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diff --git a/old/60469-h/60469-h.htm b/old/60469-h/60469-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index d51d592..0000000 --- a/old/60469-h/60469-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7955 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of The hundred and other stories, by Gertrude Hall. - </title> - <link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2{ - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; - line-height: 2; -} - -h1 {margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} - -h2 {margin-top: 4em; margin-bottom: 1em;} - -div.chapter {page-break-before: always;} - - -p { - margin-top: .75em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .75em; - } - - .p2 {margin-top: 2em;} - .p4 {margin-top: 4em;} - .p6 {margin-top: 6em;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: small; - text-align: right; - /* not bold */ - font-weight: normal; - /* not italic */ - font-style: normal; - /* not small cap */ - font-variant: normal; -} /* page numbers */ - -.figcenter2em {margin: auto; - text-align: center; - margin-top: 2em;} - -.figcenter4em {margin: auto; - text-align: center; - margin-top: 4em;} - -.caption p -{ - text-align: center; - text-indent: 0; - margin: 0.25em 0; -} - - -.center {text-align: center;} -.right {text-align: right;} -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - - - -hr.tb {width: 15%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} -hr.chap {width: 25%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} - - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.box {margin: auto; - margin-top: 2em; - border: 1px solid; - padding: 1em; - background-color: #F0FFFF; - width: 25em;} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; -} - - .tdl {text-align: left; padding-left: 0.5em;} - .tdrb {text-align: right; vertical-align: bottom; padding-left: 3em;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - - - - -@media handheld -{ - body - { - margin: 0; - padding: 0; - width: 90%; - } - - .box { - width: 75%;} - - hr.tb - { - width: 10%; - margin-left: 47.5%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - - hr.chap - { - width: 20%; - margin-left: 42.5%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - } - - -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's The Hundred and Other Stories, by Gertrude Hall Brownell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms -of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll -have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using -this ebook. - - - -Title: The Hundred and Other Stories - -Author: Gertrude Hall Brownell - -Release Date: October 11, 2019 [EBook #60469] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED AND OTHER STORIES *** - - - - -Produced by Carlos Colon, the University of California and -the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - - - - - -</pre> - - - -<p class="box">Transcriber's Notes:<br /> -<br /> - - -Blank pages have been eliminated.<br /> -<br /> -Variations in spelling and hyphenation have been left as in the -original.<br /> -<br /> -A few typographical errors have been corrected.<br /> -<br /> -The cover page was created by the transcriber and can be considered public domain.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="figcenter4em" id="illo1"><img src="images/illo1.jpg" width="500" -height="694" alt="" title="" /> -<div class="caption"> -[Page 140]<br /> -"SHE LOOKED AT HIM A LONG MOMENT WITH FIXED EYES" -</div></div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h1>The Hundred and Other Stories</h1> - -<p class="center"><i>By GERTRUDE HALL</i></p> - -<p class="p2 center">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</p> - -<div class="figcenter2em"><img src="images/illo2.jpg" width="100" -height="128" alt="" title="" /></div> - -<p class="p2 center">NEW YORK AND LONDON<br /> -HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS<br /> -1898</p></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center p6">Copyright, 1898, by <span class="smcap">Harper & Brothers</span>.</p> -<hr class="tb" /> -<p class="center"><i>All rights reserved.</i></p></div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center p6">TO</p> -<p class="center p2">MY MOTHER</p></div> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>CONTENTS</h2> - - - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="indice"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdrb" colspan="2">PAGE</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#THE_HUNDRED">The Hundred</a></td> -<td class="tdrb">1</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#THE_PASSING_OF_SPRING">The Passing of Spring</a></td> -<td class="tdrb">59</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#PAULA_IN_ITALY">Paula in Italy</a></td> -<td class="tdrb">104</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#DORASTUS">Dorastus</a></td> -<td class="tdrb">142</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl smcap"><a href="#CHLOE_CHLORIS_AND_CYTHEREA">Chloe, Chloris, and Cytherea</a></td> -<td class="tdrb">204</td> -</tr> - -</table></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> - -<table border="0" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="5" summary="illos"> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#illo1">"SHE LOOKED AT HIM A LONG MOMENT WITH FIXED EYES"</a></td> -<td class="tdrb" colspan="2"><i>Frontispiece</i></td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#illo3">"SHE LET BONNET HAVE ONE OF HER ARMS"</a></td> -<td class="tdc"><i>Facing page</i></td> -<td class="tdrb">6</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#illo4">"AT LAST THEY WERE GONE"</a></td> -<td class="tdc">"</td> -<td class="tdrb">10</td> -</tr> - -<tr> -<td class="tdl"><a href="#illo5">"PAULA HERSELF SAT BY THE WINDOW"</a></td> -<td class="tdc">"</td> -<td class="tdrb">130</td> -</tr> - -</table></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p6"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="THE_HUNDRED">THE HUNDRED</h2></div> - - -<p>Mrs. Darling was dining from home, -and every heart in her little establishment -rejoiced over the circumstance, for it meant -less work for everybody, with an opportunity -to enjoy Christmas Eve on his own account.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bonnet, the lady's-maid, with the -plans she had in mind for the evening, was -scarcely annoyed at all when her mistress -scolded because the corset-lace had got itself -in a knot.