + +"Yes. Oh, yes! Let me tell it before you judge me. It is for the boy's +sake that I lied; it is for his sake that I will speak the truth now. +Oh, it is the truth that I will tell you now!" + +"Go on," said Margaret. + +"Eight years ago," the sick girl said mournfully, "only eight years, I +was little Rosalie Lesseur Beaumont. We were French enough to have the +names, though we had always lived in Maryland. My home was in the +country. I knew nothing about the city and its wickedness. I was but a +child when I met--" she looked up appealingly--"I need not tell you his +name?" + +"No," said Margaret, hastily, "there is no need that I should know." + +The sick girl threw her a quick glance of gratitude. It is a thing most +passing strange that when a woman finds herself betrayed, disgraced, +branded with shame and thrust out into that utter darkness from which +she knows there can never be recall--even then she holds inviolate the +name of him who has brought her low. + +"I think if I had had a mother to tell me things it might have been +different, but I had lived most of my life with my father, a proud, cold +man who loved me, perhaps, but did not let me know it, though he robbed +himself of the very necessaries of life that he might educate me. I was +to be a teacher. That was his ambition and mine. There was no confidence +between us. I could not get close to him as a child does to its +mother.... I met this man when I was off at school. He was so different +from the country boys I had known. He had a way of looking in my eyes +and saying things that took my simple, silly heart by storm. I do not +offer it in excuse, but madam--I loved him as I had never loved my God! +I trusted him as though he _were_ my God. And when he told me that he +loved me and wanted me to be his wife, I believed him. He could not +marry me openly just now, he said, but if I would go with him to +Washington we would be married secretly that very day. I was an honest +girl, though a very foolish one, and I insisted on that.... I trusted +him to my undoing. There was a form of marriage. A young man came to our +room and murmured something as we stood before him. He did not look like +a minister, but I was so dazed and frightened at what I had done that I +hardly thought of it then.... Madam, we were never married. My husband, +for so I believed him, told me so one day in a fit of anger--told me +brutally." + +Margaret gripped the iron rail of the bed. + +"That day I took the last cent of money I had and went back to my +father's house. It had been a bitter grief to him that I had brought his +gray hairs to shame. He shut his door upon me. Oh, madam!... I begged my +way then back to Washington and the man who had betrayed me, and begged +him to take me in. What else could I do?... I lived with him in open sin +until he came to me one day and told me that it was all over. He was to +be married the next day. He had delayed telling me because he hated to +have a scene, but he had decided now to settle down and live a correct +life. + +"'And I!' I cried, standing up before him, 'what am I to do--I and your +child--while you are leading a "correct" life?' He shrugged his +shoulders. He would give me money. That was all he could do. Certainly +it was as much as I could expect. He had not asked me to come back to +him. + +"Oh, madam, I was wild!--was wild! I had nowhere to go to hide my shame. +My father's house was closed to me--my mother dead. In all the world I +had no friend. It was my fault, my grievous fault. I know that well, and +then I have been told it often since,--if I had been a modest girl and +staid at home and turned away from all his tales of love and all his +promises, this never would have come to me, they've said.... Oh, I have +told myself that many times with bitterest tears!... But, lady, even +though she knows it is her fault, her sin, that has brought her to this +plight--still, _still_, 'tis hard for a poor girl to feel her pains upon +her and know she has no friends!" + +Margaret took the woman's thin, trembling hand between her two strong +ones and held it close. + +"It _is_ hard," she said with infinite gentleness, "hard and very +pitiful. The world is full of hard things for women." + +The sick girl looked up with a startled expression. "Surely, sin with +its sorrows has not touched you?" + +"My poor girl, the sorrows that come from sin do not stop with the +sinning. But go on with your story," said Margaret. + +"Oh, yes. I was telling you why I was so desperate that day; I thought +you would not understand. I think a madness was in my blood. You see, it +was very hard, and I was so young I could not see the justice of it. I +had been his toy--his plaything--and now, broken and useless, he cast me +into the mire of the street, while he--and lady, my sin had been his sin +too--to-morrow he would marry a pure girl, such as I had been, and the +world would look on and wish him joy and think it right.... + +"He had not told me where the marriage was to be, nor who the girl was. +But the next morning I went to his home and waited in a place near by +for him to come out. I did not mean to speak to him again--only to +follow him. For hours I waited. I was faint from lack of food, but I was +afraid to leave the spot for fear of missing him. At last a gentleman +came out and drove off, and then the man I loved and hated. A carriage +was waiting and he was driven away. I ran after it. I would have hired a +cab only I had no money. I could not run so very fast, you know, and +sometimes I almost stumbled and fell--then caught myself and hurried on. +And though it gained on me I kept my eye on the carriage. At Sixteenth +street it turned south toward the Square, and then I knew it was going +to St. John's." + +"St. John's!" + +"Yes. You know the place? It is near Lafayette Square--the old church +with the columns in front. When I got there, out of breath and almost +dead from running, a crowd was on the sidewalk and even out into the +street waiting for the bridal party to come out. They would have crowded +around the very door but that policemen kept them back. I elbowed my way +through them and was so desperate and violent that they made way for me, +thinking I was some crazy woman--as indeed I almost think myself I was. + +"As I reached the door a policeman caught me by the arm, but I jerked +away and cried. 'I _will_ go in! He is my husband--mine!' And then I +beat upon the door before they could stop me and screamed again, 'He is +my husband!' At that they overpowered me and dragged me +off--somewhere--I don't know--to the station, I believe. That night my +baby was born." + +"How old is your child?" asked Margaret, her voice so strained and hard +that the sick woman looked up surprised. + +"Six years. Have I tired you with my story? I did not mean to be so +long." + +"Go on. It interests me deeply," answered Margaret, with irony unnoticed +by the sick woman. "I am learning that we all are bound up in one +another's woes--and wickedness." After a moment she asked with a tinge +of bitterness, "And was no voice lifted to save this girl?" + +"I cannot tell. I never saw her--do not know her name or where she +lived. But this I know; that in time he would be false to her as he was +false to me. It was not in him to be--" + +"Let us not talk of him," said Margaret, hastily. "Tell me about +yourself? How did you live?" + +"Oh, madam, ask me anything but that! 'Twould break my heart to tell +that tale and yours to hear it. How can a poor girl live who has a baby +in her arms and not a friend?... I went from door to door asking for +work. It was the same old story everywhere I went. They looked at me--a +girl of seventeen--and at the child--and then they shook their heads and +closed the door. + +"One day when I was desperate I got a piece of crepe and put it on my +hat and _lied_. I said my husband had been killed, and would they give a +poor girl work? The child was good--he seldom cried, I told them--and I +would work at night and have no afternoon off to make up for his being +there. If only they would try me! Then they asked me questions--what was +my husband's name? Where was he killed? and how?--simple, natural +questions, all of them, I know now, but then they seemed traps to catch +me, and I grew confused and tripped myself, and then--they shook their +heads, just as before, and shut the door." + +"Did you never try anything but housework?" + +"Oh, yes, I tried the others first. They would not have me in the +stores. They found out. Somehow I could not help their finding out. I +don't know how they did it, but they did. There was always somebody to +tell." + +"And could you get no sewing to do?" + +"I had never been taught to sew. I had been in school until I met him. +It was the plan always that I should be a teacher. Of course I could not +even think of that--afterwards." + +Margaret's lips tightened. + +"Why did you not go to him, this man," she cried with sudden vehemence, +"and demand support for your child?" + +"I did at last. In my fierce anger that day I had said I never +would--that I would starve in the streets before I would take a penny +from his hands.... But, madam, _then_ I did not know how hard 'twould be +to starve with a baby at your breast,--a helpless baby growing thinner +day by day for lack of mother's milk that had dried up because she had +no food! It is not so hard--this starving--for one's self, when you get +used to the crusts and refuse from the market; but when your child, your +baby, fades away, and has not strength to cry, and gets that pitiful, +pinched look, and you realize that it too is starving--oh, madam, then +your pride is gone!... I went to him and begged food for his child. He +gave me money for awhile, and then he went away." + +"Went away and left you helpless," breathed Margaret. + +"He left me desperate! 'Twas then I had my hardest fight. Oh, madam, I +sometimes wonder if good women know--the sheltered, favored ones who +will not have us in their homes after our one false step, how hard it is +then for us to keep from going down. They surely cannot know!--how we +are tempted by our poverty and want of work.... You see there are so +many pitfalls for our feet! Oh, there are hands held out!--the hands +that drag us down! And doors that open--but they are the gates of hell!" + +She sank back exhausted. But after a moment she went on: + +"Madam, I was often hungry in those days,--was oftener cold,--and +sometimes had not where to lay my head; but I swear to you I kept myself +from evil for my child, and _I kept my child_. Then one day a fever fell +upon me, and some ladies came and took my baby to the Children's Home +and me to the hospital. It was typhoid fever, caused by unsanitary food +the doctor said (you see when one is starving she cannot stop to ask if +this or that is sanitary, so long as it is food), and for many weeks I +lay delirious. + +"I was just ready to be discharged from the hospital when one day I read +in the paper that this man had come back to Washington. I laid the paper +down and thought long and hard. I knew that he was wealthy--had money +that he could not use, 'twas said. I determined to go to him and ask him +once for all to settle on me or his child a sum sufficient to support us +in a humble way--oh, a _very_ humble way--only so that I could have my +baby with me and be sure of bread. You do not think that was too much to +ask?" + +"No! no!" + +"I went straight to him from the hospital. I think--perhaps--I was not +quite myself, though I seemed well. The doctor here tells me (I have +asked him since) that often typhoid leaves a patient for months in a +bewildered state of mind--'confusional insanity' I think they call +it--and--I do not know--but I have thought that--perhaps--perhaps it +was--" + +Her eyes were fixed on vacancy, a wistful troubled look in them, as if, +forgetful of her auditor, she were laboring upon some unsolved problem. + +"You found him in?" asked Margaret, gently recalling her. + +"Oh, yes--yes. I found him in. He was sitting at his desk--" + +She stopped abruptly. Margaret was leaning forward, one hand clutching +the rail of the iron bed, the other clenched in her lap. + +"Go on," she said hoarsely. + +The sick woman looked at her and a swift change passed over her face, a +look almost of veiled cunning coming into it. + +"He would do nothing for me," she resumed in a commonplace voice. "I +never saw him again--he died soon afterwards, I heard." The subject +seemed finished. + +"Just one thing more," Margaret's lips were dry. She hardly knew her own +voice. "Did--did he die a natural death or by violence?" + +For just a moment the woman hesitated. It was as if she were weighing +her words. Then she said quietly, "He died a natural death." + +Margaret drew a long, long breath. + +"Tell me something about your little boy," she said almost lightly. + +A tenderness came into the woman's wan face at mention of him. + +"I named him Louis--Louis Lesseur. That was my mother's name, and Louis +is for my little brother that died. I could not give him even my own +name--my father was so bitter--but these two were dead." + +"And is he very dear to you--your little son?" + +"Dear? O, madam, he is the very breath of life to me." + +"And yet you cannot have him with you?" + +"No." She said it very patiently. "The rules of both Hospital and Home +forbid. But sometimes they bring him to me for a little while." + +As the sad story to which she had listened had progressed, a +determination had been taking form in Margaret De Jarnette's mind. + +She bent over now and speaking slowly that the sick woman might take in +her words, said, + +"And would it make you very happy if you could have him all the time? If +you could lie upon a couch in some pleasant, sunny room--a quiet house, +we'll say, where you would not be disturbed--could have your little +Louis in this room with you every day--to talk to you and lean against +you as he talks--to have his playthings on the floor and play that you +and he were this and that--perhaps sometimes when you were very well +even to have his crib bed in your room, and tuck him in, and watch him +go to sleep--could have his goodnight kiss and hear him say his +prayers--" she drew the picture with the swift, sure strokes that +mothers know--"if you could have all this and know that it would last +until some night you'd fall asleep to waken on your mother's +breast,--would it make you very happy?" + +The woman looked at her with parted lips and shining eyes. + +"Oh, madam!--It would be heaven!" + +"Then enter into paradise," Margaret said softly. + +"You mean--" the sick girl asked, incredulously. + +"I mean that I am going to take you to my home if you will go, and let +you have your little Louis with you there." + +The woman caught her hand and kissed it passionately. Then with quick +alarm she asked, "But madam--the lady? Would she be willing for him to +come to me?" + +Margaret smiled. "She will be willing." + +Another fear assailed the mother. + +"Perhaps she will not want to take him when she knows his mother's sin." + +"She will hold him all the more tenderly because of what his mother has +suffered." + +"Ah! is she then so good? so kind?" + +"She is not very good," said Margaret, smiling down at her, "but to your +boy she promises she will never be anything but kind. My poor girl, will +you trust her?" + +A sudden light broke upon the sick woman. + +"You?" she cried. "You?--who heard it all, and took my hand--and +understood? You?" + +A look of awe and then of peace ineffable stole over her face. + +"Oh, madam! _now_ I know God has forgiven me!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXI + A WOMAN'S CRUSADE + + +Margaret's action in taking a dying woman into her home that she might +give her the blessedness of being with her child while life lasted +excited little comment. Indeed it was known to but few persons. Social +life in the capital city is an unstable thing. Congressional circles +change; army and navy people move away; there are the "ins" and the +"outs" with every administration; and fortunes rise and fall there as +elsewhere. Margaret found her world greatly narrowed when she came back +to Washington after years of absence. Besides, the few friends who were +closest to her had become accustomed now to expect the unusual. It is +the beauty of an unconventional life which keeps within the proprieties +that when one has made it definitely clear that she intends to follow +her own lead she finds herself by that act lifted above the realm of +harassing criticism. + +Margaret had not felt it necessary to take even her own small world into +her confidence. + +"We won't say anything to Maria about it," advised Mrs. Pennybacker. +"She wouldn't understand it, and besides, what Maria knows might just as +well be put in the evening papers. She gives of her knowledge without +stint." + +The servants knew Mrs. Lesseur as a sick friend of Mrs. De +Jarnette's--Bess, as an unfortunate woman who had excited Margaret's +sympathies because of her friendless, widowed condition. + +"That is enough for any young girl to know," said Mrs. Pennybacker, to +whom Margaret had told the whole story. "We'll tell Mr. Harcourt the +same." + +Judge Kirtley was a little inclined to question the wisdom of Margaret's +burdening herself with a dying woman, but Mrs. Pennybacker had said to +him impressively, "Judge Kirtley, the time has come when you and I may +well 'put off the shoes from off our feet for the place whereon we stand +is holy ground.' The Lord is leading Margaret in ways we do not know." + +And the Judge said no more. Watching the girl closely he halfway thought +it was true. + +Two rooms in the third story where she could be quiet and have the +sunlight were prepared for Rosalie Lesseur. There she and a discreet +nurse were installed, and there she lay basking in the sunshine of her +child's presence and the knowledge that all was well. She had not even +questioned them about whose house she was entering. It was enough that +it was her Chamber of Peace. + +It happened that the day after she was settled here Bess came into the +room with a big bunch of yellow daisies which she laid in Margaret's +lap. + +"For 'Mrs. Osborne,' with Mr. Harcourt's compliments," she said, "'and +will she tell him what they recall to her?'" + +"Give him 'Mrs. Osborne's' thanks," said Margaret, smiling at his +message, "and tell him they remind her strikingly of the black-eyed +Susans of South Haven." + +From this Rosalie Lesseur naturally supposed that her benefactress was +Mrs. Osborne. She called her so once to the nurse, who had also seen the +flowers presented, and that judicious person, who was taciturn by nature +and prudent by profession, did not see fit to undeceive her. Perhaps +Mrs. De Jarnette had some reason for wishing to be known as Mrs. +Osborne. It was no part of her business to talk. And since Rosalie with +a trace of inherited Frenchiness always addressed Margaret as "Madam," +or "lady,"--sometimes "sweet lady," "dear lady," her misapprehension in +regard to the name was never discovered. + +Everything that could be done for the sick girl's comfort was done. The +child came in and out at will. He was a sweet, lovable boy, gentle like +his mother and easily led. When the two children were together, it was +always Philip that took the lead. Margaret took him often with her in +her visits to Elmhurst, thinking it was well for Philip to have +intercourse with other children. It added greatly to the happiness of +both, but Mammy Cely was never quite reconciled to the intimacy. "You +can't never tell nothin' 'bout these here pick-up chil'n," she would +say. + +Rosalie was very responsive to kindness, never having had a surfeit of +it, and was so grateful for everything done for her that it was easy to +keep on doing. Margaret fell into the habit of being much with her, +reading to her, sitting beside her with her sewing, talking sometimes +but often simply giving her the comfort of her presence, and +receiving--ah, well! nobody can give of herself as Margaret gave and not +receive in return good measure pressed down and running over. Mrs. +Pennybacker, too, was kind and motherly. Her hand often rested on the +girl's forehead with the line on her lips unspoken-- + + "_She was so young, and then she had no mother._" + +Bess and the little boy were the greatest friends and took long walks +together, often going to the Zoo, because the child, of course, was fond +of seeing the animals, and Bess was but another child. Mr. Harcourt +frequently accompanied them upon these tramps "to take care of the +children" he said. But with the responsibility of the little boy upon +her, Bess really seemed quite womanly, looking after him with a little +assumption of motherliness that was extremely pretty, John Harcourt used +to think. He watched her while she watched the animals. + +In all these weeks there was never a reference to Rosalie's past. + +"That page is turned, Rosalie," Margaret had told her one day when she +made some depreciating reference to herself. "Let us never speak of it +again." She said it with a gentle firmness that was final, and from that +hour Rosalie Lesseur looked at her with worshipful eyes. The creature +comforts with which she was surrounded, the material kindness which had +been showered upon her, the blessedness of again having her child in her +arms,--all these were enough to awaken deepest gratitude. But what could +be said of a magnanimity, a Christ-like compassion which blotted out her +transgressions and loved her freely? It is related of the great-hearted +nurse of the Crimea that the sick soldiers turned to kiss her shadow as +it passed. Rosalie could have fallen at Margaret's feet and kissed the +hem of her garment, but that she felt her unworthiness. + +One afternoon they were sitting in her room, Mrs. Pennybacker and +Margaret doing the talking and the sick girl listening. She never talked +much herself, but she liked to hear them. She was feeling unusually +bright that day, and looked actually happy, for the conversation was +about Philip and Louis and the rapidly approaching Christmas. It almost +seemed that God's peace was settling upon her face. + +"We will have a little Christmas-tree for Louis in here," Margaret was +saying. Just then a servant appeared at the door with a card. + +"A lady to see Mrs. De Jarnette." + +Margaret looked at the card. + +"'Mrs. Mary S. Belden.' What in the world does she want, I wonder. You +are sure she asked for me?" + +"Yes, madam, she distinctly said Mrs. De Jarnette." + +"Tell her I will be down at once." + +"Who is Mrs. Mary S. Belden?" asked Mrs. Pennybacker. + +"A lady who is quite prominent here in club circles--women's clubs, I +mean. I used to know her slightly, but I haven't seen her since I've +been back." + +"Oh, she probably wants to get you into some club. And, Margaret, +suppose you join. I think it would be very pleasant for you. It gives +one an interest outside her own life." + +Mrs. Pennybacker had followed Margaret to the door. When she returned +Rosalie had slipped from the pillows, and was lying in a dead faint. The +nurse was hastily summoned and restoratives applied. + +"Oh," she said faintly as consciousness came back, "if I could have gone +then!" + +"It was only a sinking spell," the nurse said soothingly, adding to Mrs. +Pennybacker in an aside. "She is liable to have them at any time now." + +"Well, what did Mrs. Mary S. Belden want?" It was in the library a half +hour later. "To secure you for her club?" + +"No," said Margaret, "she came to tell me of a meeting to be held the +last of the week in the interest of some 'movement' or other and to see +if she could secure my co-operation." + +"What movement?" + +"Oh, I don't know. I declined so promptly that she had no chance to tell +me. I think I offended her, but I can't help it. I have no patience with +all these women's meetings." + +Mrs. Pennybacker pursed her lips, but said nothing. + +Everybody must have observed from his own experience that when a new +word or thought comes to us with sufficient force to make an impression, +we invariably run across that word or thought again within twenty-four +hours, and so often thereafter that the wonder arises how we could have +missed it all this time. Taking up a _Post_ the day after Mrs. Belden's +call, Margaret saw a notice of a meeting to be addressed by Mrs. Greuze +on a subject of great moment to women. Walking down F Street that +afternoon with Bess she overheard two well-dressed ladies discussing +it--at least she supposed it was that. One of them asked. "Are you going +to the meeting?" + +"Yes," the other replied, "it was made very clear to us at the Pro Re +Nata that we ought to do whatever we could to help the movement along. +You see--" they had passed and Margaret missed the rest. Their +destination was a milliner's establishment,--their object a winter hat +for Bess. + +The milliner's girl was trying it on her, and Bess perking her head this +way and that like a bird and turning it up, down, and around to find a +possible objection, listening meanwhile to an occasional suggestion from +Margaret and a succession of compliments from the saleswoman, when +Margaret's ear caught a fragment that floated to her from the other side +of the store. + +"I do hope, ladies," the proprietor, a woman, was saying earnestly, +"that you will give it the support of your presence at least. The +movement is a most important one for women in trade. The present laws--" + +"Margaret, how is this? Wouldn't you like this feather tipped a little +more?" + +Margaret wanted to hear what it was about the laws, but when the +question of the feather was decided the ladies were gone.... How could +the suffrage movement help a milliner? + +The thing pursued her even after she got home. Mrs. Kirtley came in +toward night for a call, and said in the course of the conversation, +"Margaret, do you know anything about this movement the women are +interesting themselves in so much just now? Mrs. Delamere was telling me +about it yesterday, but it was just as I was getting off the cars and +she hadn't time to explain it to me. She urged me to go to the meeting +to-morrow evening--said I would find out all about it then. Have you +heard anything about it?" + +"Yes," said Margaret, with some hesitation, "I _have_ heard of it, but I +really don't know what it is. I have an idea that it is the suffrage +movement. Don't you think so?" + +"_No_, indeed! Mrs. Delamere would have nothing to do with that, I am +sure, and she told me to drum up everybody I could. Are you going?" + +"Yes, I think I shall. My curiosity is a little aroused now to see what +the movement really is." + +Margaret was trying to recall something she heard Judge Kirtley say one +day about somebody--she was thinking it was the suffragists--prodding +the legislatures up to a change of defective laws. She gave a faint +sigh. If only they would spend their time and energies on laws affecting +flesh and blood instead of forever harping upon property rights and +suffrage! + +She felt heavy-hearted to-day. Judge Kirtley had just told her that +there had been a postponement of the case. It was not likely to come to +trial for months yet. The docket was so full that it was impossible to +tell when her case would be reached. They could only be patient and +wait. She felt that she could not be patient any longer. Her heart was +sick with waiting. It would soon be Christmas and she could not even +have the child with her then. That was a sore spot. She had written to +Mr. De Jarnette, asking if Philip might not be allowed to come to her +house for the holidays. It did not seem to her that she could bear it to +spend that season which was so much to both of them without