</p> - -<p>The chamber was full of a delicate odor of -iris. The gas-globes at the ends of their -jointed gold arms looked like splendid yellow -pearls; on the dressing-table under them -glittered a quantity of highly embossed silverware, -out of all reasonable proportion with -the little person owning it, who sat before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[2]</a></span> -the mirror beautifying her finger-nails while -Mrs. Bonnet did her hair.</p> - -<p>"Mind what you are about," the mistress -murmured, diligently polishing.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bonnet instantly removed the hot -tongs from the tress she was twisting, and -caught it again with greater precaution.</p> - -<p>"Mind what you are about," warned Mrs. -Darling, somewhat louder, a beginning of -acid in her voice.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bonnet again disengaged the hair -from the tongs, and after a little pause, during -which to make firm her nerve, with infinite -solicitude took hold again of the golden -strand, and would have waved it, but—</p> - -<p>"Mind what you are about!" almost -screamed little Mrs. Darling. "Didn't I <i>tell</i> -you to be careful? You have been pulling -right along at the same hair! <i>Do</i> consider -that it is a human scalp, and not a <i>wig</i> you -are dealing with! Bonny, you are not a bad -woman, but you will wear me out. Come, -go on with it; it is getting late."</p> - -<p>Before the hair-dressing was accomplished -Mrs. Darling rolled up her eyes—her blue<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[3]</a></span> -eyes, round and angelic as they could sometimes -be—at the reflection of Mrs. Bonnet's -face in the mirror, and said, meekly: "Bonny, -do you think that black moiré of mine -would make over nicely for you? I am going -to give it to you. No, don't thank me—it -makes me look old. Now my slippers."</p> - -<p>While Bonnet was forcing the shoe on her -fat little foot, Mrs. Darling's glance rested, -perhaps by chance, on a photograph that -leaned against the clock over the mantelpiece. -It was that of a still young, well-looking -man, whose face wore an unmistakable -look of goodness, of the kind that -made it what one expected to read under it -in print—the Rev. Dorel Goodhue. There -was another more conspicuous man-photograph -in the room, on the dressing-table, in -a massive frame that matched the toilet accessories. -It stood there always, airing a -photographic smile among the brushes and -hand-glasses and pin-boxes.</p> - -<p>"I suppose," said Mrs. Darling, while she -braced herself against Bonnet to help get -the small shoe on—"I suppose I have a very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[4]</a></span> -bad temper!" and she laughed in such a sensible, -natural, good-natured way any one -must have felt that her exhibition of a moment -before had been a sort of joke. "Tell -the truth, Bonny: if every mistress had to -have a certificate from her maid, you would -give me a pretty bad one, wouldn't you? -But I was abominably brought up. I used -to slap my governesses. And I have had -all sorts of illnesses; trouble, too. And I -mostly don't mean anything by it. It is just -nerves. Poor Bonny! I treat you shamefully, -don't I?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, ma'am," said the lady's-maid, expanding -in the light of this uncommon familiarity, -"I would give you a character as -would make it no difficulty in you getting a -first-class situation right away; you may depend -upon it, ma'am, I would. Don't this -shoe seem a bit tight, ma'am?"</p> - -<p>"Not at all. It is a whole size larger than -I wear. If you would just be so good as -to hold the shoe-horn properly. There, that -is it."</p> - -<p>She stood before the bed, on which were<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[5]</a></span> -spread two long evening dresses. A little -King Charles spaniel had made himself comfortable -in the softest of one. His mistress -pounced on him with a cry, first cuffed, then -kissed and put him down. "Which shall I -wear?" she asked.</p> - -<p>Bonnet drew back for a critical view, but -dared not suggest unprompted.</p> - -<p>"The black and white is more becoming, -but the violet crape is prettier. Oh, Bonny, -decide quickly for me, like a tossed-up penny!"</p> - -<p>"Well, I think now I should say the violet, -ma'am."</p> - -<p>"Should you?" Mrs. Darling mused, with -a finger against her lip. "But I look less -well in it. Surely I had rather look pretty -myself than have my dress look pretty, -hadn't I? Give me the black and white, -and hurry. Mr. Goodhue will be here in a -second. Bonnet!" she burst forth, in quite -another tone. "You trying creature! Didn't -I <i>tell</i> you to put a draw-string through that -lace? Didn't I <i>tell</i> you? <i>Where</i> are your -ears? <i>Where</i> are your senses? What on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[6]</a></span> -<i>earth</i> do you spend your time thinking -about, I should like to know, anyway? I -wouldn't wear that thing as it <i>is</i>, not for—not -for—Oh, I am tired of living surrounded -by fools! Take it away—take it -away! Bring the violet!"</p> - -<p>At last she was encased in the fluffy violet -crape, and at sight of the sweet picture she -made in the mirror her brow cleared a little; -she looked baby-eyed and angelic again, with -her wavy hair meekly parted in the middle. -While she looked at herself she let Bonnet -have one of her arms to button the long -glove.</p> - -<p>"Ouch! Go softly; you pinch!" she murmured.</p> - -<p>Bonnet changed her method with the silver -hook, adjusted it anew, and pulled at it -ever so softly.</p> - -<p>"Ouch! You pinch me!" said Mrs. Darling, -a little louder.</p> - -<p>Bonnet stopped short, and looked helplessly -at the glove, that could not be made -to meet without strain over the plump -white wrist. After a breathing-while, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[7]</a></span> -stealthy gentleness, again she fitted the silver -loop over the button, and, with a devout -inward appeal to Heaven, tried to induce it -through the button-hole. She had almost -succeeded when Mrs. Darling screamed, -"Ouch, ouch, ouch! You pinch like <i>anything</i>! -I am black and blue!" And tearing -her arm from the quaking servant, began -fidgeting with the button herself, soon pulling -it off.</p> - -<div class="figcenter2em" id="illo3"><img src="images/illo3.jpg" width="500" -height="355" alt="" title="" /> -<div class="caption"> -<p>"SHE LET BONNET HAVE ONE OF HER ARMS"</p> -</div></div> - - -<p class="p2">"Bonnet, how many times must I tell you -to sew the buttons fast on my gloves before -you give them me to put on?" she asked, -severely. "No, they were not!" she stormed, -and peeled off the glove, throwing it far -from her, inside out.</p> - -<p>There was a knock, and a respectful voice -saying, outside the door, "Mr. Goodhue is -below, ma'am."</p> - -<p>"Get a needle," Mrs. Darling said, humbly, -like a child reminded of its promise to -behave, and waited patiently while the button -was sewed on, and held out her arm -again, letting Bonnet pinch without a murmur.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[8]</a></span> -A final bunch of violets was tucked in the -bosom of her gown, and she was leaving the -bedroom, when, as if at a sudden thought, -she turned back, went to the door of a little -room leading from it, and stood looking in.</p> - -<p>"Aren't they lovely, the hundred of them?" -she gushed. "Did you ever see such a sight? -One prettier than the other! I almost wish -I were one of the little girls myself!"</p> - -<p>"Them that gets them will be made happy, -sure, ma'am. I suppose it's for some -Christmas-tree?"</p> - -<p>"They are for my cousin Dorel's orphans. -Pick up, Bonny. Open the windows. Mind -you keep Jetty with you. Don't let him go -into the kitchen. I am sure they feed him. I -shall not be very late—not later than twelve."</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling went down the stairs, followed -by Bonnet with her mantle and fan, -and Jetty, who leaped and yapped in the delusion -that he was going to be taken for a -walk.</p> - -<p>The gentleman waiting below came forward -to take Mrs. Darling's hand.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bonnet listened to the exchange of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[9]</a></span> -polite expressions between them with no -small degree of impatience; it seemed to -her they might just as well have made these -communications later, in the carriage.</p> - -<p>At last and at last they were gone. -With the clap of the door behind them the -whole atmosphere of the house changed as -by enchantment. A door slammed somewhere; -a voice burst out singing below-stairs; -the man in livery who had held the -door for Mrs. Darling and her reverend cousin -leaned over the banisters and shouted, heartily, -"Catherine! I say, Catherine!" Mrs. -Bonnet fairly scampered up-stairs, with the -mistaken Jetty, who thought this was the -beginning of a romp, hard after her, trying -to catch her by the heels.</p> - -<p>She entered Mrs. Darling's room with no -affectation of soft-stepping, threw up the -window—the sharp outer air cut into the -scented warmth like a silver axe—and began -pushing things briskly into their places. She -digressed from her labors a moment to get -from the closet a black moiré, which she examined, -then replaced.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[10]</a></span> -Now came a rap at the door, and a voice -only a shade less respectful than before, saying, -"Miss Pittock is waiting below, ma'am."</p> - -<p>"Very well, I will be down directly," said -Mrs. Bonnet. "Come here, Jetty!"</p> - -<p>Jetty, instead of coming, ran round and -round among the chair legs, waving his tail -in a graceful circle, eluding Mrs. Bonnet's -hand not by swiftness, but craft.</p> - -<p>"Come here, you little fool," muttered -Bonnet; and as her bidding, however severe, -availed nothing, she cast Mrs. Darling's -wrapper over the little beast, and got him -entangled like a black-and-tan butterfly in a -pocket-handkerchief. She snatched him up -squirming a little, tucked him tightly under -her arm, and ran up-stairs to her own chamber -on the third floor. There she dropped -him; and when she had donned her black -coat and bonnet, gloves and galoshes, during -which preparations Jetty was leaping and -yapping like crazy, in the supposition again -that they were going for a walk together, -she turned out the light and shut the door -against his wet, black nose. His reproach<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[11]</a></span>ful -barks followed her down the passage. -"It's good for 'is lungs," she said, grimly, -hurrying over the stairs.</p> - -<div class="figcenter2em" id="illo4"><img src="images/illo4.jpg" width="500" -height="755" alt="" title="" /> -<div class="caption"> -<p>"AT LAST THEY WERE GONE"</p> -</div></div> - - -<p class="p2">And here at the foot was Miss Pittock, -looking quite more than the lady in her mistress's -last year's cape.</p> - -<p>"I hope I haven't kept you waiting, Miss -Pittock."</p> - -<p>"Quite the contrary; don't mention it, -Mrs. Bonnet. Oh, the shops is a sight to -behold, Mrs. Bonnet! I never seen anything -like this year. It do seem as if people -made more to-do than they used about -Christmas, don't it? Are we ready, Mrs. -Bonnet?"</p> - -<p>"I am if you are, Miss Pittock."</p> - -<p>"Now, what kind of shops do you fancy -most, so we'll go and look into their show-windows -first?"</p> - -<p>"I'm sure I don't know. What do you -prefer yourself, Miss Pittock? We've time -to see most everything of any account, anyhow. -She's not coming home before twelve."</p> - -<p>"No more is mine. Suppose we go first -to the Grand Bazar. They've always got<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[12]</a></span> -the most amazing show there. That you, -Mr. Jackson? A merry Christmas to you, -Mr. Jackson, and a happy New Year!"</p> - -<p>For just as they reached the door they -found the butler letting himself out too. -He did not sleep in the house, and was taking -the opportunity to-night to leave early. -For a second he could not return Miss Pittock's -salutation, his mouth being crowded -with a last bite snatched in haste. When he -had swallowed, he grinned and excused his -hurry, holding the door for the ladies.</p> - -<p>"Sorry I ain't going your way, ladies," he -said, amiably, and the door closed behind the -three.</p> - -<p>In the kitchen the cook, with a face like a -pleasant copper saucepan, rosy and shining -and round, was moving about leisurely, giving -this and that a final unhurried wipe. -She wore a face of contentment; it was her -legitimate night out; with a good conscience -presently she was going up to make a change, -and off to her family.</p> - -<p>A young woman in a light gingham and -frilled cap sat watching her sulkily, her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[13]</a></span> -hands idle on her embroidered muslin apron. -A girl of perhaps eighteen, capless, in a dark -calico that made not the first pretension to -elegance, was washing her face at one of the -shiny copper faucets. She vanished a moment, -and came back with her damp hair -streaked all over by the comb. The cook -was gone.