him. She had +planned that Philip and Louis should hang up their stockings side by +side in Rosalie's room, and in the evening have their Christmas tree +there. + +Mr. De Jarnette had replied briefly but courteously that he was sorry +not to grant her request, but for reasons unnecessary to state, it +seemed best that Philip should spend the holidays at Elmhurst. He +trusted that she would feel at liberty to come to him there for the day +if she so desired. + +She tore the letter into bits, furious at him for refusing her request +and at herself for making it. Why had she humiliated herself to ask a +favor at his hands? Oh, when would it all be over? she thought with a +sick longing for her boy. When would she be freed from this man's iron +hand? Her heart was sending up the old, old cry, "How long, O Lord! how +long!" + +"Margaret," said Mrs. Pennybacker the night of the meeting, dropping a +lump of sugar into her coffee as she spoke, "I can tell you the straight +of this thing now. While I was over at Maria's this afternoon she had a +call from a Mrs. Slyter who had come to enlist her in it. I thought she +was on rather a cold trail, but I did not think it necessary to tell her +so." + +"Mrs. Slyter?" exclaimed Margaret, wonderingly, "Why, Mrs. Slyter is a +society woman. Of what interest could it be to her?" + +"I don't know, but it has certainly enlisted her." + +"What did Mrs. Slyter have to say about it?" + +"She says it is a concerted effort on the part of the women's clubs of +the District to have some radical changes made in the laws relating to +women. This lecture is to call attention to the necessity for such +changes." + +"In other words, the speaker is going to tell the women what their +wrongs are. They can't have been very hard hit if they don't know +without being told," said Margaret, a little scornfully. + +The fact that people of all sorts and conditions were taking an interest +in the gathering of the evening aroused Margaret's curiosity in regard +to it, and it cannot be denied that it inclined her to look upon a +woman's meeting with more toleration than she had ever supposed she +could feel. As Mrs. Pennybacker had said, they certainly must be in +earnest, and earnestness always commands respect even if the zeal it +induces is ill-judged. She would try to go with an unbiased mind. + +But when they entered the hall and she saw a woman speaker on the +platform, her inherited conservatism asserted itself. It seemed a bold +thing for a woman to do. She felt that she was doing almost a +disreputable thing to come here. Her father would not have approved of +it, she was sure. He had always felt that home was the woman's kingdom. +She could almost hear him now saying: + +"Queens you must always be; queens to your lovers; queens to your +husbands and your sons; queens of higher mystery to the world beyond, +which bows itself, and will forever bow, before the myrtle crown, and +the stainless scepter, of womanhood." + +Even though the speaker was clothed in soft raiment and did not seem at +all masculine, she could not rid herself of the feeling that it was not +a womanly thing for her to be here on this platform. Ruskin was right +when he said: + +"But alas! you are too often idle and careless queens, grasping at +majesty in the least things, while you abdicate it in the greatest." + +When Mrs. Greuze began to speak it was in no receptive mood that +Margaret listened, but rather in a spirit of impatient criticism. The +thing seemed so far apart from life. + +After a while she found herself wondering with rather a curious interest +what the speaker would say next, but with no spark struck between them. +Mrs. Greuze was telling of the laws of the District in regard to married +women and their property rights, their inability to buy, to sell, and to +hold in their own right. Mrs. Pennybacker was listening intently. + +"That is as true as Gospel!" she whispered in assent to some assertion +that struck her as specially forcible. "I've known a hundred cases in +Missouri where a woman's property was simply absorbed by her husband +when she was married and if she wanted five dollars to give to the +missionary cause in after years she had to go to him for it, and he +always thought he was making her a present of it!" + +Margaret smiled with but languid interest. It might be that a man could +by law claim his wife's wages and get them; that a woman was not +entitled legally even to the clothes she wore;--that was all very hard, +but the world was full of hard things, and why should she burden herself +with other people's sorrows and wrongs when she was powerless to remedy +them? She had enough of her own.... What if women had not the right to +sue or be sued? This might be important in the abstract--to the people +who theorized--but it all seemed far away and irrelevant. These things +must touch very few people. She looked at her watch, thinking that +Philip had been in bed two hours now perhaps. She would charge Mammy +Cely to be very regular about his hours, and not let him-- + +"And if it is true that a woman has an inherent right to the money she +has earned, to the property she has inherited, to the home she has +labored with heart and hand to make, what shall we say of her right to +the child she has borne?" + +Margaret sat up straight, with nerves and muscles tense. As a button +pressed a thousand miles away starts all the ponderous machinery, so had +this sentence been the electric spark to put her in instant touch with +the speaker and her subject. Heart, soul, and mind were alert now. + +"And yet--there are laws in this District which impliedly deny that a +mother has an equal right with the father to those children. More than +this, there are laws which give that father a right to will away from +her her child. Nay, more even than that,--there are laws which give him +the power to will away her _unborn_ child! Do you say that our statutes +need no revision when this is where they place women in the closing +years of our vaunted nineteenth-century civilization?... You do not +believe that this is true? Study the laws. Find out for yourselves. Do +not take my word for it. But let me tell you in verification of my +statement that there is pending even now in the Courts of this District +just such a case. A father willed away his child from its mother, and +one court has sustained the will.... You have not known of this?... My +friend, that is because it has not touched you." + +Margaret was staring at her with fascinated eyes. How had this woman +known? Was it her cause they were espousing? Was this the touch of +nature that made the whole world kin? She heard as in a dream Mrs. +Greuze's closing words. + +"We do all honor in this land of ours to the brave men who have risked +their lives for their country; the soldier's claim to a nation's +gratitude is sung everywhere,--sometimes not over-modestly. In +Washington we talk of it not in empty words, but in marble, stone, and +bronze. We build our Soldiers' Home for the disabled veterans; we employ +armies of men for the disbursement of the millions we pour willingly at +their feet; when we can do no more we lay them to rest in our beautiful +city of the dead and deck their graves with laurel. Is this all? Nay, we +have made the Nation's capital a monumental city, raising memorials on +every hand 'lest we forget.' And we do well to honor them. + +"But after all, how long does a battle last or a war, even though it be +a fratricidal conflict kept up until the flower of the land is cut down +and the rivers run red with blood? Not long. Not long as God counts +time. But oh, my friends, there is somewhere a brave woman fighting the +battle of maternity in every minute of time, and has been since the +world began, and they always _have_ met it and always _will_ meet it +gallantly and gladly. They have not marched into battle with the pomp +and panoply of war--with flags flying, drums beating, and the cheers of +comrades in their ears. Their fight has been single-handed, in the +stillness of the night watches and in the darkened chamber. But _never a +soldier among them but has known that she faced death_. + +"And this great army of mothers all over the world, in all the ages past +and to come, ask no pensions, crave no honors, expect not even to have +written over their modest tombs, 'Here lies one who has fought a good +fight.' All they ask is the same rights to children, property, and +persons that their husbands and fathers have always enjoyed." + +When the lecture was over Margaret went straight to the speaker. + +"I am one the law has touched," she said. "Let me help." + + + + + CHAPTER XXXII + MARGARET ENLISTS + + +The next day was the time for Margaret's visit to Philip. Not once in +all these months had she failed him. Not once had the dawn of that day +come without bringing first of all to her mind the thought, "To-day I +shall see him." + +This morning, however, her waking thought was not of her child, but of +the cause which she longed so passionately to help. She had made an +engagement the night before to meet Mrs. Greuze at her rooms at ten. She +would postpone her visit to Elmhurst till afternoon. + +"That's the way it goes," remarked Mrs. Pennybacker caustically as +Margaret, dressed for the street, announced this plan. "As soon as the +poison of public life gets into a woman's veins, it appears first of all +in her neglect of her children. At least that's what they say." + +"I am not neglecting my child," Margaret declared indignantly. "I am +only trying to find out what I can do to help him. I never had Philip's +good more at heart than I have this minute." + +"Oh, Margaret, you've got it--bad!" + +But the girl was too much in earnest to respond to Mrs. Pennybacker's +bantering. + +"You want to know what was the very beginning of the movement, you say?" +said Mrs. Greuze, as she and Margaret sat together in her well-appointed +rooms. "Well, if this ever grows to an oak, Mrs. De Jarnette, it will +have come from a very small acorn. The people who started it had not the +least idea of its ever reaching the proportions of a bill before +Congress, I assure you, for I was in at the start. You see, a few of us +last year undertook the study of civics as applied to local affairs. We +have found many laws inimical to women--laws of whose existence most of +those ladies had never dreamed." + +"Judge Kirtley used to say to me," said Margaret, the remark coming back +to her with new force, "that people seldom know much about the laws +under which they live until they are touched by them." + +"That's it exactly. We found laws in force here in this District that we +were amazed to know were in existence. That is to say, most of the women +knew nothing about them. A few whose lives or work had brought them into +contact with law knew. To the rest they were a revelation. Well, the +need of the revision of these laws was laid before the Federation of +Women's Clubs of the District, and they at once took it up. Our plan is +this: We want to get a bill through Congress to amend the laws of the +District of Columbia as to married women, to make parents (the mother +equally with the father), the natural guardians of their children, and +for other purposes of like character. We hope to have the bill +introduced early in the session. And then every woman in the City of +Washington who is interested in its success must go to work." + +"How?" cried Margaret. "Tell me how. I am ready and anxious to work if I +only knew what to do." + +"In the first place we have to make friends for this bill. Any woman who +has influence with any member of the Senate must use it now. I say +Senate because it is to be introduced there. It will go to the House +later. We want if possible to get personal pledges from every Senator +that he will vote for this bill when it comes up. Do you know anybody in +the Senate? Your case is so directly in point that it ought to make you +a powerful advocate." + +"Yes, I have had a number of acquaintances in the Senate. My father was +thrown much with public men and was in the habit of having them +frequently at his home." + +"Then certainly the position in which the present laws have placed his +orphaned daughter will appeal to them. Think up every one, my dear, that +you could possibly reach. This movement represents five thousand women +and to make it a success everybody that can do anything must go to +work." + +"And these women are doing all this in order to secure a mother's right +to her child!" ejaculated Margaret, with a growing sense of her own +narrowness of vision. + +"Why, bless you, no!" returned Mrs. Greuze. "That is only one item in +the bill that we shall present. You couldn't get a bill through on that +one point alone. People can't be depended upon to work unless their own +personal interests are concerned. It is a selfish world, my dear." + +From Mrs. Greuze Margaret went straight to Mrs. Belden. + +"I thought you did not understand," that lady said. "But now that you do +we will put our shoulders to the wheel together." There was inspiration +in the ring of her voice. + +"Yes, as Mrs. Greuze has told you," she went on, "our plan is to canvass +the Senate thoroughly and systematically, not in any aggressive way that +would antagonize--we are not trying to exploit ourselves--but with a +quiet persistency that will secure the votes. I am sure you can be of +great service to us just here." + +"Oh, I wish I could be!" cried Margaret. + +"You see your case illustrates so perfectly the atrocious medieval +character of some of our laws. Your story will only have to be told to +furnish the argument. They cannot say to you as they have said to us, +'Oh, these laws are a dead letter.' In you, my child, we have a living +witness to the fact that they are _not_ a dead letter. Soon after the +Christmas recess I hope to have the pleasure of taking you with me to +call on Senator Southard, whom we are specially anxious to gain." + +"I remember him," said Margaret. "I have heard my father speak of him." + +"Yes. Perhaps other names will come to you in connection with your +father." + +They did. For six years she had put the Senate, the House, and the whole +body politic out of view. They had all been obscured by one small child. +Now they suddenly assumed gigantic proportions. When she reached the +carriage her directions to the coachman surprised him. + +"To the Capitol," she said. + +An overwhelming desire was upon her to enter the Senate Chamber again +and look that august body over. Was there anybody there now that she +would know? Anybody that would know her? + +As she went into the "ladies' gallery" a tourist in the front row with a +guidebook in her hand rose to go. Margaret slipped into the vacated seat +and leaned over the rail. It was the first time she had been there since +she used to come with her father. Then she always sat in the "reserved +gallery." + +There were very few members present. A Senator from the West was making +a speech on irrigation to which nobody seemed to be paying any +attention, not even "Mr. President," whom he was so earnestly +apostrophizing. As Margaret looked at him more closely she perceived +that it was a man she had once met at Judge Kirtley's. She distinctly +remembered the occasion and Judge Kirtley's saying of him afterwards +that he was a "fair-minded" man. It had seemed to her then faint +praise,--now fair-mindedness seemed a cardinal virtue in a Senator. +Perhaps she could reach him through Judge Kirtley.... And there was +Senator Vest, of Missouri. Why, was it possible that he was still here? +She remembered his coming to her father's house when she was a young +girl--oh, so many years ago! He was one of her father's friends. She had +heard him tell often of Senator Vest's eulogy of the dog which by its +touching eloquence brought instantly a verdict against its slayer. And +there on the other side was Senator Hoar, of Massachusetts, who had once +written a plea from the birds to be presented to the legislature asking +protection. Surely if the hearts of these men were open to dumb animals +and the fowls of the air, they would not be shut to a mother's cry! + +Finally the Senator who felt that in storage reservoirs for the western +waters lay the safety of the country, sat down, gathered up his papers, +and looked around blankly at the empty seats, chastened, perhaps, but +without doubt reflecting that his great effort would reach the eyes of +his constituents even though the ears of his colleagues had failed him. + +And now a new man was on the floor. The comatose Senate seemed suddenly +to have regained consciousness. People leaned over the railings and +craned their necks to see what was happening below. The Senators were +dropping in from every quarter. Employees were lining up around the +room. The mysterious button which announces a speaker worth hearing or a +question of moment had evidently been pressed. So far as Margaret was +concerned, neither the man nor the measure was of the least importance. +The subject might have been the condition of Boribooligha for all she +could tell about it. To her it was an occasion to look into the faces of +men who had power to change a law, nothing more. The Senate is not +subject to the fluctuations of the House. As she looked down upon them +she was surprised to see how many she knew, and every familiar face gave +her an added sense of potentiality. If only she knew how to begin! + +As she passed through the corridor going home she ran into a florid +little man apparently hurrying to reach the chamber before the speech +was ended. + +"I beg your pardon, madam! I didn't observe--why, bless my soul! Isn't +this little Maggie Varnum?" He had her by the hand. "My old friend's +daughter!" + +"Senator Dalgleish!" cried Margaret with such genuine delight that the +little man beamed, Senator though he was. It is very charming for rotund +middle age to find itself a source of pleasure to youthful grace and +beauty. "How glad I am to see you again!" + +"It has been a long, long time, has it not?--time for many things to +happen." He sobered suddenly. "Your dear father--yes, yes! Well, it +comes to us all." Then cheerfully, "You keep your girlish looks. Let +me--see. You--are married?" + +"Yes," Margaret said slowly,--"and widowed." + +"Ah, very sad! very sad indeed!" The Senator shook his head several +times, at a loss for appropriate words. These chance meetings after +years develop such uncomfortable topics. + +"Is Mrs. Dalgleish with you?" Margaret made no bid for his sympathy. + +"No. She will be up after the holiday recess. In the meantime I am +playing bachelor at the Raleigh. Don't like it either. There's nothing +like home for an old fellow like me." + +"Come out and dine with me to-morrow night," suggested Margaret, with a +sudden inspiration. "I will give you a home-dinner and an old-fashioned +Varnum welcome." + +"Good! I'll do it. Seven, you say? All right. And the place?" + +Margaret handed him her card. As she left him he looked at it. "H--m ... +De Jarnette. Queer name. Seems as if I had heard it before. De +Jarnette.... Well, by George, she's a mighty handsome widow!" + + * * * * * + +"To the B. and O., ma'am?" + +Margaret glanced at her watch. "No,--home. It is too late now for +Elmhurst." + +In the carriage she leaned back, thinking not so much of Philip and his +disappointment as of this chance meeting and the opportunity it threw in +her way. It was better to have found this man than to have seen Philip. +She was launched now, actually launched, and that almost without +intention. The Fates certainly had favored her. With Senator Dalgleish +at her own fireside, anxious to hear the story of her life and how she +had fared, it ought not to be hard to enlist his sympathies. He was +always a warm-hearted little man. It was a distinct advantage to be able +to tell that story in her own home when he had been a guest at her +board.... And if this should prove advantageous with one-- + +Her course seemed opening up before her. She leaned back in the carriage +bowling up Massachusetts Avenue and deliberately counted her assets. She +had a beautiful home and means to open it whenever there was anything to +gain by doing so--she was opening it to-morrow for a distinct purpose. +Then she had social position, or at least she _had_ had, and that of a +kind that would make its recovery an easy thing--Marie Van Dorn had been +right about that. Well, social standing and wealth were good things, but +they were not all, nor were they the things she chiefly relied upon. She +had discovered that day in looking the Senate over that she was the +possessor of a number of inherited friendships with those who sat in the +seats of the mighty--her father used to say that elderly people liked to +be sought out by their old friends' children. Well! she would seek them +out. Those old friendships might stand her now in good stead. It was the +first time she had ever deliberately appraised her father's friends as +being likely to be worth so much and so much to her--but--it was a good +cause.... Then she had youth and beauty--she told herself this as coolly +and impersonally as if she had been reckoning up the points of a +rival--and neither was to be ignored. She had enough worldly wisdom to +know that. + +She did not say to herself, as she might have said, that in addition to +and far beyond these was another possession--that impalpable, intangible +something which for want of a better name we call personal +magnetism--that subtle power which attracts and holds, which persuades, +convinces, enlists, kindles enthusiasm from its own flame, and +communicates life by the sheer force of its vital touch. + +As she looked over her armory, her courage rose. They were a woman's +weapons, but they were not to be despised. Her spirit was girding itself +for the conflict. There was a positive sense of exhilaration in the +thought of action. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIII + A LONG PULL AND A STRONG PULL + + +That session saw a quiet, persistent, effective campaign waged in the +city of Washington. Many women living there now will remember it, for +many were in its forefront, and what we put ourselves into we do not +forget. Many men, too, some still in Congressional circles and some by +the mutations of time and politics relegated to private life, may recall +it,--not a few for the generous help they gave but a greater number as +the unjust judge kept in remembrance the cause of the widow whose +continual coming wearied him. + +The bill entitled "An act to amend the laws of the District of Columbia +as to married women, to make parents the natural guardians of their +children, and for other purposes," was introduced in the Senate early in +January, and referred to the District Committee. Then the trials of the +gentlemen comprising the committee, not to say the whole Senate, began. +The beautiful room of the Committee on the District became the Mecca to +which many a pilgrimage led. Naturally it was of the first importance to +enlist the Committee, and it chanced that one or two of them were hard +to enlist, being by nature and environment conservative, and doubtful of +anything that looked toward change. Women had always fared well in their +part of the country, and been contented, and they could see no reason +why their status elsewhere should be tampered with. This was why Mrs. +Belden had been anxious to take Margaret to see Senator Southard, who +was one of the Committee, and a conservative of the conservatives. + +Yes, that might justly be called a campaign, for it was a "connected +series of operations forming a distinct stage in a war," as the +dictionary hath it, and moreover all the methods of war were used. There +were gallant charges of battalions led by experienced generals, and the +not less effective guerrilla warfare in which each fair combatant picked +off her man with any weapon that was at hand, caring not for the rules +of combat, but only that he fell. Sieges were planned and carried on +during that campaign; strategic positions were captured and held; there +was an occasional repulse and sometimes danger of rout, but the forces +always rallied and, as the winter passed, it was found that they were +steadily advancing. + +Into this determined but entirely womanly warfare Margaret threw herself +with all the ardor of her tempestuous soul. Here was something to do. +She had been too long a creature simply "to be" and "to suffer." Before +this question of joint guardianship, which to her was the essence of the +bill, all other measures up before Congress dwindled into +insignificance. It is a difficult thing for women to sink the personal. +Sometimes it seems difficult for men also. To Margaret the passage of +this bill meant Philip in her arms and the overthrow of her enemy. It +had never occurred to her to doubt that it would give her Philip. + +The opportunity afforded by her chance meeting with Senator Dalgleish +had been diligently followed up. By her own fireside he had listened to +the tragedy of her life. He would have been less than mortal had he +heard it unmoved, and when the conversation turned from her wrongs to +the bill which, if it became a law, would right such wrongs, it is not +strange that he was easily won to its advocacy and ready to become her +co-worker. By the way, he told her at leaving, with a thoughtful nod of +the head, his colleague was a new man in Washington--a very fine +man--though somewhat provincial. Yes, this was his first term--his wife +and daughters were somewhat unused to Washington life and might +appreciate some attention--as he would himself, indeed. Perhaps--if she +would call-- + +Certainly, Margaret said cheerfully--she would be glad to show any +attention in her power to friends of his. And a new lead was opened. +When she related the events of the evening to Mrs. Pennybacker that lady +remarked, "I don't really suppose, Margaret, that your particular case +is any harder than it would be if you were a cross-eyed mother of +forty--but it will command more sympathy!" + +Some time in January Margaret went with Mrs. Belden to see the Senator +from the West who was making the speech on irrigation the day she was in +the Senate. He listened in silence to Mrs. Belden's presentation of the +case, and then said frankly: + +"Ladies, you needn't waste one minute on me. In the first place, I +believe in it. But if I did not, there is a good reason why I should +support this measure. _I was elected by women's votes._ I shouldn't dare +to go back to my constituents and tell them I voted against this bill." + +And into Margaret's mind there flashed an instant recollection of Mrs. +Pennybacker's words once, "Perhaps they want the ballot for something +they can do with it." As they went away Mrs. Belden remarked to her: "It +is not the Western States we have to fear. They are not the ones that +have the narrow constitutions. Thought has advanced since the launching +of the original thirteen. It is from the older States that the trouble +will come. We want if possible to gain Senator Southard. That will be a +triumph indeed, for he is really opposed to it, on principle, I am +told." + +"What sort of man is Senator Southard? I mean what line of argument +would be most apt to appeal to him?" + +"Oh, he is a self-made man and opinionated as many of them are--thinks +his road to success is the one that everybody ought to take, and all +that sort of thing. And yet I really think he would appreciate a good +sensible argument." + +Margaret was thinking, "Perhaps I can get Aunt Mary after him. That's +her kind." She broached the subject to Mrs. Pennybacker that night. + +"Talk to a Senator!" she exclaimed. "Why, Margaret, I never could do it +in the world! My tongue would