</p> - -<p>"You going, too, I suppose?" said the sullen -parlor-maid.</p> - -<p>"Why, yes. 'Ain't I done everything? -There's no need of my staying, is there?" -The kitchen-maid went home for the night, -too.</p> - -<p>"No, I don't suppose there is. I just -thought you might happen to be, that's all."</p> - -<p>The kitchen-maid sat down a minute, in a -tired, ungirt position, and looked over at the -parlor-maid with good-natured young eyes -grown a trifle speculative. The latter let -her glance wander over the day's newspaper, -brought down-stairs until inquired for.</p> - -<p>"Tell you what I'd like to do!" exclaimed -the kitchen-maid.</p> - -<p>"What'd you like to do, Sally?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[14]</a></span></p> - -<p>"That's to come back again after I've -been home for just a minute."</p> - -<p>The parlor-maid looked up, unable altogether -to conceal her interest. The house -was very quiet. Through the clock-ticks, -at perfectly regular intervals, came the muffled -sound of Jetty's disconsolate yaps. Neither -of the girls appeared to hear them.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean just to oblige, do you, -Sally?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I'd do it in a minute for nothing -else beside, but that ain't quite all I was -thinking of just this once. Miss Catherine"—she -hesitated, then, enthusiastically—"have -you seen 'em up-stairs? the whole hundred -of 'em laid out off Mrs. Darling's bedroom? -I saw 'em when Mrs. Bonnet she sent me up -for the lamps to clean. Law! Wouldn't -any child like to see a sight like that! -There's a little girl in my tenement, she'd -just go crazy. Do you think there'd be any -harm in it if I was to bring her over and let -her get one peep? She's as clean a child as -ever you saw. She comes of dreadful poor -folks, but just as respectable! She never<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[15]</a></span> -seen anything like it in her life. Law, what -would I have done when I was a young one -if I'd seen that? I'd thought I was dead -and gone to heaven. I say, Miss Catherine, -d' you think any one would mind?"</p> - -<p>"How'll they know?" said Miss Catherine, -callously. "Look here, Sally; you go along -just as fast as you can and fetch your young -one. And when you've got back, perhaps -I'll step out a minute, two or three doors up -street, and you can answer the bell while I'm -gone. Now hurry into your things. I'll give -you your car fare."</p> - -<p>"Miss Catherine, you're just as good as -you can be, and I'll do something to oblige -you, too, some time," said Sally, her face -aglow with delight; and having hurried into -her jacket and tied up her head in a worsted -muffler, was off.</p> - -<p>She almost ran over the packed snow -down the street. She had soon left the -quiet rows of private dwelling-houses and -come where hundreds of lights glittered -across the rose-tinged snow. At every few -rods a street band tootled and blared, cov<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[16]</a></span>ering -the scraping of snow-shovels and jingle -of bells. "How gay it is!" she thought; -"won't it be a treat!"</p> - -<p>She plunged into a mean, small street, -leading off a mean but tawdry larger one, -where things hung outside the shops with -their prices, written large, pinned on them, -and had soon come to the house where her -family lived.</p> - -<p>She went in like a great gust of fresh air. -In less than five minutes she came out, leading -by the hand a little girl who, from being -very much bundled up about the shoulders, -and having brief petticoats above thin black -legs, looked top-heavy. She was obliged to -nearly run to keep up with Sally, and was -trying to get out words through the breathlessness -occasioned by hurrying and laughing -and coming so suddenly into the frosty -air.</p> - -<p>"Oh, lemme guess, Sal, and tell me when -I'm hot. Is it made of sugar?"</p> - -<p>"No, it ain't."</p> - -<p>"But you said it was a treat, didn't you, -Sally?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[17]</a></span></p> - -<p>"I did that. But ain't there all sorts of -treats? There's going to the circus, for instance. -That hasn't any sugar."</p> - -<p>"Is it a circus, Sally? Is it a circus?"</p> - -<p>"No, it ain't a circus, but it's every bit as -nice."</p> - -<p>"Is it freaks, Sally? oh, tell me if it's -freaks? It isn't? Are you sure I shall like -it very much? It's nothing to eat, and it's -nothing I can have to keep, and it's not a -circus. What color is it? You'll answer -straight, won't you?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, it's every color in the world, and -striped and polka-dotted and crinkled and -smooth. There's a hundred of it."</p> - -<p>The child would have stopped short on the -sidewalk the better to centre her mind on -guessing, but Sally dragged her briskly along. -At the top of the street they came to a standstill.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" asked the child.</p> - -<p>"We're going to take the car," said Sally, -grandly.</p> - -<p>"O—h!" breathed the child.</p> - -<p>"I guess you never stepped on to one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[18]</a></span> -these before. This, Tibbie, is nothing but -the beginning. Hi! Hi!"</p> - -<p>The swiftly gliding, fiery, formidable car -stopped, and the hoarse buzz died out in a -grinding of brakes; the light was dimmed a -minute, then flared out again, as if the monster -had winked. Sally and Tibbie climbed on; it -moved, banging and whirring on its farther -way. They had to stand, of course, but -what of that? Tibbie looked all about with -her shining, intelligent brown eyes, and felt -a flush of gratified pride to see Sally, when -the conductor had squeezed himself near, -pay like the others; it had seemed impossible -that some compromise should not have -to be made with him. She slipped her hand -in Sally's, and was too occupied with the -people and the colored advertisements to -talk.</p> - -<p>"Did you get anything for Christmas yet, -Tibbie?"</p> - -<p>She moved her head up and down, bestowing -all her attention on a parcel-laden -woman bound to drop something the next -time she stirred.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[19]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What did you get?"</p> - -<p>"A doll's flat-iron and a muslin bag of -candy. I put the iron on to heat, and it -melted. I gave what was left to Jimmy."</p> - -<p>"Who gave them to you?"