cleave to the roof of my mouth." + +"Don't you believe it, Margaret," laughed Bess, "I've never seen +grandma's tongue in that position yet, nor the man that could keep it +there." + +"You've never seen me in the presence of a Senator," retorted her +grandmother, "except a mild type like Senator Dalgleish." + +But in spite of her prompt declination she found herself dwelling much +upon common sense reasons for the passage of this bill--reasons which +might appeal to an elderly man amenable to homely truth. Not that she +had any idea of ever using them. No, indeed! She knew her limitations. +Her sphere was not lobbying! + +But one day when Mrs. Greuze had come by for reinforcements to visit +Senator Black, and Margaret was at Elmhurst, Mrs. Pennybacker put on her +best bonnet and joined the crusade, taking Bess--who was frankly anxious +to go--with her. "You will do for filling," she remarked to her +granddaughter. "I may possibly say something, but I don't think I +shall." + +An audience had been arranged with the Senator and he received them most +courteously. Seated in the District Committee room the ladies of the +delegation presented quite an imposing appearance. Mrs. Greuze presented +Mrs. Pennybacker and her granddaughter, remarking effectively that the +Senator would see that this was a cause which enlisted the gray-haired +and the rosy-cheeked alike. And the gray hairs nodded assent, while the +rosy cheeks grew rosier as the great Senator's gaze rested upon them. + +The speakers for this occasion had been decided upon beforehand and the +particular line of argument that each should take up. They were lucid, +forcible arguments presented by people who knew how. The Senator gave +most respectful heed to them. + +In all this discussion Bess had, of course, taken no part. Her office +was purely decorative--a function which she fulfilled, it may be said in +passing, as fully and fragrantly as do the lilies of the field. The +elderly Senator, whose sight was not yet obscured, found his attention +wandering from the logical arguments of Mrs. Greuze to the sweet face +that blossomed at her side. Perhaps there might have been a lurking +thought in the minds of these wise sisters that it would be so--that the +sweet innocence and beauty of her youthful femininity might prove a +solvent for hearts callous to the logic of more angular maturity. + +Just now Bess was taking an almost childish interest in the +committee-room, with its luxurious appointments and its vaulted ceiling +with the Brumidi frescoes. She had always supposed a committee-room was +bare. The Senator found his eyes turning to her frequently. She was a +sweet fresh blossom!... And when he spoke she looked at him +reverently--being young--as though his utterances were the oracles of +God. Secure in her belief that she was only there to swell the numbers +and had no part to play, she was divested of all self-consciousness and +played it to perfection. + +Then the Senator, noticing the rose pink in her cheek, and feeling a +mischievous desire to heighten it, turned to her suddenly and said: + +"My dear young lady, I don't see how you are interested in this bill. +You'll be pretty sure to get your rights without it--or your privileges, +which will count you for more. What are your arguments?" + +Bess caught her breath and drew back, crimsoning to the roots of her +fluffy hair. That she should be called upon to speak had not entered her +pretty head. She had no arguments. To her the bill itself was a +question, not of law and right, but of Margaret and her child. She had +not reached the age for generalizing; the operations of her mind were +still in terms of 2 + 2 instead of a + b, to follow the genial Autocrat. +But there was no coward blood in Bess's veins, though she was pure +feminine. She valiantly took up the gage thrown down. + +"I haven't any," she said, with a frank laugh. "The other ladies have +the argument. I only came to make one more." Then modestly, "But +still,--I don't know,--I may be wrong--of course you know so much better +about--oh, everything--than I do, but it seems to me that it does +concern me more even than it does grandma. Of course I'm not a +mother--but I hope sometime I may be--I'd hate awfully to think I never +should!" The Senator bowed respectfully to her womanhood, with an +indulgent smile and a significant wave of the hand toward the elder +ladies. The gesture said, "You see? There is the whole story in a +nutshell! This is woman's sphere." + +"And then," continued Bess with a flash of her bright eyes, "I tell you +I wouldn't want any old law interfering with my child and giving anybody +the right to take it away from me! I'd fight like a wild-cat! +Well,--that's what they did to Margaret." + +"Who is Margaret?" asked the Senator, finding this more interesting than +prosaic arguments. + +"Oh, I thought you knew about Margaret. Why,--" + +"It is the case I was referring to a moment ago, Senator," broke in Mrs. +Greuze, a little impatiently. "A case in point exactly. I will repeat--" + +"One moment," blandly interposed the gentleman. "Now who is Margaret, my +dear?" + +"Why, Margaret is our friend--grandma's and mine--the one whose husband +willed her baby away from her. I don't know why, I'm sure--nobody +knows--but it was in the will and so it had to stand, the judge said, +because that was the law. You must have heard of it." + +"No--o. There are so many things to hear, you know. But it interests me. +I should like to see your friend. Perhaps you will bring her here to +talk with me some day. Her story as you tell it seems to have some +bearing on this bill." + +Bess looked around at her grandmother. This was getting in rather deep +for one who had come only as "filling." + +"Certainly," said that lady, with affability and equal promptness, "you +can go over some day. _And I will go with you._" + +At this, attention was bestowed upon the older ladies, and the +conference proceeded. + + * * * * * + +In relating this occurrence to John Harcourt that night Mrs. Pennybacker +wound up by saying, with a suggestive motion of the head toward the two +bright faces opposite them, "I hardly think that elderly, or even +middle-aged, arguments are the thing needed over there! Do you?" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIV + RESCUE WORK + + +The lead thus unexpectedly opened by Bess was promptly followed up by +Margaret, who was growing quick to see openings and to take advantage of +them. At her suggestion a note was despatched the next day to Senator +Black, asking for an interview. At the hour appointed the two girls, +chaperoned by Mrs. Pennybacker, were there. + +It would be hardly possible for a story like Margaret's, heard from the +quivering lips of the chief actor in the tragedy and listened to under +the spell of her sad, beautiful eyes, to fail of reaching the heart of a +man like Senator Black. At its close he reached over and took her hand. + +"Mrs. De Jarnette," he said, with genuine feeling, "you have suffered +greatly. Let me assure you of my sincerest sympathy and, what will be +more to you, I am sure, of my cordial support of this bill. The story of +your wrongs under the old law has done for your cause with me what +volumes of arguments about property rights could not have effected. To +my mind a mother's right to her child is not a question that admits of +discussion. You can rely upon me to do what I can for you. I shall +esteem it a pleasure to introduce you to some of my colleagues and let +them hear your story also." + +She was expressing her earnest thanks for this offer when he added, "I +only wish it were possible for the bill to do for you personally as much +as you can do for the bill." + +Somehow the words chilled the glow at Margaret's heart. What did he +mean? Why, the bill would do everything for her if it passed. Before she +could recover herself sufficiently to ask an explanation the Senator had +gone on gallantly, with a wave of the hand toward Bess, "You certainly +have an able pleader in this young lady, Mrs. De Jarnette. I am not sure +that my support should not be credited at least half to her." And Bess +went home on air. + +As they were going out of the committee-room they came upon Richard De +Jarnette, face to face. He was just going in. They passed each other +with the briefest acknowledgment of acquaintance. + +"What do you suppose he is doing there?" asked Margaret, much startled. + +"Isn't that the district committee-room? He may be there on business +with the Commissioners." + +"He is there to fight this bill! I know it!" + +"Well, there's one good thing," said Mrs. Pennybacker,--"he will +interview Senator Black at an auspicious moment." + +When they were seated in the carriage Margaret said thoughtfully. "What +do you suppose Senator Black meant by wishing that the passage of the +bill might help me? Of course it will help me. It will give me Philip if +it passes." + +"I wondered about that myself," Mrs. Pennybacker replied. Then after a +pause she said casually, "There is no doubt that this law, if it ever +becomes one, will apply to cases that occurred before it was enacted, is +there?" + +"Why, no!" said Margaret, with a startled look. "I shouldn't think so." + +After Bess, even, had thus "broken into the Senate," as John Harcourt +expressed it in his congratulatory speech delivered when--amid her +blushes--the story was repeated to him, Mrs. Pennybacker felt almost +cowardly in so persistently refraining her hand (figurative for tongue). +It really had not been so dreadful to beard the lion in his den as she +had supposed. Perhaps she owed it to the cause, or to Margaret at any +rate, to give any assistance in her power. True, she had been more or +less occupied with Rosalie since Margaret had taken up this new work, +but of late the girl had taken a fancy to be alone more anyway. She +certainly would not miss her if she should take an afternoon off. + +So one day late in the winter--one of Margaret's days at Elmhurst--when +Mrs. Greuze came around in the morning to drum up recruits for a raid on +Senator Southard in the afternoon Mrs. Pennybacker was persuaded into +going. They were to meet in the Rotunda and proceed in a body to the +Senator's committee-room. + +On her way to the capitol Mrs. Pennybacker stopped at the home of Mrs. +Van Dorn. Mrs. Greuze had said, "It is desirable to interest as many +women as possible, from different walks of life, in the passage of this +bill--women who will make the Committee see by their presence and their +persistency how vital a thing it is to them. There is some truth in what +Senator Southard says about many women not caring. It is to the +indifference of the women themselves that most of the failures of the +woman cause can be traced. We must get a number to go, not necessarily +to talk--judgment must be exercised in the selection of the ones to do +that--but to give the moral support of their presence." Mrs. Pennybacker +determined when she heard this that she would try to induce her niece to +go with them. + +"Maria will _look_ all right," she said reflectively, recalling +whimsically as she said it the young woman who had once shown her "The +History of the World" in sixty volumes brilliantly bound in red and +gold. She had not had time to acquaint herself with the names of the +authors, but the friendly agent had assured her that they were the +proper ones, and she said to Mrs. Pennybacker with considerable pride, +"They will look all right in a library, won't they?" + +Yes, if there was no talking to be done Maria would be a very desirable +acquisition. But, the matter being laid before her, it appeared that she +could not be acquired. + +"I should be willing to go--I think it would be quite interesting to +meet some of those gentlemen--of course I don't know anything about the +bill--but I really can't, don't you know. I am going to give Toddlekyns +a party this afternoon, a birthday party. He is eight, and I have +invited eight ladies with their dogs. The birthday cake has just come +in. Isn't it lovely! I am going to have eight pink candles on it. Then +Mrs. Thompson has sent me the cutest gift--eight lamb chops on a dish +with a ruff of paper tied with pink ribbon around each bone. Aren't they +dear! She asked me what my color scheme was, but I thought of course it +was flowers. I didn't think of such a thing as a gift like this. So +appropriate, wasn't it?" + +"Very!" returned Mrs. Pennybacker, dryly. "I have often given a plate of +chops myself (with the meat removed) to the dog next door, but I have +never thought of putting on the flub-dubs. I will do so when I get home. +I want to go back with all the Washington kinks!" + +Mrs. Van Dorn looked at her suspiciously, saying, "Aunt Mary, I cannot +understand your aversion to dogs." + +"I have no aversion to dogs. It's doglets I hate. I don't call that +thing a dog. Look at him now!" + +Toddlekyns, put upon his feet at this moment, looked for all the world +like an animated, decorated monkey muff. His silky tail was tied with a +blue ribbon and a long forelock combed down over his eyes was adorned in +like manner; his face and legs were lost in a mass of curling silky +hair; and really it was difficult for one confronting Toddlekyns to tell +whether he was in danger of a head end or rear end collision. + +"Now a real dog," continued Mrs. Pennybacker, reflectively, "is +different. There is no more beautiful sight than a child hanging about a +Scotch Collie or a big Newfoundland. A _child_ might hug a dog and I +would think it was all right.... I don't wonder that a shepherd is fond +of an animal that can round up sheep with the intelligence of a man. A +mastiff in a back yard--one that has to be chained up to keep him from +chewing up any intruder--has something almost human about him. He knows +that his home is his castle. There is character about such a dog as +that.... And the St. Bernards! Why, Maria, I hope I am not +irreverent--when I think of those noble creatures plowing through snow +and storm to rescue some poor perishing mortal, it seems to me almost a +type of the Divine love that came to seek and to save the lost. It does, +indeed. But it's a far cry from the monks and dogs of St. Bernard to the +idle women and the poodles of the cities." + +"The very best people," said Mrs. Van Dorn firmly, "make much of dogs. +It is the thing to do. Why, Aunt Mary, the bench shows of New York are +simply immense." + +"I know it. I've read about them. There certainly is something strange +about how people that have this dog craze let it run away with them. +Mrs. Joel Bennett used to tell a story on a Kansas City minister who was +very fond of dogs. She was living with her son George who had a lot of +them and was a good hand to train them. She was very sick at one time +and this minister, who was her pastor, used to come out often to see +her--giving spiritual comfort to her and dog talk to George, I suppose. +Well, one day he had but a short time to stay, having to catch a train, +and he asked her if there was any special subject she would like to have +him converse upon. Mrs. Bennett was a very old-fashioned Christian, so +she said yes, she would like to have him talk to her about the plan of +salvation. 'Mrs. Bennett,' he said, 'there is nothing I feel so sure of, +and nothing that it delights me more to talk about than the plan of +salvation.' Just then George came in with one of the dogs. Naturally +they fell to talking about it. 'And,' Mrs. Bennett used to say with a +twinkle of her eye, 'that was the last I heard of the plan of +salvation!'" + +She smiled to herself reminiscently, as she always did in recalling her +friend. + +"How is Margaret?" asked Mrs. Van Dorn, after a pause. The dog story did +not seem to require comment. It was rather pointless, but she politely +ignored that. "I suppose she is still lonely without Philip. Or does she +get over it?" + +"I can't say that she has got entirely over it." + +"Aunt Mary, I don't know that you will agree with me," Mrs. Van Dorn +said with some firmness, "but _I_ think if Margaret would get her mind +on something besides herself--society or something of that kind--she +would be a great deal better off. Or philanthropy would be a good thing +for her." Mrs. Van Dorn had never yet been told about Rosalie and her +child. "Some of those things are in excellent form. I was just reading +as you came in about one that seems to me so beautiful. So--so +inspiring." + +"What is it?" Mrs. Pennybacker was glad to know of any phase of +philanthropy that interested her niece. + +"It is a form of rescue work. The article is headed + + 'Permanent Refuge for Homeless Dogs.' + +I'll read it to you. + +"'At a recent meeting of the Bullion Society for Homeless Dogs, held at +the residence of Mrs. Sarah Holden, it was unanimously agreed to change +the original name of the organization to Animal Rescue League of +Washington, in view of the widened scope of the work. Arrangements were +completed for the purchase of a home in the neighborhood of Hyattsville, +Md., where a permanent refuge will be established for the care of dogs. +It is the intention of the league to remove the home to their new +quarters at Hyattsville early in the autumn, where they will keep open +house throughout the year.' + +"Isn't that a beneficent charity!" she exclaimed, a rapt expression on +her unlined face. + +"Beneficent fiddlesticks!" returned Mrs. Pennybacker, "If I were called +upon to characterize that proceeding with exactness, Maria, I should +call it sentimental gush gone to seed. What are they going to save these +dogs from? a dependent old age--or a life of shame?" + +Like most persons of her calibre Mrs. Van Dorn was deficient in a sense +of humor. She missed the satirical note and answered literally, "They +are going to provide a home for the homeless and befriend the +friendless." + +"That sounds well." + +"It is Christlike!" exclaimed Mrs. Van Dorn, with more enthusiasm than +she usually exhibited. "Why, the officers elected--I didn't read you +their names--are away up in society." + +"It is certainly Christlike to befriend the friendless," returned Mrs. +Pennybacker, ignoring the social status of the officers elected--"but it +strikes me there needs to be a modicum of sense displayed in the choice +of subjects. As I remember it, Christ always gave the preference to +those that do not perish like the beasts. He came looking after the lost +sheep of the house of Israel, it is true, but they were sheep with +souls. I don't seem to remember that he spent much time hunting up stray +dogs. Indeed, the only case I recall in which He paid attention to +animals at all was in the Gadarene country, and that was rather +disastrous to the animals. You remember he sacrificed a whole herd of +swine (two thousand in number, Mark says) to save the reason of one poor +suffering lunatic. I think that was about the right proportion. To my +mind it shows the relative importance he attaches to the two.... How +Christian women can walk around here in the southwest quarter of +Washington, and then give their energies to rescuing _dogs_ is more than +I can understand!" + +When she had got a block or so away from the house she opened her rather +tightly set lips to remark to herself, + +"It is just as well. She might have been tempted to say something. Some +of these brilliantly bound volumes do have such fool things in them!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXV + MRS. PENNYBACKER TALKS + + +In Senator Southard's committee-room Mrs. Pennybacker found herself +surrounded with earnest women pleading for the weak and helpless of +their own sex, and life seemed suddenly to have widened out into a great +and noble thing. She drew long breaths as one does in stepping from the +confined atmosphere of a close room into the pure free air of heaven. It +was glorious to be alive and to have a part in a work like this. She +thanked God that she would be permitted to add her mite to the efforts +making up the sum total of this movement for the betterment of woman's +estate. She saw her duty now and was ready to do it. If opportunity +offered she would no longer shrink back from saying her word. + +Opportunity did not offer until late in the interview,--after women's +property rights and business rights had all been disposed of. She had +said to Mrs. Greuze when that lady had urged her to take some part in +the discussion, "I couldn't help you a particle until it comes to the +item of joint guardianship. I don't know anything about those other +questions. But I have some views on maternal rights, and maybe I could +make them understood." + +"That is exactly what we want you to talk about," said Mrs. Greuze. +"These other women who have studied up the subject can attend to the +first part of the bill, but when it comes to a mother's rights I know +you could say something to the point and that it would be put in a +telling way." + +It is an insidious kind of flattery. Even Mrs. Pennybacker was not proof +against it. As they made their way through the corridors leading from +the Rotunda to the committee-room she was figuratively girding up her +loins. + +When the delegation filed into his committee-room Senator Southard felt +glad that it was here he was to receive them. He was the kind of man +that relies upon office furniture and green covered table for moral +support in an encounter with the opposite sex. These things impress +women (some women); and the flim-flameries of a drawing-room depress men +(some men). The consciousness that they had invaded his territory put +him at his ease. He listened attentively to the various arguments +advanced, putting in a word here and there, bowing assent frequently, +and nodding thoughtfully as a new train of thought was suggested. All +seemed to be going so well that Mrs. Pennybacker began to feel that her +word would be superfluous. But Mrs. Greuze who had had wider experience +in these things observed that the Senator had never once committed +himself. She even thought she could discover a little vein of +combativeness in his attitude. + +A Mrs. Allaine had just finished a forcible plea for the right of women +to carry on business in their own names. + +"Ladies," said the Senator, "I hope you will pardon me when I say that I +seriously question the expediency of a woman's ever entering upon a +business career." + +"We are not here, Senator," Mrs. Allaine replied quickly, "to argue a +question of expediency, but of right. You will not deny that it should +be lawful for a woman to earn her bread in any honest way, even if it be +not expedient." + +The Senator fell back upon platitudes. "Man is the natural +bread-winner," he asserted with a trace--just a trace--of patronage. "It +is the privilege of the strong to provide for the weak." + +"In these days of late marriages," retorted Mrs. Allaine with a laugh, +"men seem rather reluctant to claim their privileges. And in the +meantime a woman must provide for herself and those dependent upon her +or go to the wall. Suppose such a woman should ask you to show cause why +she should not do it in her own way, what would you tell her? Or +supposing even that it is not a question of support. She has a life on +her hands which must be filled with something. What would you advise her +to turn to?" + +The Senator was not ready with his answer to this question, and a small +lady with very bright black eyes occupied his time. + +"George William Curtis says tell her that God has given her the nursery, +the ball-room, and the opera; and that, if these fail, he has graciously +provided the kitchen, the washtub, and the needle." + +The Senator emerged from the laugh that followed, not to answer the +question put to him but to say, "I am not yet convinced, ladies, that it +is the wish of the majority of the women of this District that this bill +should become a law." + +"Our delegation represents five thousand women," protested Mrs. Allaine. + +"I will admit that this is a large and representative delegation," said +the Senator, with a complimentary wave of his hand, "but even five +thousand is a small part of the women of the District. Where are the +ninety and nine that do not come forward?" + +"Many of them, Senator, are too ignorant to realize their own wrongs or +to know that there is any redress for them. It is because of that very +ignorance and helplessness that we are here to plead for them." + +"And yet it is true, as Senator Southard says," said Mrs. Greuze, "and +we may as well admit it, that too many women are apathetic about these +things. I was once myself. I say it with shame and confusion of face, +for I see things very differently now; but I had always had all the +rights I wanted and did not know how many people there were in the world +who were not so fortunate as I. One third of the women don't know that +these things exist, because they have never been touched by them, and +another third don't care. It is left for a very small remnant--not a +third, though they will be a third some day--who both know and care, to +straighten things out." + +"That is true," corroborated Mrs. Pennybacker, who had as yet taken no +part in the discussion. "I went by for a lady to-day to come over here +with us and she declined promptly. Said she had more important work at +home. She illustrates one class of women who--" + +"And a very important class, let me say," interposed the Senator, +promptly associating all the womanly virtues with her who stayed at +home, especially with her who stayed away from the committee-room--"a +class which, it is to be hoped for the good of the nation, will never +grow smaller or less powerful. I trust you will pardon my plainness, +ladies,--I am a plain man and must talk to you to-day as one man talks +to another--" + +"Or as a man may always safely talk to earnest women," said Mrs. Greuze. + +The Senator bowed. + +"It is to this class, I was going to say, rather than to those who go +outside the sacred precincts of the home, striving to stir up antagonism +between the sexes, seeking even as your honorable body is doing to-day, +to--to--" + +"To secure a mother's right to her children," prompted Mrs. Pennybacker. + +The Senator frowned slightly. + +"--seeking to influence legislation, I was going to remark. It is to +such noble women, content to immolate themselves upon the altar of +sacrifice for their little ones--to find their broadest field of +endeavor within the sanctuary of home--" + +Mrs. Pennybacker was regarding the Senator with marked attention. Had he +known her better he might not have considered this cause for unmixed +felicitation. As it was, he felt the subtle flattery of her deferential +hanging upon his every word, and, stimulated by it, soared higher. + +"Ah, ladies, I cannot refrain from expressing the belief that it is to +such noble women that we must look for the regeneration of the race. +They are doing a great work--as somebody remarked--I cannot at this +moment recall exactly who it was that said it--but--" + +"If you were going to say that they were doing a great work and could +not come down," remarked the small woman with the bright eyes who had a +satirical look of having heard this before, "it was Nehemiah, and he +said it to Sanballat." + +"Yes, yes," said the Senator, who was a trifle weak in the Hebrew +prophets,--"that's it exactly. 