</p> - -<p>"Off the Sunday-school tree. But there -were no lights on it, because it was daytime. -Sally, I know something that has a hundred—"</p> - -<p>"What's that? Let's see if you've got it -now?"</p> - -<p>Tibbie looked a little shamefaced, then -said, "A dollar—is a hundred cents."</p> - -<p>"Well, and would I be bringing you so far -just to show you a dollar? This is worth as -much as a dollar, every individual one of -them. Tibbie, it's just the grandest sight -you ever seen—pink and blue and yellow -and striped—"</p> - -<p>Tibbie, who was looking Sally fixedly in -the face, as if to see if her secret anywhere -transpired, now almost shouted, "It's marbles!"</p> - -<p>"Aw, but you're downright stupid, Tibbie. -I don't mind telling you I'm disap<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[20]</a></span>pointed. -You're just a common, every-day -sort of young one, with no idear of grandness -in your idears at all. And you don't -seem to keep a hold on more than one notion -at a time. First it's a dollar. Is that -pink and blue? And next it's marbles. Is -marbles worth a dollar apiece? Now tell me -what's the grandest, prettiest thing that ever -you saw—"</p> - -<p>"... Angels."</p> - -<p>"D' you ever see any?"</p> - -<p>"In the church window, painted."</p> - -<p>"Well, this is as handsome as a hundred -angels, less than a foot tall, all in new -clothes, with little hats on."</p> - -<p>"Sally, I think I know now. Only it -couldn't be that. There couldn't likely be -a hundred of them all together, for, oh, Sally, -it isn't a store we are going to! You didn't -tell me it was a store."</p> - -<p>"No more it is. We're going straight to -Mrs. Darling's house, and no place but there. -Here's where we get off."</p> - -<p>The big girl, with the small one, alighted -and turned into the quieter streets, Tibbie,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[21]</a></span> -as before, almost running to keep up with -her long-legged friend.</p> - -<p>They went into Mrs. Darling's by the -back door. In the kitchen stood Miss Catherine -in a coat with jet spangles and a hat -with nodding plumes, pulling on a pair of -tight kid gloves.</p> - -<p>Tibbie at sight of her hung back, murmuring -to Sally, "You didn't tell me! You -didn't tell me!"</p> - -<p>"Now, you'll be sure she don't touch anything, -Sally," said Miss Catherine, looking -Tibbie over.</p> - -<p>"Naw! She won't hurt anything. I've -told her I'll skin her if she does."</p> - -<p>"Are her hands clean? You'd better give -them a wash, anyhow."</p> - -<p>Tibbie dropped her eyes, a little mortified.</p> - -<p>"All right! I'll wash 'em," said Sally.</p> - -<p>"She'd better scrape her boots thoroughly -on the mat, too, before going up."</p> - -<p>"I'll look after all that, Miss Catherine. -Just you go long with an easy mind."</p> - -<p>"Well, I'm off. I won't be long. Why -don't you give her a piece of that cake? It's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[22]</a></span> -cut. But make her eat it down here. Good-night, -little girl. I guess you never was in a -house like this before. Good-night, Sal. Is -my hat on straight?"</p> - -<p>She was gone, and the whole house now -belonged to Sally and Tibbie. They looked -at each other in silence a moment; the glee -they felt came shining to the surface of their -faces and made them grin broadly at each -other.</p> - -<p>"She's particular, ain't she?" said Sally.</p> - -<p>"I just as soon wash them again, but -they're clean. I thought you said she was -gone off to a party and going to be gone till -real late."</p> - -<p>"Law!" roared Sally, and plumped down -to contort herself in comfort. "She thought -it was Mrs. Darling herself! Law! law!"</p> - -<p>Tibbie laughed, too, but not so heartily, -and the great time began.</p> - -<p>Sally went for the cake-box, and Tibbie -made a thoughtful selection; and "Who'll -ever find a few crumbs?" said Sally. "Come -along!"</p> - -<p>The great child and the little, full of a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[23]</a></span> -sense of play, went up the stairs hand in -hand. Tibbie could scarcely take account -of what was happening to her, such was the -pure delight of the adventure.</p> - -<p>"This is the dining-room; this is the sitting-room; -this is the receiving-room; this, -now prepare—this is Mrs. Darling's own -room!"</p> - -<p>Up went the light; the rose-paper walls, -the rose-chintz dumpy chairs, the silver-laden -dressing-table, the pink and white draped -bed, leaped into sight. Tibbie stood still, -open-lipped.</p> - -<p>"Ain't it handsome?" asked Sally, with -the pride of indirectly belonging to such -things. "Come along, I'm going to wash -your hands in Mrs. Darling's basin."</p> - -<p>She drew Tibbie, who gazed backward -over her shoulder, into the little alcove where -the marble wash-stand was, and turned on -stiff jets of hot and cold water together. At -the sweet odor of the soap tablet pushed -under her nose, Tibbie's attention was won -to the operations of washing and wiping.</p> - -<p>"But where is there a hundred of any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[24]</a></span>thing?" -she asked, faintly, looking all -about.</p> - -<p>"Oh, this ain't it yet! This is only like -the outside entry. Now, Miss Tibbs, what -kind of scent will you have on your hands?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, Sal!"</p> - -<p>"Shall it be Violet, or Russian Empress, -or—what's this other—Lilass Blank? or the -anatomizer played over them like the garden-hose?"</p> - - -<p>They unstopped the bottles in turn, and -drew up out of them great, noisy, luxurious -breaths. "This, Sally, this," said Tibbie at -the one with the double name like a person. -Sally poured a drop in her little rough, red -hands, and she danced as she rubbed them -together.</p> - -<p>"Why are the little scissors crooked?" she -asked, busily picking up and putting down -things one after the other. "What for is -the fluting-irons? What for is the butter in -the little chiny jar? What's the flour for in -the silver box? Oh, what's this? Oh, Sal, -what's that?"</p> - -<p>Sally picked up the powder-puff and gave<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[25]</a></span> -her little friend, who drew back startled and -coughing, a dusty dab with it on each cheek. -"It's to make you pale," she said. "It ain't -fashionable to be red." She applied the puff -to her own cheeks as well. The two stood -gazing in silent interest at themselves in the -mirror, and gradually broke into smiles at -the incongruous reflection. Sally suddenly -bent one cheek, hitched up one shoulder, and -brushed half her face clean; then did the -same by the other cheek with her other -shoulder. Tibbie, who had watched her, -aped her movement faithfully. They looked -at themselves again, and Tibbie remarked, -"But I ain't red, anyhow."