'They are doing a great work, so that +they cannot come down.' That is what these noble women who stay at home +are doing--" + +"Ye-es," observed Mrs. Pennybacker, reflectively. "This one was having a +dog party to-day and eight other noble women who couldn't come down were +going to take their dogs to it." + +This punctured the Senator's oratorical balloon so sharply that it came +to earth with a thump, leaving him not even a parachute to hang to. And +while it was in collapse, Mrs. Pennybacker, whose tongue no longer clave +to the roof of her mouth, took the opportunity to remark: + +"It is dangerous to generalize, Senator Southard, unless you have a good +deal of data. I have observed that not all of the women who stay away +from public gatherings and committee meetings do so because of their +devotion to their children. Some of them haven't any children and +_won't_ have. They can't take time from their pleasures to be bothered +with babies. Or they are not willing to give up the apartment house, +where they can have every comfort, every luxury,--except children. Some +of them substitute dogs, and give dog parties. + +"But the women we are talking about, Senator Southard," she went on +earnestly, "are not of that kind. They are the women who _have_ +children, and want to establish their legal right to them. The mother +part of this bill is the one I am talking for. It may be that a married +woman _has_ no right to her own property--though I will confess that it +beats me to see why; it may be that she should _not_ have the right to +buy, sell, or convey property. (So far as that is concerned, a good many +married _men_ ought not to have that right, having such poor business +judgment that their wives should have been appointed their guardians +from the start.) And I am not at all sure but I should agree with you +that it is not expedient for women to carry on business--I think a good +deal may be said on both sides of that question. (You needn't look at me +that way, Mrs. Allaine. I _said_ expedient. Of course it should be +lawful.) No, there is room for an honest difference of opinion on all +these points, but when it comes to the question of a mother having an +equal right with the father to the child she has borne, I cannot see how +there can be two opinions there. To my mind the question of joint +guardianship is the pith of this bill. It touches women at their +tenderest point,--and it touches them every one." + +Mrs. Greuze nodded slightly to a lady across the room. This was going +all right. She motioned with one eye to the Senator, who was listening +with respectful attention. It had been a little more respectful, +perhaps, since Mrs. Pennybacker had agreed with him as to the +inexpediency of a woman's going into business. We are all human--even +Senators. Mrs. Pennybacker had lost herself in her subject. These things +had been seething in her soul since the night Margaret came to her, a +fugitive. Now that her tongue was loosed she was glad, more than glad to +give them utterance. + +"Think of a mother having to stand and plead for a legal right to the +child she has borne," she went on, moving her chair a little nearer to +the Senator. "When you come right down to it, who has a right that +approaches hers? Leaving out of account all sentiment, all thought of +the price she has paid for ownership in her offspring, and looking at it +in a purely practical way, who has a right that can be better +substantiated? Who is it that risks her life every time there is a child +born into the world? _The mother._ Who is it that the Almighty has +fitted to take care of those children? _The mother._ Who is it that +keeps the family together? _The mother._ When a man dies and leaves a +lot of helpless little ones, what does a woman do? Give those children +away to this one and that--anybody that can be induced by love or money +to take them? Ah, no! She gets out her sewing machine or her washtub and +goes to work. She doesn't know any other way. She doesn't want any other +way. It may be but a poor little shack that she has to keep them in--it +hasn't any of the luxuries of the apartment house--but it has the +children. And it is a home. And _she makes it_. In nine cases out of ten +she doesn't ask any help about it either. It is often pretty short +commons with them. She gives them meat when she can get it, and +bean-soup and encouragement when she can't. But ten chances to one she +will make men and women of them. The most worthless men in a community +are not widow's sons as a rule. Did you ever think of that, Senator +Southard?" + +The Senator nodded reflectively. He had often thought of it. This was a +hobby. He was a widow's son himself as it happened, and had been reared +in just such a school, though he was leagues and leagues away from it +now. There rose before him the little bowed mother in black who had +struggled for him at her machine. His eyes softened as he thought of it. + +"Sometimes," continued Mrs. Pennybacker, "she is a grade beyond the +wash-tub and the scrubbing brush. What does she do then? Brushes the +cobwebs off the little acquirements the public school or the 'Ladies' +Seminary' gave her years ago, and finds a place to teach; or scrapes +together enough money to buy a type-writer, and goes to work. She may +have to be away from them through the day, but you never hear of her +making that an excuse for foisting her children on somebody else. She +makes some shift--gets somebody to stay with them while she is gone, or +does something--and _she keeps them together_. + +"By the way, Senator Southard, speaking of scanty equipment, do you know +of anything crueler than thrusting a woman out into the world to fight +for herself and her fatherless children with no weapons but a needle's +point and a broom-stick? It is getting better all the time, I will +admit, but education in my day was like teaching a boy to swim and a +girl to wade, and then taking them out into deep water and shoving them +both overboard. Of course the boy can strike out. It was intended that +he should. Deep water helps him. But the girl--Beg pardon? The girl, you +think, generally shoves herself out in these days? Not always. Often the +swimmer who is bearing her and her little ones up goes down. Death +doesn't care anything about sex. And I have never noticed that he +enquires even whether a man can be spared, or how many are dependant +upon him. He just sends a big wave over him and down he goes. Then, of +course, the woman who has been carried along before this has to strike +out with one hand while she holds the children up with the other. Often +she can't do more than 'tread water' until the oldest boy is able to +swim." + +And again the Senator's mind went back to the brave little mother in +black "treading water"--that was about what it was--she could hardly +keep their heads above the waves. He looked up at the ceiling with eyes +that did not see the frescoing. They were filled with a vision of the +little unpainted house, the hollyhocks, the kitchen fire around which +they had all crowded (she would not let one of them go)--the scanty +table--the patched knees. And she had never lived to see him here! + +"I wonder they any of them reach the shore," Mrs. Pennybacker was saying +when he came back to the committee-room, "I don't believe many of them +would if it were not for the touch of little hands. They would give up +and go under. But the very thing that you would think would drag them +down is what buoys them up. With a child's hand clinging to her hand, +and a child's looking into hers, the way they look up into a mother's +eyes, a woman's _got_ to struggle. She can't help it any more than she +can help breathing." + +"It is the parent's instinct, I suppose," said the Senator, +thoughtfully. + +"I don't know. It doesn't seem to be the male parent's instinct. His +first motion generally is to disencumber himself. A _man_ can give his +children away and not half try." + +Mrs. Pennybacker had been borne along by her interest in the subject and +its entirely familiar aspect, forgetting her companions and everything +else but the Senator she wanted to convince. The other ladies +telegraphed approbation to one another as she proceeded. But when she +thus began to turn the other side of the shield, for some reason glances +of disapproval and slight frowns began to pass among them. One of them, +leaning forward to lay something on the table, adopted the feminine +expedient of touching Mrs. Pennybacker's foot significantly. That lady +turned and looked at her with the obtuseness of a man at his own +dinner-table, and then proceeded: + +"What does a man do when his wife dies and leaves him with a family of +children? Keep them together as she does? No, indeed! He knows he can't +and I am not saying that he can, for little children and the care of +them belong rightfully and naturally to women, and that is why we are +trying to have this law changed so as to give her a legal as well as a +natural right to them.... What does he do? Why, he gives them away to +anybody that will take them. It doesn't hurt him in the least, +apparently, to see them scattered to the four winds of heaven. Or--and +this is what he does oftener than anything else--" + +There was now marked consternation in the faces of the ladies behind +her, for they knew as well as she did what men do oftener than anything +else. + +"Oftener than any other way he looks around for some girl--usually the +youngest he can find that will have him--somebody, of course, that +doesn't know one thing about children--he isn't thinking about that--and +marries her, just as soon as decency allows, and sometimes sooner." + +"Well!... She has done it now!" whispered Mrs. Greuze to the black-eyed +lady who was acquainted with Sanballat and Nehemiah. + +Mrs. Pennybacker noticed a peculiar look on the Senator's face, whether +of amusement, embarrassment, or offence she could not tell, and was made +dimly conscious by a glance at her companions that something was wrong, +but she had thought of a story that she wanted to tell and was not to be +suppressed. + +"Why, Senator Southard, I actually heard a Judge in the Supreme Court of +this District defend that atrocious law of Charles II by which a man has +the right to will his children away from the mother, on the ground that +women were likely to marry again! _Women_ likely to marry again! Will +you think of that? I wanted to rise up in court and say to him what I +said to a man who was trying to prove to me one day that more men died +than women. 'Just look at the great number of widows on South Street,' +he said, 'and compare them with the small number of widowers.' 'Heavens +and earth!' I said, 'that isn't owing to any undue mortality among the +men. It is because they won't remain widowers!'" + +The Senator laughed a little constrainedly, saying that he guessed they +couldn't deny the soft impeachment, but that their defense was in the +attractiveness of the other sex. Mrs. Greuze put in a graceful word +which had the effect to switch the conversation gently to another track +without perceptible jar, and the conference was soon at an end. + +Out in the corridor with the door of the committee-room safely closed, +they gathered excitedly around Mrs. Pennybacker. + +"Well! What is it? What have I done?" she demanded. + +"Oh!" groaned Mrs. Greuze, "you've killed us _dead_! We'll never recover +from this. Don't you know that is exactly what he did? Married a girl +younger than his daughter--and in less than a year!" + +Mrs. Pennybacker's jaw dropped. + +"I ought not to have come," she said. "I told you I would be sure to say +something! You ought not to have _let_ me come." Then her ever-present +sense of humor came to her relief. "Well, there's one comfort. It was +the truth! And he got it straight!" + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVI + MARGARET'S RESOLVE + + +While Mrs. Pennybacker was thus effectively wielding the battle-ax that +common sense and observation had laid ready at her hand, Margaret, +bleeding on the field, was well-nigh ready to give up the fight. An +ambushed foe had fallen upon her and borne her down, and before she +could recover herself, Courage, who had been through it all her strong +support and chiefest counselor, had turned craven and fled. + +While this fitly, though inadequately, describes the girl's condition of +mind as she sat in the car swiftly traversing the short distance between +Elmhurst and Washington, there was nothing in her outward appearance to +indicate that it was so. + +The occupants in that parlor-car saw in Margaret a well-dressed, +quiet-appearing young woman, remarkable for nothing perhaps but the +pronounced beauty of her face and her rather queenly carriage. It was a +mild surprise to see a woman of this type get on at a way station. As +she sat intently looking out of the window at the moving panorama of +winter trees seen now to best advantage stripped of their summer +garments, one might have thought her a devotee of Nature, with an eye +and heart single to that alone. + +But the oaks and the elms and the lesser folk of the tree-world were in +reality making an impression on a retina as unseeing as though back of +it there were no brain. This quiet, self-contained looking lady looking +out at the wintry landscape with such apparent appreciation was saying +to herself in the abandon of despair, "Is it true? Can it be true?" + +A phantom shape had been pursuing Margaret De Jarnette for months--a +specter of evil form and visage. It had given her just a glimpse of +itself now and then; it was quick to hide behind more agreeable forms +and she was always glad to lose it; then she would forget it until some +day it would start up before her like a grinning death's head for a +brief second and again disappear. She had eluded it. She had denied its +existence even to herself, but she knew now that she had feared it from +the first and refused to face it. To-day it had taken bodily shape and +grappled with her. + +It was through Mammy Cely that the incarnation came. Margaret had been +talking to the old woman as she often did about the case in court, its +long delay, and finally the bill and the relief which that promised even +if the case in court failed. + +"Miss Margaret," said Mammy Cely, not looking at her, but speaking in a +voice of great compassionateness, "is you sho' that bill gwineter he'p +you?" + +"Why, certainly!" Margaret answered as she had answered Mrs. Pennybacker +when she had asked the same foolish question (it was at such times that +the specter rose before her), "It will give me Philip." + +Mammy Cely still looked away. + +"Marse Richard 'low that bill don't have nothin' 't all to do with +Philip. Maybe he don't know," she added, but rather doubtfully, for she +had boundless confidence in Richard's knowledge. + +"He certainly does not know," said Margaret sharply. "How did you happen +to be talking to him about it?" + +"I jes' accidently mentioned that you was layin' off to take Philip as +soon as the bill passed, and he 'low the bill didn't have no bearin' on +the case. He say it can't ondo a thing that was done years ago." + +Margaret felt that she had received a blow. A sudden recollection of +Senator Black's words flashed upon her and she grew so white that Mammy +Cely prudently refrained from any more discussion of the subject. She +might have told her how in the goodness of her heart she had gone to Mr. +De Jarnette, hoping to stir pity in his breast, and said, "Marse +Richard, do you reckon that po' chile gwineter live ef this here bill +givin' her Philip don't pass?" and how he had answered her in shocked +amazement, "Giving her Philip! Great heavens, you don't tell me she is +expecting that?" + +He really looked so concerned that it seemed to Mammy Cely as if the +emotion she had been trying to fan into flame flared up for a moment, +but it and her hope went out together as he added coldly, "If that is +what she is working for, she might as well give it up. That bill +couldn't undo what was done years ago." She did not tell Margaret all +this, however, contenting herself with repeating, "No 'm, he say it +don't have no bearin' on the case." + +"It is false!" cried Margaret, with vehement iteration. "He'll find that +it will have some bearing on the case before we are through." + +Her anger sustained her until she reached the station. Then when she had +kissed Philip good-bye and settled back weakly in her seat, a horrible +sinking of soul came over her. What if it were true? Looking out at the +shivering trees and the leaden sky impassively, she was telling herself +in a transport of feeling and of fear that it was not true! It couldn't +be true! + +But thinking of Senator Black's strange look of pity and his stranger +words, "I wish this bill could do as much for you, Mrs. De Jarnette, as +you can do for it," doubt began to clutch at her heart. Was this what he +meant? Going over her interviews with this one and that in these weeks +it seemed to her that she could recall traces of compassion in their +words, their looks, as they talked with her. She had thought then it was +pity for her wrongs. Was it for her blindness?... Why had nobody told +her? Had she no friend that it must be left for her enemy to enlighten +her? Why had they let her go on working for this thing as though her +soul's salvation had depended upon it--only to find out when all was +done, that it was but an abstract law--something that would be useful to +humanity perhaps, but left her desolate as before.... Humanity! What was +humanity to a mother robbed? + +Shame smote her then. She heard the voice of Mrs. Greuze saying of a +fellow worker: "She has a heart big enough to take in the world and all +its woes." But then Mrs. Belden was childless. Perhaps God had given her +empty hands that she might work for weak ones too weighted down with +cares to help themselves. Well! He had emptied her arms too. Was it thus +that the great heart of humanity was brought to throb in unison? + +She felt suddenly strengthless as if some spring of life were broken.... +How she had labored for this thing, sparing not herself in any way, +giving time and strength and travail of soul to the furtherance of this +bill. And to what purpose? Only an hour ago she was planning what she +would say to Senator Blanton when she went to see him. She had been so +successful that she was eager to try her powers of persuasion again. It +was a joy to work in a great cause like this. Now the zest had faded out +of life as the color out of an evening cloud. Everything was stale, flat +and unprofitable. "What profit hath a man of all his labor which he +taketh under the sun?" came suddenly to her mind with a force never felt +before. Who was it said that?... Oh, yes, the Wise Man of course. She +had often heard Mrs. Pennybacker quote the words. Well! he _was_ wise, +she told herself scornfully. There _was_ no profit. And the Wise Man had +found it out. She wondered weakly, feeling very tired all at once, if he +had discovered it before he had worn himself out. + +The train moved steadily on. The scene constantly shifted, but she did +not see. + +Mr. De Jarnette--had said--that--the bill would not give her Philip. She +must think it out before she got there--what to do--now. + +At the station her carriage was waiting for her. + +"To Judge Kirtley's office." + +On the way, looking absently from the carriage window, she saw a lady +with a little boy about Philip's age holding to her hand and skipping by +her side. It was strange, but all the children seemed to be about +Philip's age. The boy was telling something eagerly and she could catch +his childish treble and see the mother smile. A pang shot through her to +see the sweet comradeship between the two. Did the woman know how blest +she was? + +On the street in full view of the Capitol they passed the entrance to +one of the blind alleys that still disgrace Washington. A drunken man +piloted by a woman with a baby in her arms and another clinging to her +skirts was making toward the alley. The man, insecure of footing, +lurched forward almost under the horses' feet. The coachman reined them +in suddenly and the woman jerked the man back. With an oath he turned +and struck her, kicking the child when it cried with fright. + +Margaret drew a quick breath. Here--here under the very shadow of the +Dome, a drunken, brutish man who could neither protect his children nor +take care of himself, was given rights to those children that the mother +could not share--could not share and could not shake off! Unless--unless +the bill should pass! She leaned back in the carriage and closed her +eyes. + +In the office she lost no time in circumlocution. + +"Judge Kirtley," she asked, cutting short his protestations of surprise +at seeing her, "is it true that if this joint guardianship bill passes +it will not give me Philip?" + +"Give you Philip? Why, child--my _dear_ child, you haven't supposed--God +bless my soul," he broke off abruptly. The idea that her ignorance of +the law should have misled her into supposing that the bill would help +her personally, except so far as it might influence the decision of the +court when her case came up, had never occurred to him. She had thrown +herself headlong into this movement without asking advice from anybody, +but he had supposed that it was from her rather natural sympathy for +womankind, and he had welcomed it as a diversion to her in the trying +time of awaiting action by the court. In fact, he had encouraged her +efforts. He was wondering now blankly if that encouragement had not been +ill-judged. + +"It would not help me in any way?" she persisted, reading the answer in +his disturbed face. He answered her plainly then, though with a lawyer's +caution. + +"The fact that such a bill had been passed after much agitation might +have its effect upon the decision of the court when your case comes up. +I should not say that that would be impossible, nor even improbable. But +that is the only way in which it could affect it. A law like that would +not be retroactive. It is better for you to know this now, Margaret." + +She sat so long without speaking that he began nervously to dread a +break-down or an outburst such as she used to give way to. He had no +need to fear. The woman before him was not the girl of those tempestuous +days. No school develops us so swiftly as sorrow's school. With the +little nunnery maid who talked with Guinevere, she had learned + + "to cry her cry in silence, and have done." + +"But it would help other women, in years to come," she said at last in a +voice that thrilled with feeling--"women who cannot fight for +themselves--" the woman of the street was before her--"who do not have a +friend like you to fight for them?" + +"Unquestionably. If that bill becomes a law no other woman in this +District will ever stand where you do to-day pleading for her child." + +She stood up then with eyes shining and head thrown back. + +"Then let me do what I can," she cried. "This is not for one woman but +for many." + +Oddly enough, as he looked at her, there came into his mind two pictures +he had seen on her own walls,--one, the old familiar one of the sitting +mother clasping to her heart the Divine Child as if she would keep Him +forever within her sheltering arms; the other, with face illumined and a +larger vision that took in the whole world's needs, holding the +Christ-child up, an offering to humanity. + +The woman before him might have been a "chair madonna" yesterday; to-day +she was a "Sistine." + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVII + THE RED PAPER + + +Spring was come. Once more had been wrought the old, old miracle which +is ever new, and every tree-crowned hill and nestling valley around +Washington was singing the resurrection song. Even the green grass at +Margaret's feet and the hyacinths and daffodils as she moved among them +seemed to say: "Lo, the winter is past; the flowers appear on the earth; +the time of the singing of birds is come and the voice of the turtle is +heard in the land." + +There was a note of jubilance in it all. Perhaps she was feeling still +the influence of the Easter "Allelujahs" of yesterday; perhaps it was +that the mellowness of the warm spring air had somehow got into her very +soul this morning and swept away the clouds of doubt; or possibly it was +only that Margaret was young, and "hope springs eternal." Whatever the +cause, the girl looked out upon the world of budding nature around her +with an ecstacy which had its overtone of sadness, as all such ecstacies +have for natures like hers.... It was a beautiful world! a beautiful +world! And it would not be long now. + +She knelt upon the grass by her flower beds and buried her face in the +sweet fragrance of the hyacinths. Her heart was strangely open this +Easter Monday to the influences around her.... Yes, spring had come. The +long lonely winter was gone. It had been long--long and lonely! But +Judge Kirtley had said the case must come up soon. And when it did, she +surely would get him. It seemed almost certain now that the bill would +pass, and it _must_ help her in some way. Even Judge Kirtley had said it +might have its influence with the court. + +Then her thoughts passed to pleasanter things, for Philip was to spend a +whole day with her, and she was to take the children to the Easter +Monday egg-rolling. Mammy Cely had laid it before Mr. De Jarnette that +any child living within going distance and then not allowed to embrace +the opportunity was "jes' bodaciously robbed." And indeed it was almost +true, for it is a time-honored festival for the children of Washington +in which white, black, and brown participate. Mammy Cely had been +coloring eggs for days. + +That egg-rolling stood out afterwards in Margaret De Jarnette's mind as +a day of perfect happiness, save for the knowledge that it must soon +end. The delight of the children at the animated scene on the White Lot +was unbounded,--that of Mrs. Pennybacker and Bess not far behind it. +Even Mr. Harcourt found them before the morning was over, and found them +in a characteristic way. + +The word was passed quietly around that the President would appear at a +certain time on the south portico, and the crowd gathered there. The De +Jarnette party happened to be standing near a policeman when a +distracted mother rushed up to him. + +"Oh, have you seen my little girl? I've lost her! She is only four! Oh, +what shall I do!" + +"Don't get excited," the policeman said, with a soothing gesture,--"she +has been taken over to the east gate." + +"Oh, have you found her?" + +"No, but I have found you. Somebody else will find her and take her +there. So we will get you together." + +Hardly had she gone on her way rejoicing before another appeared in like +distress. + +"Officer! I've lost my little boy! Oh, what shall I do? He had on a blue +suit, and he is so timid!" + +"Don't get excited," the man said,--"you will find him over at the east +entrance," etc., etc. + +"You seem to have plenty to do," said Mrs. Pennybacker. + +"Oh, yes. They lose their children this way all day long. You let go a +child's hand in a crowd like this and he is lost in a minute." + +Bess and Margaret each tightened her clutch of a little hand. The crowd +was very dense here, for even democratic America loves to see its chief +executive. Mrs. Pennybacker had pushed a little ahead of the policeman +and was looking at the rounding colonnade when she heard an anxious +falsetto voice behind her. + +"Oh, _have_ you seen an old lady about eighty-five--with dress and +spectacles on? She's got away from me. What _shall_ I do!" + +"Don't get excited! You'll find her over at the east entrance," said the +policeman in his mechanical formula. He was struggling with the crowd +and had not quite caught the description. + +Mrs. Pennybacker turned around to find John Harcourt doubled up with +laughter. + +"You rascal! You'll die of some sort of degeneracy of the heart long +before I'm eighty-five!" + +For hours the tide set in through the east entrance and swirled and +ebbed and flowed. When at last the gates closed upon the throng the De +Jarnette party sought the Ellipse, where