</p> - -<p>"Law! that you ain't! When are you -going to begin to get some fat on your -bones, Tibbie, or to grow?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Who's the gentleman, -Sal, in the pretty frame?"</p> - -<p>"That's Mrs.'s husband. He ain't been -living some time."</p> - -<p>"Oh, he isn't living. Listen, listen, Sally! -What's that noise I keep hearing? I've -heard it ever since we came."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</a></span></p> - -<p>Sally listened. "That? That's Jetty. It's -a little bit of a dog, up at the top of the -house."</p> - -<p>"Oh, a little bit of a dog! Why does he -bark all the time?"</p> - -<p>"I guess Mrs. Bonnet shut him up there -alone in the dark till she came back from -gadding with Miss Pittock."</p> - -<p>"Couldn't we get him, Sally? I hate to -hear him. I want to see him awfully."</p> - -<p>"All right. You wait here. But don't -you hurt anything, or I'll skin you, sure, like -I told Miss Catherine. And whatever you -do, don't you go into the little room till I -come back."</p> - -<p>"Is the hundred there?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, it's there."</p> - -<p>Tibbie, left alone, looked at the half-open -door a minute, then turned away from it: all -was so interesting, anyhow, she could wait -with grace. With the palm of her hand, -which she frequently stopped to smell, she -stroked the fine linen pillows on the bed, -and the white bear rugs on the floor, and the -curtains: everything felt so soft. She ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</a></span>amined -the features of the Rev. Dorel Goodhue -with approbation, proposing to ask Sally -whether she knew him.</p> - -<p>The bark came nearer and nearer; when -the door opened, in tumbled a small silky -ball of black dog, who almost turned himself -inside out in his delight at being in -human company again. He ran floppily -about and about the floor, in his conscious, -cringing, graceful way, waving his tail round -and round, tossing back his long silk ears to -bark and bark.</p> - -<p>At last the girls between them had him -caught. He was squeezed tight in Tibbie's -arms, where he wriggled and twitched, covering -her cheeks and ears with rapid dog-kisses, -interspersed still with rapturous -barks. "Oh, oh!" cried Tibbie, trying vainly -to hold him still long enough to get a -good kiss at him. "Isn't he soft? Isn't -he sweet? And he has a yellow ribbon. -Oh, do keep quiet, doggie dear—you -tickle!"</p> - -<p>"I don't think we will bother any more -about seeing the hundred," said Sally, a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[28]</a></span> -feigned coldness in her tone, and stood aloof -watching child and dog.</p> - -<p>"I had forgotten, honest, Sally."</p> - -<p>"Put him down and come on, then."</p> - -<p>"Mayn't I hold him and come too?"</p> - -<p>"No; for when you see 'em, you'll drop -him so quick you'll like as not break his -legs."</p> - -<p>"All right. Down, Jetty! Down, sir! -Come along, Jetty; come right along, dear!"</p> - -<p>"Wait a minute. I'll go in first and turn -up the light. When I sing out, you come -on."</p> - -<p>She went ahead, and Jetty precipitated -himself at her heels. Tibbie stooped with -anxious inducing noises, and "Come back, -sir! Come back!"</p> - -<p>"Ready!" shouted Sally.</p> - -<p>Tibbie made a bound for the door, but at -a step's distance was overcome by a curious -timidity, and instead of bolting in, pulled -the door towards her tremulously, and pushed -aside the lace hanging with a cold hand.</p> - -<p>There lay the hundred, all on a couch under -the gas-light, arranged as in a show<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[29]</a></span>-window, -propped by means of silk cushions -so as to form a solid sloping bank—the -hundred beautiful dolls.</p> - -<p>"Well, ma'am?" asked Sally, expectantly.</p> - -<p>Tibbie said nothing, but looked at them -vaguely, full of constraint.</p> - -<p>"Well, I never!" said Sally. "Don't you -like 'em? What on earth did you expect, -child? Well, I never! Well, if it don't beat -all! Why, when I was a young one—Why, -Tibbie girl—don't you think they are -<i>lovely</i>?"</p> - -<p>"Yes," she whispered, moving her head -slowly up and down, then letting it hang.</p> - -<p>"Aw, come out of that," said Sally, understanding. -"Come, let's look at 'em one by -one, taking all our time. Come to Sally, -darling, and don't feel bad. We'll have lots -of fun."</p> - -<p>She took the not unwilling Tibbie by the -hand, and led her nearer the banked splendor.</p> - -<p>The dolls were all of a size, and, undressed, -would with difficulty have been told apart, -except, perhaps, by their little mothers. All<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[30]</a></span> -were very blond and wide-eyed and bow-lipped; -all, though dressed like little ladies, -had the chubby hands of infants; and their -boots were painted trimly on with black, -and their garters with blue. But how to -render the coquettish fashionableness with -which these wax-complexioned darlings were -tricked out! all equally in silks and satins -and velvets and lace, so that there could be -no jealousies; all with hats of like beauty -and stylishness.</p> - -<p>Sally seated herself on the floor beside the -low couch, and pulled Tibbie down into her -lap, who drew up Jetty into hers. Tibbie -had recovered the power to speak, but was -still unduly sober and husky.</p> - -<p>"I had almost guessed it, you know," she -said, "when you said like angels with hats -on. But I couldn't think there would be a -hundred unless it was a store. What has -the lady so many for?"</p> - -<p>"Bless your heart! They ain't for herself! -They are for orphans in a school that -a minister-cousin of hers is superintendent -of. She has been over a month making<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[31]</a></span> -these clothes. Every Wednesday she would -give a tea party, and a lot of ladies come -and sit stitching and snipping and buzzing -over the dolls' clothes the blessed afternoon. -And I washed the tea things after -them all!"</p> - -<p>"They are for the orphans. Are there a -hundred orphans?"</p> - -<p>"I guess likely."</p> - -<p>"Suppose, Sally—suppose there were only -ninety-nine, and some girl got two!"