the children had been promised +a lunch. + +Harcourt and Bess had fallen behind the others. As they reached the +seats beneath the trees he said wheedlingly to Mrs. Pennybacker, "I +don't think your little girl has had a very good time to-day. She hasn't +had any eggs, or balloon, or anything. Suppose you let me give her a row +up the river just to keep her from feeling neglected." Then looking at +the basket, "We'll take the portion that falls to us and eat it on the +way." + +When the two were gone and the children had had their lunch and gone off +to play, the two ladies sat and watched them. + +"How nicely they play together," remarked Margaret. + +"Yes," said Mrs. Pennybacker absently. "Margaret, I am quite disturbed +about Rosalie. I don't know what to make of her lately." + +"What is the trouble? Has she had any more of those fainting spells?" + +"Never since the first one. The nurse thought she was likely to have +them at any time, but she has never had another. Queer what caused +that." + +"Weakness, I suppose. And yet she grows weaker every day." + +"Yes, Margaret, somehow she has never seemed the same to me since that +day. You know how happy she was when she first came. We were speaking +that very morning, I remember, about the look of peace that had come +into her face." + +"Yes. She had lost that distressed expression. Do you suppose she can +feel hurt at my being with her so little these days?" + +"No, it isn't that. Sometimes I think she is more troubled after you +have been there than at any other time. The nurse even has noticed it. +Sometimes I think she has something on her mind still--something she +wants to tell." + +"Why, she has told me everything. It can't be that." + +"I told her about the bill one day, feeling that it would do her good to +have something new to think about. She seemed to feel quite a little +interested in it. Asks me from time to time how it is getting along, and +always if it will give you Philip. She seemed greatly troubled over what +Judge Kirtley said." + +"A mother's sympathy. I suppose. Poor girl!" + +"I guess it must have been that. But it's queer. It was that very day +that I heard her moaning to herself--she didn't know I was in the +room--and I went to her and said, 'Rosalie, what is it that troubles +you?' She looked up at me in such a distressed way and said, 'Oh, I have +been a wicked woman! If I could only confess--'" + +"Confess!" + +"That was what she said. I said, 'Rosalie, child, confess to God. He is +faithful and just to forgive us our sins.' Margaret, I never shall +forget the answer she gave me. She said in a sort of despair, 'I have! I +have! but He hides His face.'" + +"Poor child!" said Margaret. "I will go in to-morrow and see her." + +Somehow, Margaret had never found the parting from Philip so hard as it +was to-day. "I have such an unaccountable dread of something happening +to him," she said. "I have never felt it before." + +"I ain't gwineter let nothin' happen to him, Miss Margaret. He jes' as +safe with me as he is with you. Ain't I tuk good keer of him all +winter?" + +The child did look the picture of health and wholesomeness. His cheeks +were glowing now from his chase of Louis and his eyes were bright. But +at the mention of his going they overflowed. + +"Mama, I don't want to go! Why can't I stay wiv you and Louis?" + +"Oh, darling!" It broke her heart to send him away. + +Mammy Cely was to take Philip to his uncle's office on F Street. When +she got there Mr. De Jarnette was just starting to leave the place with +some papers. + +"Take him on to the B. and O.," he directed. "I have to see a man on +North Capitol, but I will be at the station before train time." + +"Unker Wichard, let me go wiv you," begged Philip. "I won't bovver you." + +Mr. De Jarnette considered. It was but a step from North Capitol to the +station, and he wanted to see the man but for a moment. + +"All right, Philip." Adding to the old woman, "We will meet you at the +B. and O." + +"Marse Richard," said Mammy Cely, with unaccountable shrinking from +letting the child go out of her keeping, "please, sir, don't take him. +I--I done promise Miss Margaret I ain't gwineter let nothin' happen to +him. Look lak I can't bear to have him outer my sight. No, sir." + +He stopped her with a peremptory gesture. "Go along to the station. I +certainly can take care of this child for fifteen minutes. Come, +Philip." + +While they were waiting in the house on North Capitol Mr. De Jarnette +took out the deed he had to deliver and was looking it over. The girl +who opened the door had said Mr. Holton would be in in a moment. But the +moment lengthened, and Philip catching sight of a child peering in +bashfully from the hall, and feeling the attraction of youth for youth, +edged out toward him. Then the man of the house came into the parlor +from a room back of it, and the sound of voices came to Philip. He was +very sure that he was not bothering his Uncle Richard now and he was by +nature a friendly child. + +"What's the matter wiv your hands?" he asked. + +The other child, a little younger, stood bashfully picking at his palm. + +"Peelin'," he said laconically. Then, brightening up, "Say! I got a +dog." + +When Richard De Jarnette and the man stepped into the hall a few moments +later Philip was alone. The boy had gone to get the dog. The man looked +startled to see a child there, and opened his mouth to speak, but +Richard took Philip's hand, said good-night hastily, and what the man +called after them was not heeded. + +As they went out of the yard the child with the close observation of his +age, asked, "Unker Wichard, what do they have a wed paper for?" + +Mr. De Jarnette was hurrying with such rapid strides to the station that +his nephew could hardly keep up with him. He was intent on making the +train, and did not hear, and in his hurrying Philip forgot all about the +red paper. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXVIII + THE MOTHER COMES TO HER OWN + + +It was ten days or more after this that Mrs. De Jarnette's carriage +stood at the door ready to convey her to the Capitol. It was confidently +expected that the bill would come up now within a few days and there +were a good many working bees around that classic edifice. Mrs. Belden +had asked Mrs. De Jarnette to go with her that afternoon. + +Since her talk with Judge Kirtley Margaret had been unremitting in her +labors. Mrs. Belden told Mrs. Pennybacker that she had never done more +efficient work. There was something very touching, she said, in her +plea, so simply but so effectively urged, "It will not help me, but it +will help other women." + +"It almost seems," said Mrs. Pennybacker, in repeating this to Judge +Kirtley only the day before, "as if this thing were slowly purging her +of self. She is being tried in the fire, but she will come out of it +with the dross burned away. I never have seen a woman grow in character +as Margaret De Jarnette has in this trying half year." + +"I trust she may get her reward," said the Judge. "But there is no +telling. I tremble for her if there should be an adverse decision." + +"There is one thing,"--Mrs. Pennybacker spoke solemnly.--"The Lord is +preparing Margaret for whatever He is preparing _for_ her. Her ear has +been opened to sorrow's cry, and her hands will never be utterly empty +again. + + 'God moves in a mysterious way + His wonders to perform.' + +That is as true now as it was when Cowper--under the shadow of a great +cloud--said it." + +Margaret was buttoning her gloves when there came a knock at the door. +She had just come down from Rosalie's room. Since her talk with Mrs. +Pennybacker on the Ellipse, she had been particularly careful not to +neglect the poor girl, and had tried in every way to brighten her up. +"She is so weak and her situation so peculiar that she might easily see +slights that were never intended," she was saying to herself. + +She took the card that the servant handed her and glanced at the clock +with a shade of annoyance. She would just have time to meet her +engagement at the Capitol without interruption. As she looked at the +card her face blanched. It read + + "Mr. Richard De Jarnette." + +In the parlor she hardly waited for a conventional greeting. + +"What is it? Has anything happened to Philip?" + +"Yes," he answered gravely. "Philip is ill--not alarmingly so, I hope, +but seriously." + +"What is the matter with him? How long has he been sick?" + +"I knew nothing of it till yesterday morning, though Mammy Cely tells me +he was restless and feverish all the night before. I sent for the doctor +at once and he got a nurse there by noon. I shall get another one +to-day--a night nurse." + +"Two nurses! What do they think it is?" + +"The doctor pronounces it scarlet fever." + +"Scarlet fever!" Every vestige of color left her face. "How could he +have taken scarlet fever? Has he been exposed to it?" Then rapidly +counting back, "It must have been at the egg-rolling!" + +Since she had answered her own question Mr. De Jarnette apparently did +not consider it necessary to do so. She looked at her watch and moved +across the room. + +"I assure you that he shall have every possible care--but I felt that +you ought to know. If you should wish to go to him--" + +She turned as she reached the bell and looked at him without reply. + +"Tell Fanny to pack a few things suitable for the sick room in my suit +case," she said to the servant who answered, "and be quick about it." +She called him back to add, "Send Mrs. Pennybacker to me." + +"Can we catch the three o'clock train?" she asked in a voice so +contained that he looked at her in astonishment. + +"I fear not. And the next does not go till five. If--I notice that your +carriage is at the door. If you would not mind the ride that would be +the quickest way to get there. We could make it in an hour by good +driving." + +"Then we will go that way." Just at this minute Mrs. Pennybacker came +in. She sat down, looking her surprise at seeing Mr. De Jarnette. There +was that in his face which precluded the thought of his being here for +any trivial reason. + +"I am going with Mr. De Jarnette to Elmhurst," said Margaret, with +preternatural calmness. "Philip is ill--with scarlet fever." + +"Scarlet fever!" Mrs. Pennybacker's searching eyes were upon Mr. De +Jarnette. "How--in the world--could he have been exposed to scarlet +fever?" + +"Probably the day of the egg-rolling," Margaret again answered for him. +"I leave everything with you. I shall be there indefinitely." + +"But Margaret, child, you ought not to go alone. I feel that I ought to +go with you. And yet I don't see how I can leave Rosalie. She is in that +condition that it is impossible to tell when the end will come. She may +linger for weeks and it may come at any moment." + +"You can't go," said Margaret. "And Bess cannot go, for she is too much +of a child herself." + +"And besides she has never had scarlet fever." + +"No. There's nothing for me to do but to go alone." + +"The nurse will be there," suggested Mr. De Jarnette. + +"Oh, the _nurse_!" said Mrs. Pennybacker. + +"Aunt Mary--if--" she grew white and shut her lips. + +"If the worst comes, Margaret, let me know, and I will go to you, no +matter what happens here," said Mrs. Pennybacker, hastily. "But keep up +a good courage, my child, and trust in God. 'His arm is not shortened +that it cannot save, nor his ear heavy that it cannot hear.'" + +Mr. De Jarnette stepped into the hall. He knew instinctively that +Margaret would not want him here now. + +When they were in the carriage and Mrs. Pennybacker standing beside it, +he turned to Margaret. + +"I forgot to say that I called Dr. Semple for Philip. If there is any +one else you would rather have I should be glad to make the change." + +Margaret looked disturbed. + +"I should not want Dr. Semple. He is too young. And besides--" She might +have said, "I do not like him or feel easy in his presence," for all +this was true, but she finished the sentence--"And besides, I would +rather have Dr. Anderson, our own physician." + +Mr. De Jarnette tucked the robe around Margaret and turned to Mrs. +Pennybacker. + +"Will you telephone Dr. Anderson to come out by the five o'clock train? +The carriage will be at the station to meet him. Ask him to come +prepared to spend the night if necessary.... No, not in consultation--to +take charge of the case. I will make it right with Semple." + +They were soon out of the city and on the country road leading to +Elmhurst. "Drive fast, Rogers," Margaret had said as they started. + +They made no pretence of keeping up conversation. They were together +only for the understood purpose of getting to the child as quickly as +possible. After the first few questions and answers they had lapsed into +a silence which neither felt inclined to break. Both were busy with +their thoughts. Once Margaret, groping blindly for possible causes, +said, "You don't know of any way in which he could have been exposed?" + +"I--I think it must have been the day after--of the egg-rolling," he +said. "Probably after he left you." + +"And Mammy Cely promised so faithfully to look after him," she said +reproachfully. + +"I really think," said Mr. De Jarnette, hesitatingly--he would have +given a good slice of his inheritance to have been able to lay the blame +upon Mammy Cely, but remembering her insistent faithfulness, and goaded +by his conscience, he could not do other than to tell her the +truth,--"that if Philip was exposed that day I am the one to blame." + +Margaret was looking at him with a fixed attention which compelled +explanation. + +"I--I took him with me, against her remonstrances, I feel obliged in +common justice to say, to a house where I had business. He begged to go +and I could see no reason why he should not. But as it turned out it was +most unfortunate. I have reason to think that there was a child in the +house recovering from scarlet fever, and in just the condition, Semple +tells me, to communicate it." + +"And there was no card?" she asked in wonder. + +He hesitated. "They tell me there was a card. But I will have to +acknowledge that I did not see it." + +"You took Philip--in spite of Mammy Cely's remonstrances--into a house +infected with a deadly disease," she said slowly, "and failed to see the +most obvious of warnings." + +"Say all you want to say," he answered miserably. "You cannot blame me +more than I have blamed myself." + +Six months before she would have taken him at his word, but a sudden +sense of the futility of words smote her. Perhaps, too, even in that +trying moment the wretchedness of his face touched her. + +"Recriminations are worse than useless," she said at last. "I have found +that out. There have been enough of them between us. In God's name, let +us work together for once and try to save him." + +"You are more than generous," he said after a long pause. + +How much more quickly does thought travel than foot of beast. Margaret's +was leaping forward with lightning rapidity. She was at Philip's side; +saw him gasping, dying in her arms; stood beside his casket looking down +upon the face that she would see no more; saw a solitary woman's figure +sitting by a little grave saying "This is the end." Then it seemed as if +she heard an unknown voice saying, "This was a quarrel that God alone +could settle, and he has done it in his own way." + +She drew a quick breath then, almost like a child's gasping sob. Oh, +anything but that! Anything! Let him but live! The wheels moved, turned +on monotonously, she watching them.... Nothing could be so bitter and so +hopeless as death. _Nothing!_ A Bible story that she had heard Mrs. +Pennybacker read one day in Rosalie's room came suddenly without reason +into her mind. It was about the two women who claimed the one child, +each saying, "This is my son that liveth, and thy son is the dead." It +had seemed to her a cruel test that Solomon the Wise had put them to +when he said, "Bring me a sword," and then, "Divide the living child in +two and give half to the one and half to the other." And while the false +claimant said, "Yea, let it be neither mine nor thine, but divide it;" +surely it was the true mother, the one whose the living child was that +cried out with yearning, "Oh, my lord, give her the living child and in +no wise slay it."... Oh, it was a true test! Anything but death! +_anything_ but death! + +A shiver passed through her, and Richard De Jarnette leaning over tucked +the robe around her without speaking. Only once did he open his lips +after that. Then, as if urged by the impetus of some kindred fear, he +leaned forward and spoke to the coachman: + +"Drive faster." + +Mammy Cely met them at the door and took Margaret to her room, while Mr. +De Jarnette went directly to Philip. He was possessed of a wild fear +that the child might be dead when they got there. He wondered a little +at Margaret's delay. Why did she not go directly to him? He understood +it five minutes later when she came quietly in clothed in her sick-room +garb. This was no visit. She had come to stay. He marveled to see her +quiet contained manner. As she came in he moved instinctively toward the +door, feeling himself an intruder in his own house. There seemed almost +profanation in his witnessing the meeting between the two he had +separated. But he did not go soon enough to miss Philip's glad cry, +"Mama! oh, _mama_!" Nor Margaret's soothing answer, which was cheery as +well, "Yes, dearest. Mama's come to stay now. There!... there!... Mama +knows." + +He closed the door softly behind him. + +When Dr. Anderson and the night nurse got there Margaret was in control. + +"I can hardly see any necessity for her staying," she said, when after +the doctor's examination she had followed him down to the library where +Richard was, for consultation. "With one thoroughly competent nurse to +direct things and see that everything is right I would rather not have +the other one around. I shall be with him all the time any way." + +"With the second nurse here that will not be necessary," urged Mr. De +Jarnette. "It is desirable to have you here, but between them they can +do all the nursing and save you. That is why I got this second one." + +"You have done all that money can do," Margaret said coldly, "but there +are some things money cannot do. One of them is to fill a mother's place +at a sick child's bed. I shall stay in Philip's room at night whether +they wish it or not. I shall not leave him to the nurses, and they may +as well understand it." + +"I only meant to relieve her, if possible," explained Mr. De Jarnette to +the doctor when she was gone. + +"You can't very well relieve a mother when her child is sick, Mr. De +Jarnette," the doctor said rather dryly. "It is in giving, not in saving +herself that she finds comfort. Let her have her own way." + +So in a great arm-chair at Philip's side where he could see her if he +woke she lay and watched the hours away. It was Richard's big leather +covered chair that he had brought up for her when he found she would not +be persuaded. She could notice the odor of cigar smoke about it. The +taper burning dimly threw into relief against the shadows the little +white bed where lay the child, and beyond it the bookcase where his +unused books and playthings were. Even at that moment she noted +jealously how they were accumulating. The ghostly light showed her the +morning glories on the lattice and the humming birds that Philip loved, +and the sad eyes of the Bodenhausen. + +The nurse, wisely provident against a time of waking, was dozing in her +chair.... How strange it was to be here in this house--the house of her +enemy--the man whose grip had been on her heart for five long years! She +had reason to hate him! How hard and unrelenting he had been! how +bitterly hard! And yet-- + +Going over the events of this day, one by one, she could not say that at +close range he had seemed other than a man of flesh and blood. + + + + + CHAPTER XXXIX + SHOULDER TO SHOULDER + + +In the days that followed there was fierce battle made for the child's +life, and the rival claimants fought side by side. For once all +animosities were laid aside, all bitterness forgotten. They were making +common cause now against man's implacable foe, and nothing draws us +together like a community of interests or fears. Physicians, nurses, +servants,--all gave their best aid--there is something about a fight +with death that instantly fills the ranks--but it was upon these two +that the stress fell. And they shared it. + +By one of those unaccountable fancies of a sick person, Philip had taken +a dislike to the nurse, and would let her do nothing for him. The other +one had been sent back the morning after she came. + +"Do you think we had better change?" asked Mr. De Jarnette of the +doctor. "Still, the nurse seems faithful and competent. It is a most +unfortunate notion he has taken." + +"Children have very poor judgment," said Dr. Anderson, satirically. He +knew how matters stood with the De Jarnettes and was not on the side of +the testamentary guardian. "It is not unusual for them to prefer the +most inexperienced mother to a competent nurse. No. Let it alone. It +will work itself out." + +It worked itself out by their taking almost entire charge of him +themselves. The nurse was always there, it is true, to direct, to warn, +to prepare draughts and appliances, but it was they who must administer, +for Philip would have it so. + +"I want Unker Wichard to hold me," he said one day. + +"Mama will hold you, darling," Margaret answered with quick jealousy. + +"I want Unker Wichard to hold me." And she looked on while Richard +settled himself in the big chair and took the child in his arms. She +turned away as she saw Philip's look of content. + +"It is because Mr. De Jarnette is stronger," the nurse said in a low +tone, seeing Margaret's look. "Children love a man's strength. It rests +them." + +"I want mama to hold my hand," said Philip from the depths of his +uncle's arms. And Margaret taking a stool sat close beside the big chair +and held the little feverish hand. He dropped asleep at last, and +fearing to wake him they sat thus for a long time--a long, long time it +seemed to Margaret. But she could not get her hand away without his +clutching it and murmuring, "I want _mama_, Unker Wichard." + +Sometimes when the child was restless Richard would take him in his arms +and walk with him up and down, up and down, the length of the great +chamber. He never seemed to grow weary, Margaret noticed, and he was as +gentle in his touch as a woman. Perhaps there was something, as the +nurse had said, in the combination of strength and gentleness to quiet +overwrought nerves. She began to have a comprehension of a child's need +of something to rest upon. She had never supposed that Richard De +Jarnette could be gentle. And then, without any special reason, her +thoughts drifted back to that trying time when she first found out that +she was a deserted wife.... No--she could not say that he had not been +gentle then. But since--What a strange man he was! So full of +inconsistencies. One day when she had been holding Philip and started to +get up with him in her arms, he--this hard, cold man who had not spoken +two words to her that day--stopped her with a word, and before she could +resist, had taken the child from her, saying almost sternly, "Don't ever +do that. No woman is strong enough to get up with a child of his size in +her arms." It struck her as a very strange thing that he should thus +look out for her--should even think of such a trifling thing. But she +gave Philip up to him without comment. + +During those days and nights of anxiety they lived in and for the boy. +Meals came and went and they ate them together, sometimes in silence, +oftener talking of him. Days dawned to be filled with work for him; then +darkness fell and covered the earth with its pall and their hearts with +its terrors. In the morning they said "Would God it were night"; and in +the night, "Would God it were morning." + +Of the outer world they heard only through the doctor who brought them +daily tidings and messages of encouragement from Mrs. Pennybacker. +Rosalie was slowly failing. It did not seem possible for her to leave +her now, unless-- The sentence was never finished. + +Mr. De Jarnette had not been to town since the day he brought Margaret +out. He had voluntarily chosen to go into quarantine with her in the +sick-room. She had protested at first, but without avail, and later she +had come to depend upon him and was glad to have him there. It seemed to +divide the responsibility. + +"He don't seem to take no _intrus_ in nothin' but that chile," Mammy +Cely said one day. "He cert'ny is wropped up in him. And no wonder. +Philip's the onlies' one of his fambly left." And for once Margaret +forgot to be angry that Philip was thus aligned with the De Jarnettes +instead of the Varnums. + +Everything but Philip was thrust into the background now. + +"I have good news for you, Mrs. De Jarnette," said the doctor one +morning, as he put his thermometer into the child's mouth and waited. +Philip was at his worst that day and he wanted to get her thoughts away +from him for a few moments at least and leave her with something to +think about. "Your bill has passed the Senate." + +"Has it?" she answered indifferently. Then, with an impatience that +could hardly wait, "How is it, doctor? Is it any lower?" + +"I'll wager she has forgotten already what I said to her," the doctor +communed with himself. "Women are all alike. They can manage the affairs +of the nation or the universe until their children get sick, and +then--it's all up! Well, I guess that's the way the Lord meant 'em to +be." + +One afternoon the doctor called the nurse into the adjoining room and +talked with her in low tones. When he came back he said cheerfully, "I +believe I will stay at Elmhurst to-night, Mrs. De Jarnette. I think he +is going to be better, but we will know by midnight." + +Margaret gripped the side of the bed. The doctor does not usually stay +when the patient is better. + +Suspense was in the air after that. Word was passed to the cabin that +the crisis had come, and Uncle Tobe and his wife and Mammy Cely were +having a prayer-meeting there. + +At nine o'clock Philip was sleeping quietly and the doctor who had been +up the night before went to bed. "Call me if there is any change," he +said to the nurse, "and at twelve whether there is or not." + +He advised Margaret to do the same, but she shook her head. + +"Mr. De Jarnette," the nurse said in a low tone. "Hadn't you better lie +down now. You may be needed later." + +"No," he said, briefly. + +"It really isn't necessary," said Margaret. + +"I prefer to stay." + +She did not combat it. In her heart she was glad to have him there. + +Through the long hours they sat thus, one on each side of Philip's bed. +The nurse watching them could not but think how strange it all was. + +Midnight and the doctor brought them hope. + +"He is doing finely, nurse,--I couldn't ask anything better." Then to +Margaret, who stood beside him, he said feelingly, ignoring Mr. De +Jarnette, "God is more merciful than man, my child. He has given you +back your--why, my dear!"--for Margaret was clinging to him weak and +nerveless, her head on his fatherly shoulder--"there! there!