</p> - -<p>"Well, we two have got a hundred for to-night, -Tibbie, so let's play, and glad enough -we've got our mothers. Look, this is the -way you must hold them to be sure of not -crumpling anything."</p> - -<p>She slipped her hand deftly under a doll's -petticoats, and they peeped discreetly at the -dainty under-clothes, crisp and snowy, more -lace than linen.</p> - -<p>"My soul and body! Did you ever see -the like!" exclaimed Sally, spurring on Tibbie's -enthusiasm by the tone of her voice, -making the wonder more, to fill her little -friend's soul to intoxication. Tibbie easily<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[32]</a></span> -responded. She fairly rocked herself to and -fro with delight.</p> - -<p>"And not a pin among 'em," sighed Sally. -"All pearl buttons and silk tying-strings and -silver hooks and eyes; and, mercy on my -soul! a little bit of a pocket in every dress, -with its little bit of a lace pocket-handkerchief -inside. D'you see that, Tibbie? And -not two alike!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, but there are some <i>'most</i> alike!" said -the quick-eyed Tibbie; "only, scattered far -apart. There are three with the little rose-bud -silk, and here's more than one with the -speckled muslin. Perhaps those will be given -to sisters."</p> - -<p>"Come on, Tibbie; let's choose the one -we would choose to get, if we was to get -one given us. Now, I would like that one -in red velvet. It's just so dressy, ain't it, -with the gold braid sewed down in a pattern -round the bottom. Which would you -take?"</p> - -<p>"I should like the one all in white. She -must be a bride; see, she has a wreath and -veil and necklace. I should like her the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[33]</a></span> -very best. But right after that, if I could -have two, I should like this other in the -shade-hat with the forget-me-nots, and -forget-me-nots dotted all over her dress. -And, see! the sky-blue hair-ribbon. If I -could just have three of them, then I would -take this one too, with the black lace shawl -over her head fastened with roses instead of a -hat. She has such a lovely face! And after -her I would choose this one in green—or -this one in pink; no, this one here, Sally, -just look—this one in green and pink. And -you, if you could have more than one, which -would you choose, after the red one?"</p> - -<p>"Well, I guess I'd choose this one in -white."</p> - -<p>"Oh no, Sally; don't you remember? -That is the bride, the one I said the very -first. You can have all the others, Sally -dear, except the bride. But let's see, perhaps -there are two brides. Yes!—no!—that -is just a little girl in white, without a wreath. -Should you like her as well? I was the first -to say the bride, you know."</p> - -<p>"Law! I wouldn't have wanted her if I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[34]</a></span> -had known she was a bride! I take this -one, Tibbie—this one with the feathers in -her hat. Ain't she the gay girl, in red and -green plaid! And this purple silk one, and -this red and white stripe, and this—"</p> - -<p>"Wait! That's enough, Sally; that makes -four for you. It's my turn now. If I could -have five, I should take one of the rose-bud -ones—no, two of them, so's to play I had -twins. Say, Sally, let's choose one apiece—first -you one, then me one, till we've chosen -them all up, and got fifty apiece. Your turn."</p> - -<p>They chose and chose, pointing each time, -and detailing the costume of the chosen one -aloud with the greatest enjoyment.</p> - -<p>Jetty had laid himself down beside them, -stretched his silky length, his nose between -his paws. He was very tired. Perhaps -among the things his great moist eyes were -wondering about was the reason of this fatigue -in his vocal chords.</p> - -<p>"For my forty-fifth one," said Sally, placing -her forefinger pensively against the side -of her nose, "I choose her—her with the little -black velvets run all through."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[35]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Taken already," said Tibbie, promptly.</p> - -<p>"Then her over there, with the short puffy -sleeves."</p> - -<p>"Taken!"</p> - -<p>"She taken too? Well, then, her in the -pink Mother Hubbard with the little knitting-bag -on her arm."</p> - -<p>"Taken, Sally! Can't you remember anything? -Those belong to me; I chose them -long ago. These are the only not taken -ones; here and here and here and here and -here and here and—"</p> - -<p>"Aw, you're a great girl!" cried Sally, -suddenly throwing her arms around Tibbie -and casting herself backward on the floor -with her, where they tumbled and rolled, -laughing, Jetty jumping about on top of -them, barking hoarsely in a frenzy of fun.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Tibbie, ain't we having a time of it?"</p> - -<p>And Tibbie almost shouted, "Yes!—ain't -we having a time of it!"</p> - -<p>"Ain't this a night?"</p> - -<p>"Oh yes!—ain't it a night!"</p> - -<p>Sally tickled and poked her affectionately; -and she tried to tickle Sally, and laughed till<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[36]</a></span> -she was almost hysterical, and never remembered -who she was, or thought of anything -outside this little room, but was filled with a -sense of the crazy deliciousness of the moment.</p> - -<p>At last, weak with laughter, she disentangled -herself from the still panting and -laughing Sally on the floor, and insisted on -returning to the business of the distribution. -She felt in the mood to be very funny. She -jerked herself up and down and all about in -a senseless sort of way.</p> - -<p>"Here, Sally, now stop laughing and let's -finish. It was your turn. You'd best take -that one; she looks more as if she might be -a little girl of yours, her cheeks are so red—red -as a great big cabbage!" This remark -seemed to Tibbie so inexpressibly humorous -that she laughed again till she nearly cried.</p> - -<p>"Well, it's sure none of 'em has legs to -make 'em look like children of yours," retorted -Sally; and that seemed a greater joke -still. With a foal's action, Tibbie flung out -the thin black legs with the awkward boots -at the ends of them, and dropped to the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[37]</a></span> -floor squirming and laughing. Sally caught -her suddenly again, and cast herself backward -with her as before, in a gale of mirth.</p> - -<p>There they were frolicking, when the peal -of a bell rang brightly across their giggles.</p> - -<p>Sally sat up instantly, and all in Mrs. -Darling's house was for a long moment still -as the very grave, for Sally had instinctively -clapped her hand over Jetty's ready -muzzle.