--here, +nurse, look after her. She is all unstrung." + +"It is sleep she needs," the nurse said, "and no wonder." And Margaret +allowed herself to be led away. + +"It beats everything the way these women do," grumbled the doctor. "You +think they are wrought-iron till the danger is past, and then you find +they are a bundle of nerves after all. I stumbled over that old negro +woman of yours at the door--waiting for news, I suppose." + +Mr. De Jarnette went to the door. + +"Name er God, Marse Richard, how is he? I didn't dast to speak when I +saw 'em takin' Miss Margaret off." + +"Go to bed," said Richard, kindly. "The danger is past, the doctor +says." + +"We may as well go to bed and leave him to the nurse now," said the +doctor, just behind him. + +"I shall stay for awhile. Good-night, doctor." + +When Margaret woke from that sleep of exhaustion the first faint streaks +of daylight were in the sky. She had thrown herself on the bed, dressed +as she was, and slept for hours. She started up and hurried to Philip's +room. A wax taper was burning low. The nurse was not in sight and at +first she thought the child was alone. She stepped quickly to the bed. +Then as her eyes became accustomed to the semi-gloom she saw a figure in +the big arm-chair. + +"How is he? I--I must have slept a long time." + +"He has hardly stirred." + +"Poor little lamb! He was worn out too. Where is the nurse?" + +"I sent her to bed. There was no use in both of us sitting up, and she +was tired out." + +"And you have sat here alone all night? and not even been able to read +to keep yourself awake." + +"I have found my thoughts quite sufficient," he said. + + + + + CHAPTER XL + THE UNEXPECTED HAPPENS + + +Philip's convalescence was a period of enforced companionship between +the two. Mr. De Jarnette had to wait the lifting of the quarantine +before he could go back to the city. Even the court had to wait for the +quarantine. The case would have come on before this had it not been for +postponement on account of it. Nobody had defied it but John Harcourt. +He had done so twice. The first time Richard received him and took his +message to Margaret, watching her closely as she read it. + +"Mr. Harcourt?... Oh, yes, I think I will go down--if he isn't afraid. I +_want_ to see him." + +He heard Harcourt say a moment later, "Oh, hang your quarantine, +Margaret! I _had_ to come!" + +Margaret! It had come to that. The next time Mr. Harcourt came the +master of the house sent a servant for Margaret and walked in the garden +while the visitor was there. + +If Richard and Margaret had been companions in sorrow they certainly +were now in joy. His relief that his negligence had not been visited +with the punishment it deserved made him another man than the one she +had known. As to the girl,--she was bubbling over with gladness. She +even jested with him, calling him "Unker Wichard" once, then blushing at +the familiarity, and taking herself to task for it afterwards. But after +all, she told herself in impatient protest, they had fought for him side +by side--why should they not, for a few short hours at least, rejoice +together. He was her foeman still, but the sick-room and its revelations +forbade that he should ever seem her bitter enemy again. She would not +permit herself to think of the case at issue between them. Philip would +live. That was enough now. Let to-morrow and its complications take care +of to-morrow. She could not be less than grateful to him for his +tenderness to Philip. How sweet the apple blossoms were! And the +lilacs!--the bushes that Richard's mother planted, grown to great trees +now. How they filled the air with their fragrance. It was a beautiful +world! Oh, a beautiful world! + +A reaction came, of course. As time passed, a depression--natural enough +perhaps--followed the jubilance of those first days. A growing unrest +possessed her. She was not quite easy about Philip, though he seemed to +be getting well. The doctor came only every other day now--or had until +the last few days again. Philip had taken a fancy--just a child's +passing fancy, of course--to go into the next room which was cool and +dark, and opened into his. She came upon Dr. Anderson one day lifting +his eyelids. The next day he brought a friend out with him. She need not +be alarmed, he told her. The case had been rather an unusual one and he +had spoken to Dr. Hawes about it. That was all. But he asked Margaret to +leave them to themselves for a while, which seemed strange to her. + +She went down that day to the back porch where Mammy Cely was ironing, +and dropped down on the old stone step. It was not Philip alone that +troubled her this morning. The situation was pressing upon her more and +more each day. How would it all end? and when? It would soon be time for +the quarantine to be lifted. And then--She wished sometimes that when +the case came up she could go into it with all her old hatred of Richard +De Jarnette hot within her. But she knew in her inmost soul that she +never could. Sometimes it rose tempestuously as of old, and sometimes it +died away as a wind dies, leaving a becalmed ship upon a lifeless sea. +What was the matter with her any way? she asked herself angrily. What +had got into her that she could not control her moods?... And why should +Richard De Jarnette make it all so much harder for her by being first +one thing and then another? He was a regular _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_! + +"Mammy Cely," she said suddenly, in pursuance of this thought, +"sometimes it seems to me that we are all of us two persons--one evil +and the other good. Sometimes one is on top and sometimes the other. I +get tired of the fight." + +"That's so, honey!" said Mammy Cely, never pausing in her work, "that's +jes' the way it is. Ef you was standin' in the pulpit you couldn't +'spound that doctrine any better 'n what you have. Humph! don't I know! +The good Cely been fightin' 'g'inst the bad Cely in me for forty years, +chile, an' all on account er that nigger-trader. I been prayin' fur that +man ever sence I got religion. Yaas 'm! _I had to to git thoo!_ That's +what you has to do--pray fur yo' enemies. + +"And now when we're havin' a big meetin' and they all gits to shoutin' +and clappin' their hands, and weavin' around, and singin' + + 'Oh-h, there shall be mo'nin', + Mo'nin', mo'nin', mo'nin', + Oh-h, there shall be mo'nin', + At the jedgment seat of Christ,' + +seems lak I git so happy, and see my Savior so plain that I jes' calls +out, 'Lord, save that man!' (I know the Lord gwineter know who I mean +'thout me callin' any names.) + +"And at that here leaps up that ole black Cely in me (that ole sw'arin', +cussin' Cely) and says, 'Yaas, Lord! save him at the last, but shake him +over hell fur a while, and swinge him jes' a little bit!'... Then I know +I got to git down on my knees and go at it ag'in! Yaas 'm, that's the +way we has to fight!" + +A few days after this Margaret was sitting at the window in Philip's +room late in the afternoon. The quarantine had been raised and Richard +had gone to town that day for the first time. Somehow it had been a +trying day. Philip had been restless without him. She had been telling +him a story, but it had not been a very satisfactory one--Philip had had +to make frequent suggestions and amendments, for she was absent-minded +and not in her best story-telling vein. + +Her eyes wandered down the long avenue of elms that had given the place +its name. What monarchs they were! Well might they be called the kings +of the tree-world. They led clear down to the gate--the big gate that +Philip had been so proud to open for his uncle. How jealous she had been +over that,--and how foolishly. One could hardly see the gate from this +window. She leaned further out. Yes, there was the gate, and-- + +"Mama," said Philip, "are you looking for Unker Wichard?" + +"No!" she said with a sharpness most unusual. "I am looking at the +elms." + +"Ain't it most time for Unker Wichard to come?" asked Philip, +querulously. He at least had missed him. + +His mother did not answer, except to say as Mammy Cely came in with some +newly hatched chickens to show him, "I'll run down and get you some +lilacs, dearie." + +In the garden, laid out after the fashion of a half century ago, were +the lilac trees, white and purple, now in their glory. The garden, kept +immaculate by Uncle Tobe's unremitting care, was as Richard De +Jarnette's mother had left it, with beds of old-fashioned flowers edged +with box. At the further end of it was an arbor covered not with grapes, +but with a luxuriance of wistaria, the long clusters of which hung down +through the trellised roof. The old wistaria, too, was a tree, gnarled +and twisted. It had broken down several arbors, Mammy Cely said, but +Richard would not have it destroyed. + +Margaret sat on the seat under the wistaria. She had torn off the lilacs +ruthlessly and had her hot face buried in their cool depths. On the way +hither she had seen a horseman cantering up the avenue. She would stay +here until he had left Philip's room and gone downstairs. She did not +wish to see him. She would be glad if she could never see him again. +There had been a truce between them--yes, of course there _had_ to be +while Philip was so ill--but that was over now. He was her enemy after +all--must always be--no matter which way the thing was settled. It was +best that she should see as little of him as possible. Of course she +would have to remain here as long as Philip needed her--her heart stood +still at the thought of what would happen when he did not need her--but +she would manage it so as to be away when he was in Philip's room. That +would be better--far better. + +Then looking up she saw the man she was planning to avoid coming down +the walk toward her. + +"I am looking for you," he said, baring his head, sprinkled with gray, +to the soft spring air. "Philip said you were among the lilacs." + +She pointed to the fragrant mass in her lap, glad of their confirmation. + +"How has he been?" + +"Better--I think. Yes--I am sure he is better." + +He sat down beside her. "That sounds as if you were keeping something +back. What is it?" + +His voice was so kind that foolish tears got into her voice. + +"I feel as if something were being kept back from me," she said +passionately. "That is just what the trouble is. It--it seems silly in +me to go to you with every little thing--but--I have no one here--" + +"I don't want you to feel that anything which concerns Philip is too +little or too great to come to me with," he said, gravely. "Remember +always that my interest in him is second only to your own. Now--what is +it?" + +"Well, if Philip is getting along so well--and he certainly seems to +be--why should Dr. Anderson bring other doctors out here to see him?" + +"Other doctors?" he repeated, with a startled look. "What do you mean?" + +"I told you about the one who was here a few days ago. + +"Yes. I think you said Dr. Anderson told you there were some features +about the case that made it an unusual one, and that he brought the +doctor out to see him for that reason." + +"He did. But to-day he brought out another one--somebody from Johns +Hopkins, I think they said--and when I had made up my mind to stay in +the room this time, Dr. Anderson sent me off on some fool's errand--to +get something that I know he didn't want--and when I got back whatever +they wanted to do was done. But just as I got into the room I heard this +man say, 'So long as it affects only the outer circumference +of'--something, I could not catch that--'there is little to fear, but +if--' and then he saw me and stopped." + +He did not make light of her fears. He met them with sober sense. + +"I shouldn't worry over this, I think. You know that Dr. Anderson can be +trusted. If there is anything you need to know he will tell you. +Besides, you are not even sure that they were talking about Philip. +There is nothing alarming about a physician's taking a brother +practitioner to see a case.... What time will the doctor be here +to-morrow? I may wait and see him myself. Now don't worry over it any +more." + +How easy it is to learn to rely on one stronger than ourselves. Margaret +went back to the house strengthened and helped. Richard De Jarnette had +calmed her fears as he would have quieted Philip. She felt almost +humiliated that he should have such power, but she was comforted. + +After that talk in the arbor it did not seem quite practicable to put +into effect her determination to absent herself when he was in Philip's +room. In fact, that very night they sat before the open fire which was +kindled as night fell, she with Philip in her arms, and he in his +arm-chair across from her, and though there was not much conversation +between them, there was companionship in his presence.... Their mutual +interest in Philip was a bond between them now that she was so isolated +from her friends.... He had been very gentle to her in the arbor. + +"Mama, sing to me," said Philip. And Margaret sang softly the cradle +songs he loved. They made a sweet picture as they sat thus. But in the +midst of her songs Richard got up abruptly and went into the other room, +drawing a great breath when he got there. + +The nurse had been reading here, but had gone down-stairs. He stood a +moment looking around the room. It was strangely decorated, if +decoration it could be called. On the walls were Madonna pictures of +every name and age. In his present mood it moved him strangely to see +them. It seemed as if in her desperate fear of being supplanted she had +tried to keep always before Philip the close and tender bond between +mother and child. Nothing else could explain all these pictures. His +eyes went from one to another, pausing longest before that one of modern +times which has been called the "Madonna of the Slums." That seemed to +him the truest of them all and to have the most pathos. Here was no +Virgin of the Immaculate Conception upheld by a knowledge of her +mission,--only the human mother bearing on her arm, divinely strong, the +sleeping child. He wanted to take it from her and rest her arm,--her +tired arm. There was no halo here,--nothing but the shawl, the insignia +of the lowly, about the patient face. He recalled something he had read +once about how in the "elder days of art" the masters painted a nimbus +round the mother's head, leaving her face often inane and weak; but how +later, with a deeper insight if not a subtler skill, he put the halo in +the face. + +As he looked at the pictures with this thought in his mind, his eye fell +on the photograph of Margaret and Philip on the mantel.... He took it up +and looked at it.... Yes, the halo was there as surely as in the face of +Virgin mother.... They all had it. He turned the picture to the wall +with a quick frown. This was brave preparation he was making for the +trial which would soon be on now. As he turned the face from him the +words italicized stood out from the printed slip: + + "_One scrap alone I hold of all that once was mine._" + +He pushed the picture under a book and went out of the room. + +Dr. Anderson did not come out till afternoon, but when he did the +Baltimore man was with him. They went almost directly to the sick-room. +"Let me have the nurse, please, this time," the doctor said, and +Margaret, frightened and half indignant, was left outside with Richard. + +When the consultation was at an end, the Baltimore man would not sit +down, excusing his haste on the ground that he must catch a train. + +Mr. De Jarnette followed him into the hall. + +"Doctor--" + +"Can't stop," said the doctor, curtly. "Dr. Anderson will say to the +mother all that needs to be said." Plainly he did not recognize Mr. De +Jarnette's rights in the case. + +"Dr. Anderson," Margaret was saying when he stepped back into the room, +"what is it? I _must_ know." + +For a moment the doctor did not reply. When he did it was not in answer +to her question. + +"Mrs. De Jarnette, will you sit down?" + +She dropped into the proffered chair. There was something in his voice +that took her strength. + +"Mr. De Jarnette, will you too be seated? I have something +of--of--importance--to communicate, and it should be said to both." + +Richard De Jarnette was leaning on the mantel. He did not change his +position. + +"Go on," he said, briefly. + +The doctor gave a slight shrug and turned his back upon him. + +"My child," he said very gently, "I want to talk with you about the +nature of this disease. We are not so much afraid of scarletina, or +scarlet fever as you call it, as we used to be. We know better how to +manage it." + +"Yes," murmured Margaret, not knowing to what all this tended, "he +really seems to be recovering more quickly than I had even hoped--but--" + +"Ye--es, ye--es," continued the doctor, making carefully spaced lines on +a scrap of paper and avoiding her eye. "You see it is not the disease +that we are most afraid of--that is generally easy enough--it yields to +treatment--but--it is--the complications that sometimes arise,--the +after effects." + +He was looking into her face now, and she grew white to the lips. + +"Doctor!--" + +"Yes," with a slight shake of the head, "it is the after effects. I have +known, many children to be left with permanent ear or eye trouble from +scarlet fever. Possibly the danger may be averted--we can never tell at +first--but--" + +"Mama!" + +Margaret stepped hastily into the next room. In her heart which had +divined the truth she was thankful for a reprieve. + +"What do you mean?" asked Richard De Jarnette, harshly, driven by a +great fear. "Why do you torture her so? Say plainly what you mean." + +The outraged physician turned upon him savagely. + +"I mean, sir," he said with some stiffness, "that this lady's child, who +has unfortunately been allowed to contract scarlet fever, is in great +danger of going blind. Do I make myself plain?" + +His voice was low, but so intense in its indignation that it penetrated +to the room beyond. + +Richard De Jarnette staggered back as from a blow. + +"_Blind!_... Good God!" + +He turned abjectly toward the doorway between the two rooms where stood +Margaret, white as death but with face transfigured. _This_ was her +opportunity.... And what would Philip do without her if--With a swift +movement she fell on her knees at his feet and stretched out her hands. + +"Richard! oh, Richard!" she cried, her heart in her eyes. "Will you give +him to me if he is blind?" + +The old doctor turned to the window with a groan. + +And Richard De Jarnette-- + +Have you ever stood before a monarch of the forest marked for the +woodman's ax? Have you noted its majestic spread, its trunk of massive +girth, its towering branches where + + "The century-living crow + + Whose birth was in their tops, grew old and died"? + +Have you stood thus and marveled not that so magnificent a thing could +fall by hand of puny man? And have you further noted how it stood at +last--majestic still, but with its strength so sapped, and its +potentiality so meshed that any child might cause its overthrow? + +For weeks the mighty oak of this man's pride and obstinacy had been +preparing for its fall. Weak hands they were which had given the +blows--a woman's and a child's; no one suspected that its strength was +gone, he least of all; but when the crucial moment came, it needed but a +baby's groping touch to lay it low. + +He took her hands and raised her to her feet. + +"Margaret!... Margaret!" he said brokenly. "From this hour--come what +may--the child is yours." + +The door closed behind him and the sound of his heavy tread echoed +through the hall,--but she did not hear. The old doctor wiped his eyes, +looked cautiously around, and stole from the room,--but she did not +perceive. + +She was on her knees beside her child, sobbing as though her heart would +break. + + + + + CHAPTER XLI + UNDER THE WISTARIA + + +It was three whole days before Margaret saw Richard De Jarnette again. +She was wounded and outraged beyond the power of words to express at his +apparent neglect. Under the circumstances it seemed almost brutal. She +did not even have Mrs. Pennybacker with her, for when the doctor went +for her he found her so unwell herself that he had not told her about +Philip, fearing that she would overtax her strength to go to them. +Margaret agreed with him that this was best, but her heart cried out for +somebody to lean upon. + +As night came on she found herself listening for his step with an +eagerness that appalled her--appalled her and filled her with rage and +humiliation as well. But she did not hear it. + +Even Philip felt the restlessness which comes from an expected presence +delayed--fretting, "I want Unker Wichard to hold me." + +"Mama will hold you, darling. Uncle Richard is not here." + +"But I want Unker Wichard." + +It seemed to her that her heart would break. Not only had this man +blighted both their lives but he had stolen her place in the child's +heart, and then--left them. It was the way with men. + +Philip was so insistent that Mammy Cely said at last, "Yo' Uncle Richard +ain't gwine come back to-night, honey. He done say so." Then to Mrs. De +Jarnette, "No'm, I don't know whar he went. But look lak he was powerful +anxious to git away, for some cause whatsomever. It did so." She had not +been told about the new danger. + +The doctor came out early the next day and had a plain talk with her. + +"He is threatened with choroiditis, an affection of the eyes that +sometimes follows febrile diseases. So long as the trouble is confined +to the outer regions of the choroid, it was not dangerous, but I feel it +my duty to say to you that if it should attack the central field of +vision it would be likely to result in gradual blindness. But he has +many things in his favor and we will hope for the best. In the meantime, +he should be under the care of a specialist. I do not feel competent to +treat him. It was this that I was intending to say to you yesterday when +the worst was forced upon you by your unfortunately overhearing the +words between Mr. De Jarnette and myself." + +He went on to say that he had tried to get Dr. Helsor, a Washington +specialist, out to see him, but that he was ill and could not come. He +had wanted to get expert advice before saying anything to alarm her, +etc. Perhaps it might be a good plan to take him to Johns Hopkins to the +hospital or even to Philadelphia. If she desired he would go with her +and make arrangements for his admission. What did she think about it? + +She felt that she could not give him an answer. Now that she was the +sole arbiter of Philip's fortunes she was strangely loth to take upon +herself the burden of decision. If she could only talk it over +with--with Mrs. Pennybacker, she told herself weakly. It was Mrs. +Pennybacker she wanted to take counsel with. In her inmost heart--the +one we cannot delude--she knew it was Richard. Richard De Jarnette! The +hot blood crimsoned her face at the shame of it. + +In these weeks in the sick room she had fallen into the habit of leaning +upon his judgment which was always calm and dispassionate. When she had +tried to excuse this to the doctor he had replied in a matter-of-fact +way that it was not unnatural nor to be regretted. In a case of severe +illness the person closest to the patient was not usually the one that +had the best judgment. She reminded herself often afterwards of this, +saying that that was why she relied so on him. Now that he was gone she +felt strengthless. + +Judge Kirtley came out on the first train and walked over from the +station to tell her the astounding news that Mr. De Jarnette had thrown +up the case. He had been to his (Judge Kirtley's) office late the +afternoon before to say that he desired to have the case settled out of +court and was prepared to relinquish all claims to the child under the +will now and hereafter. + +"Did he tell you about Philip?" + +"Philip? No. Nothing more than I have said. He seemed in great haste to +get away, for some reason, and not inclined to talk. What is it about +Philip? He's doing all right, isn't he?" + +When he heard from her the story of the doctor's fears, and of Richard's +renunciation of the child, his scorn and wrath knew no bounds. + +"The cur!" he cried. "The cowardly cur!" + +Then to his amazement Margaret turned upon him. + +"It is not that," she said firmly, with an intuitive conviction that +leaped past the very natural view the Judge had taken. "It was not the +fear of having a blind child to take care of that led him to this step. +It was something else." + +"What?" demanded the Judge. "Will you tell me what?" + +"No," she said, "I cannot tell you what. But this much I am sure of--it +was not that." + +Judge Kirtley took off his glasses, polished them carefully, and put +them on again. Then he looked over them into the face of his client. + +"Well, Margaret, the ways of a woman and the working of a woman's mind +are truly past finding out. You defend Richard De Jarnette!" + +"I don't defend him," she cried hotly, "except against injustice. +Anybody is entitled to fair play,--especially the absent. You have +always urged me to look at both sides." + +"Yes," he remarked dryly, "but heretofore you have never been able to do +it." + +She could not have told why she did it now. She protested to herself +that it was only in common justice that she had spoken. But the truth is +that love is the great discerner. It had cleared her vision and +quickened her understanding. Unacknowledged, feared and fought against +as the feeling was in the desperate spirit which recognized this as a +death struggle, it was yet forcing her to see with its eyes. Henceforth, +her judgments of this man would be, whether she would or not, truer, +juster, more righteous judgments; her comprehension of motive where he +was concerned, more subtly discriminating. It is the _law_ of love. + + * * * * * + +It was the afternoon of the third day before he came. Three nights with +their deadening, suffocating pall of darkness had fallen upon +her,--darkness and the whip-poor-wills that drove her wild. She had made +up her mind that he was gone as Victor had. Then as suddenly as he had +departed he appeared before her one afternoon out in the grape arbor, +whither in her restlessness she had gone. She and Philip both loved the +place and often walked there when she came to see him, running races +sometimes up and down its dim aisles through which the sun flickered +intermittently now that the wistaria was out. Richard De Jarnette coming +home unexpectedly one day just before Philip was taken sick heard +shrieks of childish laughter there and forgetting that it was Margaret's +day at Elmhurst, went down to find out what made his nephew so +uproariously gay. What he saw was the woman who to him had always been +cold and stately chasing the child, shrieking with delight, up and down +and in and around the arbor, catching him at last and smothering him +with kisses--taking toll--while Philip releasing himself and poising in +ecstatic anticipation, cried coaxingly, "Do it again!" + +They had not seen him and he slipped away, fairly shocked at what her +face could be. It was a revelation to him of one side of her that he had +never seen. Somehow it intoxicated him. But if he was intoxicated by a +look he was sobered by a thought. Of what other simple natural joys had +he deprived her and the child? Mammy Cely had told him once that the two +had little dinners in the arbor, with a cloth on the table and little +cakes and animal crackers that she had brought him. "Some days," she +said "looks lak she is a plumb child with him. She does it so he won't +furgit how to play." + +He wondered uneasily afterwards if children really did forget how to +play. + +As he came down the leafy arch to-day in search of her, the recollection +of that romp pierced him like a knife. A blind child would never play +like that! + +So soft were his footfalls on the thick grass that he was nearly upon +her before she heard him. Then turning her head and seeing who it was, +she started to rise. + +"Don't get up," he said, taking the seat beside her, "I want to talk +with you." + +If the face that looked into his was unresponsive it was because she was +trying so hard to still the tumultuous beating of her heart. It was +shameful that it should throb so at sight of him! She would never let +him know that she had had a thought of him in all these interminable +days. + +But when he spoke again, so gentle was his voice, so like her father's, +that she had hard work to keep back the tears. + +"Margaret, my child, did you think I had gone away and left you to bear +it alone?" + +The lump in her throat was like that she used to have in her youthful +days. _Why_ did he say "Margaret, my child," just as her father used to +say? He might know she couldn't keep from crying then. + +"I have been to New York." + +She made no pretense of answering him. It seemed inexpressibly cruel to +her that he should have taken this time to go to New York,--unfeeling +that he should tell her of it in palliation of his neglect. + +"I went to consult an oculist." + +At the word oculist all thought of herself of him, was gone. + +"An oculist! Oh, what did he say?" + +"Nothing definite, of course, until he has seen him. He will be down in +the morning." + +"You had to go," she said, still unreconciled, "you could not send?" + +"No. I went directly from here to Dr. Helsor, a fine oculist in +Washington. I thought that perhaps I could get him out here before +night. When I reached his office I found him quite sick and unable to +leave the house, though he saw me. He was not able to take any cases, +and he advised me to go personally to Dr. Abelthorpe of New York and if +possible to bring him down here to examine Philip." + +"Did you see him?" she asked eagerly. + +"Yes, at last. But I had to wait two days to do it. He had been called +out of the city and was not back until yesterday. I wrote you at once +from New York--but I have just found the letter on my table with some +other mail." + +This was the explanation then. How simple it was. And his haste had been +for Philip's sake! + +"I should not have gone if there had been any other way, but Dr. Helsor +thought that if I could see Dr. Abelthorpe personally, I would be more +apt to secure his services. It was a fortunate thing I did, for I think +no letter, however urgent, would have brought him. He is on the point of +going to Europe. When I explained the circumstances, however" (and named +the fee, he might have added), "he agreed to come. It was hard waiting, +Margaret, knowing that you were alone--" she looked away from him, +fearing that he might see the wretchedness of those days graven on her +face--"but I am glad I did." He went on to tell her what the doctor had +said. "He gave me great hope, though he says that such cases require +care and patience." + +"Oh, I will give him that! I will give up my life to him willingly, +gladly, if only--Perhaps I would better go back with the doctor. Philip +will be able to travel." + +"You forget that he is just starting abroad. He goes in a very few +days." + +She looked up at him with a hopeless perplexity that wrung his heart. + +"From what I have learned of Dr. Abelthorpe I am very anxious for him to +have the care of Philip's case. I am aware--" he was speaking guardedly +as one who does not feel sure of his ground--"that I have no right to +dictate your movements in the matter, Margaret, as I have formally +relinquished the control of Philip, but--I hope I have not overstepped +the bounds--I have arranged with Dr. Abelthorpe (conditionally, of +course), that if you are willing, and he still thinks it best after +seeing Philip, that you will go abroad with him so that he can take +charge of Philip at once as his attending physician." + +"To go abroad?" she faltered. + +"Yes. He thinks a sea voyage may do him good--says they rely a good deal +upon constitutional treatment and--" + +"But--I could not go alone," Margaret said, looking up at him +hopelessly. Her heart was sinking unaccountably at the thought of +drifting out into the great world with a sick child. + +His mouth contracted suddenly. He looked away from her and his right +hand out of sight gripped the bench on which they sat. He got up +abruptly and walked to the entrance of the arbor. She thought he was +listening to something. When he returned his features were as immobile +as usual. + +"No, you could not go alone. But Mrs. Pennybacker I am sure would go +with you. And, of course, you would have Mammy Cely." + +She found herself as wax in his hands. She could not plan for herself. +If only the ocean were not so broad! + +"There is one thing more, Margaret--a simple matter of business." It may +have been a simple matter, but it seemed difficult for him to begin it. + +"When Philip came to me last fall," he said, speaking gravely, but in a +business-like tone, "I made a will by which everything I had was to go +to him at my death. I have since taken steps to settle one half on him +now in such a way that while I shall still have the care of it, the +income will be immediately available for his use. No," answering the +flush that swept over her pale face, "I have not forgotten what you +said." She had told him once that she would rather Philip would starve +than be dependant on him. "But you can't keep a man from doing what he +wants to with his own. It is settled. Poor little chap. It is all the +reparation I can make. + +"As for you, Margaret," he went on, "I do not ask you to forgive me. I +do not expect you to forgive. If there be an unpardonable sin I think I +have committed it, for I have sinned against you, against womanhood, and +against nature. When I think of you as I have seen you every minute of +these three days, with what may be a blind child in your arms, I feel +that the pitying mother of God could hardly forgive." + +"You blame yourself unjustly for that," she said with quick generosity. +"It might have happened if he had been with me." + +"It would not have happened if he had been with you. You would have +looked to his ways. You would not have been so immersed in business that +you would have neglected a signal that meant danger to your child. But +I--poor blind stubborn fool--" + +"Let us not talk about it any more," she said gently. There was +something in his remorse that touched her deeply. "It is done and it +cannot be undone. I have never thought it was from any lack of love for +Philip. You simply violated a law of nature--and nature's laws are the +laws of God. He never intended men to have the care of little children." +She would have been more than human if she had not said that much. + +Once more he got up abruptly, walking to the further end of the arbor +and back again. She thought she had angered him. When he spoke, it was +standing, the green pathway between them, instead of at her side. + +"You've beaten me, Margaret," he said, with a shake of the head. He was +looking down at her with a half satirical smile on his lips. But it was +of the lips only. There was no lightening of the gloom in the eyes bent +upon her. "I wonder if you know how complete my rout has been." + +She looked up quickly. + +"You gave him to me voluntarily." + +"Yes. I gave him to you voluntarily. And therein lies your victory. If +the case had been brought to issue and decided against me there would +have been excuse for my defeat. As it is, I have simply been beaten--by +a woman. And the Almighty." + +"It is hard to fight against the Almighty." + +"Yes. And as hard, I find, to fight against a woman in the right. +Perhaps the two mean the same thing. I rather think they do." + +Then a tinge of bitterness came into his voice. "Of course the +world--your world and mine--will have pleasant things to say about this +latest chapter in the scandal of De Jarnette vs. De Jarnette. The +natural inference, brutally stated, will be that I gave him up when I +found that I might have a blind child on my hands. I couldn't expect +them to say otherwise. The world judges by appearances and appearances +are certainly against me. Well! I don't care much about what it thinks. +The world and I have never been on very good terms. I have hated it and +it has hated me ... I am more concerned about what--" + +His eyes with their dumb pleading finished the sentence and she answered +them. + +"You know I do not think it," she said. "I have thought hard and bitter +things about you--and with cause--but not that. I have never for one +moment thought that." + +He took a step across the arbor with outstretched hand, grasping the one +she gave him as man grasps the hand of man. Then dropping it he went +back to his place opposite her. + +"You have a right to think hard things about me," he said. "I have been +hard. I never intended to let my heart soften to you. I meant to hold +out to the last. But,--" + +She broke the silence that fell upon them then by saying: + +"There is one thing I want to ask you before I go away and this may be +our last talk together. Why--_why_ have you been so bitterly cruel to +me?" + +He looked at her but did not answer. + +"At first," she went on, "I thought it was from something hard in your +nature,--or because you hated me,--or bore something up against me, I +could not tell what. But since we have been together over Philip, and I +have seen how gentle you are with him, it does not seem that you could +ever have been wantonly cruel, nor that you--quite--hated me. What was +the reason?" + +"Miss Margaret! _Oh_, Miss Margaret!" + +It was Mammy Cely's voice, and at this moment her rotund form appeared +at the entrance to the arbor. + +"Here's a letter fur you." + +"Will you tell me some time?" she asked insistently as the woman came +nearer. She might never have so good an opportunity again. + +"Mr. Harcourt's waitin' fur you, Miss Margaret." + +Richard De Jarnette's face hardened. + +"There is nothing to tell," he said. + + * * * * * + +She took the letter and read it hastily. + +"It is from Mrs. Pennybacker," she said, reading aloud with an awed look +on her face, + +"'Rosalie is worse. I think this is the end. She wants to see you and +Mr. De Jarnette together and will not be denied. Come at once.'" + + + + + CHAPTER XLII + THE CONFESSIONAL + + +"Will you go with Mr. Harcourt and myself?" she asked. "There will be +plenty of room, I think." + +"No. I will go by train and meet you there." + +When he reached the house on Massachusetts Avenue she had not yet come. +Mrs. Pennybacker took him into the parlor. + +"I am glad to have the opportunity to tell you something of the girl's +history before Margaret comes," she said. "The poor child has something +on her mind that she feels she must tell you.... No, I don't know what +it is." + +When she had finished that pitiful story of woman's trust and man's +perfidy, his face was haggard. He could guess the name. They both +thought that her talk would be a plea for the child. + +Margaret came at last and they were taken to the sick girl's room. + +"She is very weak," whispered Mrs. Pennybacker at the door, "but +perfectly clear in mind. For the last few days she has been in great +mental distress about something. It is only since I promised her to send +for you both that she has been quiet. Let her do the talking in her own +way." + +At the bedside of the girl Mr. De Jarnette felt a great wave of +compassion sweep over him. She was so young. + +"Rosalie, this is Mr. De Jarnette." + +He held out his hand but she would not take it, and he passed to a seat +at the foot of the bed where he could see her without being himself +under the eyes of any of them. + +When Margaret bent over her, smoothing her hair, patting the worn cheek, +and smiling into her eyes, the mental anguish of the last two days of +which Mrs. Pennybacker had spoken, seemed to break out afresh. + +"Oh, madam, do not take my hand. It is stained with blood.... If--when +you have heard all--" + +"Why, Rosalie, my poor girl," Margaret said soothingly, "you have done +nothing that you should plead to me for forgiveness. Your greatest sin +has been to yourself and your child--and even then you have been more +sinned against than sinning." + +"Oh, madam, you do not know. It is this that I have brought you to this +room to hear." + +Margaret had drawn a chair to the bedside, thinking that the girl could +tell her story, whatever it was, better to her than to a stranger. + +"What is it, Rosalie? Tell me then if it will ease your mind in the +least. What have you ever done to me!" + +"What have I done?... She asks me what I have done! Oh, madam--look away +from me--and listen. 'Twas I who--who killed him!" + +"She is delirious," said Margaret, in an undertone, and laid a wet cloth +on her head. But Richard De Jarnette bent forward, watching the woman +with a quick comprehension that took in all she said and was supplying +more. + +"I am not delirious," said Rosalie, sadly. "I think I have been all +these month that I have had the shelter of your roof and eaten your +bread. Now I have come to myself. And whatever the result you must know +the truth." + +"What does she mean?" asked Margaret, turning to the others. + +"Let her tell her story in her own way," suggested Mrs. Pennybacker. She +saw that the girl's breath was becoming labored. + +"Yes. Listen to me while I have strength to talk. And then--forgive ... +if you can. The man that wrought my ruin was your husband--and I killed +him." + +"My husband died by accident," Margaret said with white lips. "He said +so with his dying breath." + +"Then he spoke falsely--even in death," said the woman, "for I killed +him!" + +"But--don't you remember you told me that your betrayer died from +natural causes?" + +"I told you that he died a natural death. He did; it was by my hand." + +"Let her go on, Margaret." + +"You know that day you came to the hospital and wanted to take my boy +because he looked like yours and because you were so desolate?" + +"Yes." + +"And then you heard my story and were so filled with pity for a poor +sinning girl that you brought me to your own home and put my child into +my empty arms and said, 'This much of life's joy you shall have.' Oh, I +have never forgotten those words! Do you remember that?" + +"Yes," said Margaret. + +"It was because your own heart was sore that you wanted to bind up mine. +But I did not know--oh, believe me, I did not know--into whose house I +was coming. I had not heard your name till one day the young girl called +you Mrs. Osborne. I had not even thought of it. You were so gentle--so +merciful--I did not care about your name. When one day I heard a servant +call you Mrs. De Jarnette, I fainted. I was very weak, you know, and it +came over me like a flash whose house I was in." + +"I remember that time," said Mrs. Pennybacker in an undertone to Mr. De +Jarnette. "We wondered what it was." + +"I felt after that that I must go away," the sick girl said, "I felt +that I could not stay under your roof knowing that I had made your child +fatherless. But then--I thought if I should tell you you would send my +Louis back to the Home and me to the Hospital, and I would lose him +again just as he was getting fond of me. I tried to tell--but I could +not." + +"Can you tell us now connectedly just what you did--and how?" + +It was Mr. De Jarnette that spoke. His voice sounded stern in its +intensity. + +"Yes--that was what I wanted to do. That was why I sent for you both." +She looked up helplessly at Mrs. Pennybacker. "Where must I begin?" + +"I have told him, Rosalie, all that we know. You need not repeat that. +Begin where you went to Mr. De Jarnette in his office." + +"Yes. I will try very hard to tell it connectedly. But it seems to come +to me in bits. Some of it stands out so much more distinctly than the +rest." + +She lay still a moment thinking. Then fixing her preternaturally bright +eyes upon him and speaking slowly, she began: + +"I had been sick for months in the hospital. But I was better then and +soon would have to go away. I did not know where I could go and I +worried a great deal about it. I was sorry--no, not sorry either--for +there was my baby, and what would have become of him if I had died. +Well, one day--the very day I was to be discharged--I saw in a paper +that he, this man, had come back to Washington. After thinking it over I +determined that I would go to him and ask him to settle on me enough +money to let me take the child and go away somewhere where I need never +trouble him any more--where I could have a little home and keep my baby +with me. You see, sir, it was not that I was unwilling to work, but with +the child I could not get anything to do." + +Richard De Jarnette gripped the iron rail, smothering a groan. + +"I went straight to him from the hospital. He was sitting at his desk +cleaning his revolver--a pretty thing that seemed to catch my eye and +hold it while we talked--it was so bright and shining. I remember +thinking that the price of it would pay for many, many loaves of +bread.... I told him what I wanted. But--I think something must have +gone wrong before I came, for he was very angry--said he had thought +that he was through with me--that this was blackmail. Sir, I swear to +you I did not know what blackmail was. I had never heard the word." + +She waited a moment to recover breath and then went on. + +"Oh. I said bitter things to him then. I seemed to see the child before +my eyes, gasping as it did in those days when we starved before the +fever came, and it maddened me. He bade me leave it in the Home if I +could not care for it, and go away--to some other city--I would soon +forget it if I were away, and it would be cared for by the District. I, +its mother, would forget! He said that he would give me money to go away +from Washington--a ticket to Chicago or the far West--no more. He had +done all for me that he could--far more than many a man would do--it +would have to end some time--and more like this. A ticket to go away and +leave my child! This was his cure for all my wrongs!" + +Margaret stooped over and took the sick girl's hand. At the sweet touch +of sympathy Rosalie turned toward her, the words coming now fast and +feverishly. + +"Then--then--oh, madam, I have been a wicked woman! I did not mean to do +it, but while he was speaking something in my brain seemed to burst. I +saw strange things all jumbled up together in a flash--the lilacs in our +yard at home, a wretched woman of the street with painted face--a baby +left upon a mountain side to perish as I had read in my history the +Spartans left them, and whirling everywhere before my eyes that cursed +shining pistol worth so many loaves of bread!" + +She stopped, overcome by the recital. There was not a sound but the tick +of the clock on the mantel. They were all in the fatal office. + +Said Richard De Jarnette with a white set face, + +"Go on!" + +"Then--I can't seem to remember anything clearly then except that I +caught the pistol up and fired. I think he must have started up, for he +fell--against me." She closed her eyes and a shudder ran through her. +"Oh--h! I have seen his face so often in the night!" + +"What happened then? Go on!" urged Richard, fearing that her strength +might fail. "It was but a moment from the time that shot was fired +before I was there. Where did you go?" + +"The minute I fired the thought came to me of my own danger. I had not +seemed to think of it before. And at that second I heard somebody trying +to get in. I thought they were coming to get me. You know how things +will come to you all in a flash. I remembered that there was a night +latch on the door--that I could get out if they could not get in. In a +second I had thrown the pistol on the floor and was in the hall with the +door closed behind me." + +"It was that I heard," breathed Margaret. "I _thought_ I heard a door +shut." + +"It was just a step around to the side hall where the elevator was. As I +turned the corner I heard somebody running from the room across the +hall. Then the elevator came. I stepped in, and before anybody knew what +was the matter I was in the street.... No, I don't know where I went, or +what I did. I think from what they told me afterwards that I went back +to the hospital and they took me in. At any rate, I found myself there +when I knew anything again--long afterwards. They said I had had a +relapse." + +"Why have you waited so long to tell this?" demanded Richard De +Jarnette, so sternly that she cowered down in the bed. + +"Oh, sir, I was afraid to tell. Afraid--" her voice sank to a frightened +whisper--"that they would hang me. Will they--do it--now?" + +"No!" said Mrs. Pennybacker, constituting herself judge and jury. "No!" + +"Oh, I have been frightfully afraid. Sometimes I have put my fingers +around my throat and pressed hard, to see--" + +"Rosalie!" + +"Yes,--and then I always gave it up. I _could not_ do it." + +"But," the girl went on, turning to Margaret again, "it was not that +alone. I think I could have got so after a while that I would have dared +to die even that shameful death--I was so worn out with it all--the +struggle and the remorse. But for my child's sake I could not tell. I +felt that you would cast him off if you knew all. How could you bear him +in your home when--when--and if you turned against him who would take +him up? Oh, madam ... I tried to tell. But when I thought of him I could +not. To keep this horrible secret that was eating my life away seemed +the only thing left that I could do for him." + +"Rosalie, why have you told it now?" + +"Because--oh, madam, I cannot die with a lie upon my lips--a lie that +keeps _your_ child from your arms." + +"My child--from my arms?" repeated Margaret, groping for her meaning. +"Why,--" + +"Rosalie, you have talked enough now," said Mrs. Pennybacker, kindly. +"You are worn out." + +"One moment," Margaret interrupted. Then dropping to her knees beside +the sick girl she took her hand, saying solemnly, "Be at peace! I +promise by the love I bear my own child that I will be a mother to +yours. From this day he shall bear his father's name." + +"Oh, madam!" + +Mr. De Jarnette broke the silence that fell on them then. + +"There is no need that this should ever be known outside of ourselves. +To the world Victor De Jarnette died by accident. So let it rest." + +When Rosalie spoke again it was only to murmur as if to herself, "I did +not know--the world had people in it--like this!" + +To Mrs. Pennybacker, who bent over her with a reviving draught, she said +as simply as a child would say it, "Do you think God will forgive me +now?" + +"'Like as a father pitieth his children, so the Lord pitieth them that +fear him,'" was the instant answer. "'He knoweth our frame; He +remembereth that we are dust.'" + +To Margaret it was an assurance of infinite compassion. + +But the sick girl started up, crying, "Oh, not as a father! Not that! My +father shut his door upon me. My child's father cast him off. If it +could only have been 'as a mother'--" + +"Rosalie, it is! For, as if that was not enough, the dear Lord says: 'As +one whom his mother comforteth, so will I comfort you.'" + +"Does it say that?... Is it true?... 'As one--whom--his mother +comforteth!' Oh, my mother would have comforted me! She would have taken +me--sinful though I was--to her arms! She would have--" + +She closed her eyes and lay still. Then they saw her lips move. + +"'As one--whom--his _mother_--comforteth.'" + +Mrs. Pennybacker motioned them silently to go. + +They reached the lower hall before either spoke. + +Then Margaret said, not raising her eyes to his, "Richard, if God can so +forgive, may not we?" + +He was silent so long that she looked up at him in wonder. His face was +gray. + +She opened her lips to ask him if he were ill, but at that moment +something in his look palsied the words. Her tongue clave to the roof of +her mouth. Her breath was shut off. An instant, horrible enlightenment +had fallen upon her. Then, + +"You thought--I did it!" she said. + + + + + CHAPTER XLIII + IN THE LIBRARY ONCE MORE + + +He caught her hand as she turned from him. + +"Margaret, for God's sake, hear me before you go!" + +Opening the door of the library he drew her in and closed it behind +them. She dropped into a chair and waited for him to speak. But it was +the first time they had been there together since the reading of the +will, and the benumbing influence of that hour fell on him like a +nightmare. He felt that he could never make her hear. Struggle as he +might for utterance, it would only be an inarticulate horrible moan at +last. If he could but have heard this story before! If only the fatal +words, "and shall claim the child," had been unsaid--how different all +would be! How frightfully easy to utter words. How impossible to evade +the avalanche of consequences they set loose! + +From his place by the mantel with one arm resting on it he regarded her +in silence. Neither evaded the other now. They knew by instinct that it +was the final passage between them. + +"Go on," she said. "Let me hear it now." Repeating, "You thought--I did +it," not scornfully, nor even in reproach, but as one who is in a maze +and hunting for the clue. + +"I thought you did it." + +"For five long years you have believed me a murderess, and have given me +no opportunity to vindicate myself!" + +"For five long years I have believed you a murderess, and have given you +no chance to vindicate yourself!" + +It seemed almost as if he were mocking her, but she knew from the +wretchedness of his face that he was simply pleading guilty. + +"This then is the explanation of it all--why you have followed me so +pitilessly--why--" + +"Margaret, listen to me!" he cried, throwing off the incubus that was +upon him. "Let me add my part to the pitiful story you heard upstairs +before you pass final judgment. Then I will go away--out of your life +forever." + +"You cannot go away out of my life forever," she said passionately, +remembering Philip. "It is too late for that! When one thrusts himself +into the life of another he cannot leave it at his will. Neither can he +escape the consequences of his acts by turning his back upon them." + +"True! Too true!" he answered mournfully. There was a note of such utter +misery in his voice that it touched her heart. + +"I hope you will believe me when I tell you that not one word of that +poor girl's story was ever known to me before. Had it been, I should not +have left it to you to befriend her and care for her child. I had always +known that Victor was wild and reckless, but young men seldom make +confidants of their mentors. I did not pry into his affairs. I think +perhaps I knew in a general way that they would not bear it, and--I +shrank from it. I do not expect you to understand my feeling toward +Victor. Wayward as he had always been, I yet loved him. There was good +in the boy. I believe now that had he lived you might have won him to a +better life. I had hoped until that hour that it might be. But with life +snuffed out, his day was done. And it was your hand had struck him +down!" + +She shook her head in sorrowful protest. + +"I know--I know. But to me--in all these years--it was your hand." He +spoke in fragments, with silences in between. "You asked me that day +what he said. Perhaps if I should tell you now it would be some +extenuation at least." + +She looked up at him breathless. "What was it?" + +"As I bent over him he said, 'She's killed me, Dick.'" + +Margaret sank back in her chair. "And it was Rosalie!" + +"Yes,--Rosalie. But as he said it you stood above him with a smoking +revolver in your hand--a revolver I had seen here, on your table, but a +few months before." + +She opened a drawer and took it out. + +"It has been here ever since. He had a pair of them." + +He took the revolver in his hand and looked at it. It was of peculiar +workmanship--the counterpart of one now in his own possession--the one +he took out every now and then and looked at. He drew a quick sharp +breath that was almost a groan,--then laid it down, saying quietly, "I +did not know that. It might have changed everything if I had known. You +see how strong it made the case against you. And then his saying--" + +"Did he say anything else?" she questioned eagerly. + +"Yes. He said, 'Don't prosecute. I deserved it.'" + +"And it was Rosalie!" she repeated. "It was Rosalie he tried to save. +Oh, I am glad he said that--glad! Why didn't you tell her?" + +"There will be time for that." He marveled that she could think now of +Rosalie. "Do you not see how all this misled me?" + +"I see. You thought it was his treatment of me he meant." + +"Yes. And then you told me once that if he ever tried to take the +child--" + +"That I should kill him. I remember it. It was in the days when I was +full of words.... And you believed I did it!" + +"As God hears me, I did. Margaret, you can never know what that struggle +was. It racked me. His blood cried to me day and night--as I watched it +ebb away, and as I stood beside him in the silent house that I thought +_you_ had desolated. I prayed that vengeance might fall on you for this +thing. As for me, I was bound,--bound by his dying wish and his dying +declaration. Who would believe me if I charged you with the crime? And +even if proof were not lacking how could I bring you to justice when +with his latest breath he begged that I would spare you? At last I +remembered the words, 'Vengeance is mine; I will repay, saith the Lord.' +I believe in that. God's vengeance does not always come swiftly--but it +comes! I believed that some day it would fall on you. And I could wait!" + +She stared at him with fascinated eyes, half feeling in the tension of +the moment that she was the guilty thing he thought her. + +"The waiting was not long. When the will was read--the will that by the +accursed law of this District had power to take your child from you and +give him to me--I saw in it my opportunity. They say there is the beast +in every man--the old primordial instinct to rend and kill which ages of +training and leash and club have not exterminated. I do not know. +Sometimes I think it may be true. What I do know is that I came into +this room a man, with a man's self-control, but when I found my hand +upon your throat, found that _my_ time had come, something within me +that I did not know was there leaped up and fought and roared. I could +not hold it down. It mastered me! And at the last it took my form and +said through my lips, 'Vengeance shall be _mine_! _I_ will repay!... And +I will--repay--through--_law_!" + +She shrank from him as we do in the presence of the mighty elemental +forces of nature. + +"It seemed to me in my distorted state of mind that this was Heaven's +justice, and that I was the instrument to mete it out.... But Margaret!" +He stretched out his hands toward her and then let them drop,--"it was +not true. In my arrogance I had usurped the prerogative of Almighty +God--and He--has--punished me!" + +His voice sank lower and lower with each word. + +At last she broke the silence that was stifling her, saying wonderingly +and with hesitation, + +"How?--how has he punished you? I think I do not understand. Through +Philip, do you mean?" + +"No. Not through Philip--not through Philip! Through Philip's mother." + +The room lapsed into silence then. Her heart was beating so that it +seemed to her that he must hear the throbs. It was impossible to mistake +his meaning. + +"I count it part of my humiliation," he said in proud +self-abasement,--"and I will not spare myself--that I must come at the +last to the woman I have persecuted, the woman I have hunted down and +robbed, the woman I have in my heart held guilty of foul crime--and tell +her--that--_I love her_!" + +She did not stir nor look at him. + +Then his mood changed, and from his stand by the mantel he regarded her +with a sort of grim humor. + +"This surely is the irony of fate," he went on, speaking almost as if in +soliloquy, "that I should come to _you_ with tale of love!... Margaret, +why don't you taunt me with my weakness--jeer at me--say the biting, +scathing things you must want to say? This certainly is your +opportunity. It would complete your victory." + +"There is no victory," she said in a dead tone, "it is all defeat." + +He was filled with contrition. + +"Forgive me. I seem to have an infinite capacity for being cruel. And +yet,--how can I make you understand that I would give all I hold dear if +I could have the right to shield you? How can I expect you to believe-- +... Why, Margaret! even the boy--the boy--has crept into my heart and +intrenched himself until I cannot put him out." + +A faint pink stole over her eyelids and her chin moved just once, but +she did not look up. + +"And you-- ... child, it overmasters me! Every fiber of my being cries +out for you! It is so different from a boy's paltry passion." + +He took a step toward her as though driven by a force beyond control and +said in passionate pleading, "Dearest!--let me call you that just +once--did you think you could come into my starved life in the close, +intimate, even though enforced comradeship of the sick-room, and leave +that life just as you found it? Could show me the love and sympathy, the +infinite patience and tenderness of the mother--a thing I had never +known--and the dignity, the sweetness, the charm of the woman,--did you +think that you could thus reveal yourself to me, and then go away and +leave me the same man I had been? You never thought of it at all, did +you? You were thinking of Philip--always Philip. + +"But, Margaret, _I_ was human. I thought of you. And while you rocked +the child and sang soft cradle songs to him, I listened and dreamed +dreams. Let me tell them to you--just once--for their very wildness. I +dreamed that this was _our_ home--such a home as I had known in my +warped life only in dreams--and that we had made it, you and I; that the +song on your lips was a song of joy, and that I had taught it to you; +that the light in your eyes was the love-light--not for Philip, but for +me; that it was _my_ child upon your breast; that--no, do not trouble to +remind me that even in my dreams I was a fool? But--my God! if only I +could have had the chance another man might have!" + +When he spoke again his voice had a different quality, a yearning +compassion that had in it something of the maternal. + +"But Margaret, that was before I knew of Philip's new danger. Since that +last crushing blow has fallen upon you the feeling is so much more +infinitely tender. I think a hundred times a day 'If I could take her +and her helpless child to my heart and hold them there forever,--if I +could bear for her the load that I have forced upon her, or help her +bear it; if I could go with her upon this pitiful quest; could stand +beside her and let her lean upon my strength; could comfort her--'" + +She put her elbow on the table and rested her head on her hand. Two big +tears rose and struggled under her closed lids. She needed comforting! + +"'--and if the worst comes--as it may--could have her lay her head upon +my breast and weep her grief out there--'" + +The drops pushed through. What woman, oh, what woman, in her time of +sorrow has not felt need of such a refuge? + +"Margaret! if I could thus atone, I feel that I should ask no more of +earth. But--that I have with my own hand barred myself forever from your +life--_this is my punishment_." + + * * * * * + +When he spoke again it was in his even, controlled voice, taking up the +subject they had talked of earlier under the wistaria, and telling her +of the arrangements he had made. The doctor had suggested the sea voyage +for Philip and had also urged his being put under the care of a +specialist at once. He had taken the liberty of engaging passage for +them on the _Etruria_, the steamer on which the doctor sailed. But this +was conditional, of course. + +He waited a moment, but she did not speak, and he went on rather +hurriedly to explain that he had done this because he knew the +staterooms might all be taken if he waited to communicate with her. It +was only by their having been surrendered that he had been able to get +these. He hoped he had not offended her by his action in the matter. +They could be given up at any moment by telegram. + +She shook her head, not taking down her sheltering hand. She had heard +this last as one hears in a dream,--thinking dully that this was the +end. During her contest with him she had been nerved to fight; now that +it was over she felt strengthless--nerves in collapse. When he had +spoken of her "pitiful quest" she seemed to see a dreary stretch of road +before her that had no end. She and Philip were on it, toiling along, +going she knew not where, stumbling, falling sometimes but getting up +and struggling on--and Richard behind them stretching out his hands! + +If--if--oh, that would be a shameful thing! ... the man that had stolen +her child! ... a monstrous thing! Then something rose up within her and +contended fiercely, "But it is _your_ life!" What? ... give up now? ... +make complete surrender, and in such a way?... Oh, no. She would be +stronger when he was gone. The shock of it had unnerved her. That was +all. + +She got up then and stood before him, her head thrown back in its old +way, meaning to thank him courteously and in conventional phrase for +what he had done, speaking in the effusive fashion which says so much +and means so little, "You are very kind. We will take the staterooms and +go at once. Thank you so much for your thoughtfulness." Thus would she +build up the broken-down wall that must always be between them. + +But when she stood before him and looked into his stern set face, +remembering all he had said to her, somehow the road stretched out +interminably before her, and-- + +What she did was to reach out weak hands to him, saying brokenly, + +"Richard! I cannot go--without you." + +"Margaret!... _Margaret!_" + + * * * * * + +Five days later they sat together on the deck of the _Etruria_, outward +bound. It was within an hour of the time of sailing and a mild bedlam +reigned. Downstairs Mammy Cely was arranging things in the staterooms. +Upstairs Philip, a shade over his eyes and a steamer rug thrown over +him, was snuggled in the arms of his new father. + +The doctor had given them every hope. + +People were hurrying on to the steamer and out on the deck to talk with +friends across the rails. _Farewells_ were being spoken, tears shed, and +parting admonitions given. There was a confusion of sounds. "Goodbye!" +"Where's the purser?" "Don't get sea-sick!" "No, indeed!" "Did you get +the little bag?" "Why no--there were four." "Oh, _where's_ the purser?" + +Through this babel the deck steward was making his way with a letter +held high. + +"Is Mr. De Jarnette here? A telegram for Mr. De Jarnette." + +Richard opened it without looking at the address. + +"It is for you," he said. + +Margaret in the chair beside him took the telegram and read: + + "Bill passed House this morning. President's signature assured. + Hurrah! + + "Harcourt." + +She slipped her hand under the steamer rug into his, where Philip's lay. +He closed upon them both. + +"Thank God!" she said softly, "for other mothers who need it." + + + + + CHAPTER XLIV + AS AFORETIME + + +John Harcourt had asked Bess for a drive--a farewell view, he told her, +of Capitol Vista, Rock Creek Park, the Zoo, and all the rest. He said it +so cheerfully and with such unchecked flow of spirits that Bess, +smothering an inward sob, summoned her woman's pride and matched his +exhilaration with her own. But if the truth were known, and the truth is +never known under just these circumstances to anybody or anything but +the girl's inmost soul, she was feeling far from gay. + +Life seemed to be disintegrating. Margaret and Philip were on the ocean; +Rosalie, in Oak Hill Cemetery; the little boy given into her +grandmother's keeping until the house on Massachusetts Avenue should be +re-opened; and--after all this was the worst--they were going home to +Missouri. Her life in Washington was over! Well,--it had been a +beautiful time that she had had, she thought with a tightening of the +throat, and he, more than anybody else, had made it so. She should +always feel grateful to him and love him for that--as a friend. Of +course she was nothing to him but a child. And the tightness grew to a +lump. + +She was putting into her trunk a book of views he had brought her--"to +remember him by," he had said. She turned the pages listlessly. It did +seem too hard that they should have to go home just now! Washington was +so beautiful in May, everybody said. A drop fell on the classic columns +of the Treasury Building--another--and another. She really could not +tell now though she was looking at it so hard whether the pillars were +Corinthian or Ionic. She was thinking, "It was on these steps we stood +that day--" + +Strange! strange! how little architecture, art, affairs of State or +Nation are to a young girl whose heart is saying, "And I must leave +him." + + * * * * * + +From that ride she came back to her grandmother with softly shining eyes +and the sweet tale that has been told and told and told again since Time +was young.... And--would her grandma be willing to give her to him? + +"But, Bess, I thought you felt that you could never trust yourself to +any man after Margaret's experience?" + +Bess answered earnestly. + +"Grandma! I wouldn't to anybody in the _world_ but Mr. Harcourt. But it +is different with him, you know." + +When she was gone Mrs. Pennybacker took off her glasses and wiped them. + +"As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without +end," she said reverently, "Amen." + + + + + BOOKS BY GROSSET & DUNLAP + + +Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. + + THE KINDRED OF THE WILD. A Book of Animal Life. With illustrations + by Charles Livingston Bull. + +Appeals alike to the young and to the merely youthful-hearted. Close +observation. Graphic description. We get a sense of the great wild and +its denizens. Out of the common. Vigorous and full of character. The +book is one to be enjoyed; all the more because it smacks of the forest +instead of the museum. John Burroughs says "The volume is in many ways +the most brilliant collection of Animal Stories that has appeared. It +reaches a high order of literary merit." + + THE HEART OF THE ANCIENT WOOD. Illustrated. + +This book strikes a new note in literature. It is a realistic romance of +the folk of the forest--a romance of the alliance of peace between a +pioneer's daughter in the depths of the ancient wood and the wild beasts +who felt her spell and became her friends. It is not fanciful, with +talking beasts; nor is it merely an exquisite idyl of the beasts +themselves. It is an actual romance, in which the animal characters play +their parts as naturally as do the human. The atmosphere of the book is +enchanting. The reader feels the undulating, whimpering music of the +forest, the power of the shady silences, the dignity of the beasts who +live closest to the heart of the wood. + + THE WATCHERS OF THE TRAILS. A companion volume to the "Kindred of + the Wild." With 48 full page plates and decorations from drawings by + Charles Livingston Bull. + +These stories are exquisite in their refinement, and yet robust in their +appreciation of some of the rougher phases of woodcraft. "This is a book +full of delight. An additional charm lies in Mr. Bull's faithful and +graphic illustrations, which in fashion all their own tell the story of +the wild life, illuminating and supplementing the pen pictures of the +authors."--_Literary Digest._ + + RED FOX. The Story of His Adventurous Career in the Ringwaak Wilds, + and His Triumphs over the Enemies of His Kind. With 50 + illustrations, including frontispiece in color and cover design by + Charles Livingston Bull. + +A brilliant chapter in natural history. Infinitely more wholesome +reading than the average tale of sport, since it gives a glimpse of the +hunt from the point of view of the hunted. "True in substance but +fascinating as fiction. It will interest old and young, city-bound and +free-footed, those who know animals and those who do not."--_Chicago +Record-Herald._ + + NEDRA, by George Barr McCutcheon, with color frontispiece, and other + illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +The story of an elopement of a young couple from Chicago, who decide to +go to London, travelling as brother and sister. Their difficulties +commence in New York and become greatly exaggerated when they are +shipwrecked in mid-ocean. The hero finds himself stranded on the island +of Nedra with another girl, whom he has rescued by mistake. The story +gives an account of their finding some of the other passengers, and the +circumstances which resulted from the strange mix-up. + + POWER LOT, by Sarah P. McLean Greene. Illustrated. + +The story of the reformation of a man and his restoration to +self-respect through the power of honest labor, the exercise of honest +independence, and the aid of clean, healthy, out-of-door life and +surroundings. The characters take hold of the heart and win sympathy. +The dear old story has never been more lovingly and artistically told. + + MY MAMIE ROSE. The History of My Regeneration, by Owen Kildare. + Illustrated. + +This _autobiography_ is a powerful book of love and sociology. Reads +like the strangest fiction. Is the strongest truth and deals with the +story of a man's redemption through a woman's love and devotion. + + JOHN BURT, by Frederick Upham Adams, with illustrations. + +John Burt, a New England lad, goes West to seek his fortune and finds it +in gold mining. He becomes one of the financial factors and pitilessly +crushes his enemies. The story of the Stock Exchange manipulations was +never more vividly and engrossingly told. A love story runs through the +book, and is handled with infinite skill. + + THE HEART LINE, by Gelett Burgess, with halftone illustrations by + Lester Ralph, and inlay cover in colors. + +A great dramatic story of the city that was. A story of Bohemian life in +San Francisco, before the disaster, presented with mirror-like accuracy. +Compressed into it are all the sparkle, all the gayety, all the wild, +whirling life of the glad, mad, bad, and most delightful city of the +Golden Gate. + + CAROLINA LEE. By Lillian Bell. With frontispiece by Dora Wheeler + Keith. + +Carolina Lee is the Uncle Tom's Cabin of Christian Science. Its keynote +is "Divine Love" in the understanding of the knowledge of all good +things which may be obtainable. When the tale is told, the sick healed, +wrong changed to right, poverty of purse and spirit turned into riches, +lovers made worthy of each other and happily united, including Carolina +Lee and her affinity, it is borne upon the reader that he has been +giving rapid attention to a free lecture on Christian Science; that the +working out of each character is an argument for "Faith;" and that the +theory is persuasively attractive. + +A Christian Science novel that will bring delight to the heart of every +believer in that faith. It is a well told story, entertaining, and +cleverly mingles art, humor and sentiment. + + HILMA, by William Tillinghast Eldridge, with illustrations by + Harrison Fisher and Martin Justice, and inlay cover. + +It is a rattling good tale, written with charm, and full of remarkable +happenings, dangerous doings, strange events, jealous intrigues and +sweet love making. The reader's interest is not permitted to lag, but is +taken up and carried on from incident to incident with ingenuity and +contagious enthusiasm. The story gives us the _Graustark_ and _The +Prisoner of Zenda_ thrill, but the tale is treated with freshness, +ingenuity, and enthusiasm, and the climax is both unique and satisfying. +It will hold the fiction lover close to every page. + + THE MYSTERY OF THE FOUR FINGERS, by Fred M. White, with halftone + illustrations by Will Grefe. + +A fabulously rich gold mine in Mexico is known by the picturesque and +mysterious name of _The Four Fingers_. It originally belonged to an +Aztec tribe, and its location is known to one surviving descendant--a +man possessing wonderful occult power. Should any person unlawfully +discover its whereabouts, four of his fingers are mysteriously removed, +and one by one returned to him. The appearance of the final fourth +betokens his swift and violent death. + +Surprises, strange and startling, are concealed in every chapter of this +completely engrossing detective story. The horrible fascination of the +tragedy holds one in rapt attention to the end. And through it runs the +thread of a curious love story. + + MEREDITH NICHOLSON'S FASCINATING ROMANCES + +Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. + + THE HOUSE OF A THOUSAND CANDLES. With a frontispiece in colors by + Howard Chandler Christy. + +A novel of romance and adventure, of love and valor, of mystery and +hidden treasure. The hero is required to spend a whole year in the +isolated house, which according to his grandfather's will shall then +become his. If the terms of the will be violated the house goes to a +young woman whom the will, furthermore, forbids him to marry. Nobody can +guess the secret, and the whole plot moves along with an exciting zip. + + THE PORT OF MISSING MEN. With illustrations by Clarence F. + Underwood. + +There is romance of love, mystery, plot, and fighting, and a breathless +dash and go about the telling which makes one quite forget about the +improbabilities of the story; and it all ends in the old-fashioned +healthy American way. Shirley is a sweet, courageous heroine whose +shining eyes lure from page to page. + + ROSALIND AT REDGATE. Illustrated by Arthur I. Keller. + +The author of "The House of a Thousand Candles" has here given us a +bouyant romance brimming with lively humor and optimism; with mystery +that breeds adventure and ends in love and happiness. A most +entertaining and delightful book. + + THE MAIN CHANCE. With illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +A "traction deal" in a Western city is the pivot about which the action +of this clever story revolves. But it is in the character-drawing of the +principals that the author's strength lies. Exciting incidents develop +their inherent strength and weaknesses, and if virtue wins in the end, +it is quite in keeping with its carefully-planned antecedents. The N. Y. +_Sun_ says: "We commend it for its workmanship--for its smoothness, its +sensible fancies, and for its general charm." + + ZELDA DAMERON. With portraits of the characters by John Cecil Clay. + +"A picture of the new West, at once startlingly and attractively +true.... The heroine is a strange, sweet mixture of pride, wilfulness +and lovable courage. The characters are superbly drawn; the atmosphere +is convincing. There is about it a sweetness, a wholesomeness and a +sturdiness that commends it to earnest, kindly and wholesome +people."--_Boston Transcript._ + + AGNES AND EGERTON CASTLE + +Handsomely bound in cloth. Price, 75 cents per volume, postpaid. + + THE PRIDE OF JENNICO. Being a Memoir of Captain Basil Jennico. + +"What separates it from most books of its class is its distinction of +manner, its unusual grace of diction, its delicacy of touch, and the +fervent charm of its love passages. It is a very attractive piece of +romantic fiction relying for its effect upon character rather than +incident, and upon vivid dramatic presentation."--_The Dial._ "A +stirring, brilliant and dashing story."--_The Outlook._ + + THE SECRET ORCHARD. Illustrated by Charles D. Williams. + +The "Secret Orchard" is set in the midst of the ultra modern society. +The scene is in Paris, but most of the characters are English speaking. +The story was dramatized in London, and in it the Kendalls scored a +great theatrical success. + +"Artfully contrived and full of romantic charm ... it possesses +ingenuity of incident, a figurative designation of the unhallowed scenes +in which unlicensed love accomplishes and wrecks faith and +happiness."--_Athenaeum._ + + YOUNG APRIL. With illustrations by A. B. Wenzell. + +"It is everything that a good romance should be, and it carries about it +an air of distinction both rare and delightful."--_Chicago Tribune._ +"With regret one turns to the last page of this delightful novel, so +delicate in its romance, so brilliant in its episodes, so sparkling in +its art, and so exquisite in its diction."--_Worcester Spy._ + + FLOWER O' THE ORANGE. With frontispiece. + +We have learned to expect from these fertile authors novels graceful in +form, brisk in movement, and romantic in conception. This carries the +reader back to the days of the bewigged and beruffled gallants of the +seventeenth century and tells him of feats of arms and adventures in +love as thrilling and picturesque, yet delicate, as the utmost seeker of +romance may ask. + + MY MERRY ROCKHURST. Illustrated by Arthur E. Becher. + +In the eight stories of a courtier of King Charles Second, which are +here gathered together, the Castles are at their best, reviving all the +fragrant charm of those books, like _The Pride of Jennico_, in which +they first showed an instinct, amounting to genius, for sunny romances. +"The book is absorbing ... and is as spontaneous in feeling as it is +artistic in execution."--_New York Tribune._ + + THE CATTLE BARON'S DAUGHTER. A Novel. By Harold Bindloss. With + illustrations by David Ericson. + +A story of the fight for the cattle-ranges of the West. Intense interest +is aroused by its pictures of life in the cattle country at that +critical moment of transition when the great tracts of land used for +grazing were taken up by the incoming homesteaders, with the inevitable +result of fierce contest, of passionate emotion on both sides, and of +final triumph of the inevitable tendency of the times. + + WINSTON OF THE PRAIRIE. With illustrations in color by W. Herbert + Dunton. + +A man of upright character, young and clean, but badly worsted in the +battle of life, consents as a desperate resort to impersonate for a +period a man of his own age--scoundrelly in character but of an +aristocratic and moneyed family. The better man finds himself barred +from resuming his old name. How, coming into the other man's +possessions, he wins the respect of all men, and the love of a +fastidious, delicately nurtured girl, is the thread upon which the story +hangs. It is one of the best novels of the West that has appeared for +years. + + THAT MAINWARING AFFAIR. By A. Maynard Barbour. With illustrations by + E. Plaisted Abbott. + +A novel with a most intricate and carefully unraveled plot. A naturally +probable and excellently developed story and the reader will follow the +fortunes of each character with unabating interest ... the interest is +keen at the close of the first chapter and increases to the end. + + AT THE TIME APPOINTED. With a frontispiece in colors by J. H. + Marchand. + +The fortunes of a young mining engineer who through an accident loses +his memory and identity. In his new character and under his new name, +the hero lives a new life of struggle and adventure. The volume will be +found highly entertaining by those who appreciate a thoroughly good +story. + + + + +Transcriber's Notes: + +Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected. + +Typographical errors were silently corrected. + +Spelling and hyphenation were made consistent when a predominant form +was found in this book; otherwise it was not changed. + +Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_). + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Modern Madonna, by Caroline Abbot Stanley + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 57418 *** |