</p> - -<p>"Murder!" whispered Sally, solemnly, at -last.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" breathed Tibbie in her ear.</p> - -<p>"Was it the front door or the back door?" -asked Sally.</p> - -<p>"I dun'no', Sally."</p> - -<p>Sally had picked herself up, and was stroking -down her things.</p> - -<p>Tibbie stood beside her, looking up in her -face, her own a trifle pale.</p> - -<p>Sally's irresolution lasted only a second. -She cast an eye on the dolls, saw that they -were very nearly as she had found them, -and turned down the light. She looked -about Mrs. Darling's room to see that all<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[38]</a></span> -was as usual, and turned down the lights -there too, after glancing at the clock.</p> - -<p>"It ain't late," she murmured. "It ain't -a bit later than I supposed. It can't be her! -It might be Mrs. Bonnet, though, getting -home before Catherine, who's got the key. -I shouldn't want her to catch you here for -the whole world. Look here, Tibbie. You -stand in here till I find out who it is, and if -it's Mrs. Bonnet, you'll have to stay hidden -till I find a good chance to come and smuggle -you down."</p> - -<p>Tibbie waited in the farthest corner of the -hall closet, holding her breath, conscious of -nothing at first but excitement and fear of -she did not know quite what. After a little, -the thought drifted across her fervent hope -for present safety, that though she got well -out of this scrape, she would probably never -see those radiant dollies again, her own half -or Sally's.</p> - -<p>She heard a whiffling and scratching at -the closet door. Here was Jetty, dear Jetty, -whose actions would surely betray her to -Mrs. Bonnet when she came that way. Tib<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[39]</a></span>bie -whispered: "Go right away, Jetty. -There's no one in this closet; go right -away!" and pressed backward to the wall, -among the water-proofs, feeling like a little -criminal with the police on her track.</p> - -<p>"Tibbie!" came Sally's voice from the -foot of the stairs: it sounded perfectly calm, -and pleasant with a sort of company pleasantness. -"It's all right. It's just a friend -dropped in for a moment. You can go in -again and play a little longer. Turn up the -light carefully. But remember what I told -you."</p> - -<p>Tibbie instantly forgot all her fears. She -came out and picked up Jetty; she kissed -him, explaining why she had told him to -go away. The doggie seemed to bear no -malice.</p> - -<p>Tibbie tiptoed into the doll-room, and established -herself on her knees before the -dolls, happier than before, with a profounder -happiness, in a stiller, almost devotional -mood. It was so different being alone with -them, having them quite to herself, to play -with in her own way. She took up the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[40]</a></span> -bride with a reverent hand, and after long -contemplating her, very seriously, tenderly -kissed her. Then, touching them as if they -had been snow-flakes almost, she moved the -impressive little persons about, until her -fifty were on one side and Sally's on the -other.</p> - -<p>"I can't play they're a family," she reflected; -"they are too many all the same -age, and all girls. I will play they are a -hundred girls in an orphan asylum—a very -rich orphan asylum—and that I am the superintendent. -To-morrow I am going to give -each a beautiful doll for a Christmas present. -This little girl's name is Rosa. That -one is Nelly. That one is Katy. That one -is Sue." She named every one, passing -through the list of such names as Golden-locks, -Cherrylips, Diamondeyes, to end with -such invented ones as Kirry, Mirry, Dirry, -Birry. They seemed so much completer with -names. Tibbie would say, "Miss Snowdrop!" -And Miss Snowdrop, with Tibbie's assistance, -would rise, answering, "Yes, ma'am." -"Spell knot." "N—O—T!" "Not at all,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[41]</a></span> -my dear. Sit down again, my dear. Miss -Lily; stand up, miss, and see if you can do -any better this morning."</p> - -<p>Suddenly, after having taken the asylum -through a day's exercises, Tibbie tired of -being the superintendent. She craved a relation -more intimate, more affectionate, with -the dollies. She did not believe a superintendent -would have kissed and fondled them -as she longed to do. She selected a dozen -or so, to play they were her children. She -gave them their supper; she washed them -and made them say their prayers. She told -them it was bedtime, and she would now -rock them to sleep. She turned down the -light, to make all very real, and drawing out -a low rocking-chair that seemed made for -her purpose, seated herself in it with two -dolls on each arm, the rest made as comfortable -as possible on her lap; for not one -of them, after being included in the family, -could, of course, be left out of the rocking. -She rocked gently, now hushing, now -singing "Bye-low-low-baby," her maternal -heart swollen very large. In time, one of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[42]</a></span> -the daughters became fractious and restless; -she had to have medicine, and the rocking -for her sake had to become almost violent. -Nothing would soothe her but that the chair -should rock backward and forward to the -very tip ends of its rockers. This had its -good effect at last; all the dolls were fast -asleep, and the mother, her duty done, composed -herself to take a well-earned rest too. -This thought was no doubt suggested to -Tibbie by the fact that she was really getting -sleepy. It was long past her bedtime.</p> - -<p>She was not far from napping when she -became aware of Sally saying: "Lively, Tibbie! -Miss Catherine has got back. We -must be packing off home. I declare I lost -sight of the time. There's just no one like a -fireman to be entertaining, I declare. Mrs. -Bonnet won't be long coming now."</p> - -<p>She turned up the light, and saw the dolls -so disarranged.</p> - -<p>Tibbie was rubbing her eyes.</p> - -<p>"Law!" said Sally, a little blankly. "Do -you suppose we can get them to look as -they did? I hope t' Heaven she didn't know<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[43]</a></span> -which went next to which. Do you remember, -Tibbie, where each belonged?"</p> - -<p>"Yes. The bride went here. The rose-buds -here. The purple and gray here. I -can put them all back, every one."</p> - -<p>"Oh, we're all right!" said Sally, cheerfully -again. "No one'll ever know in the -world they've been disturbed."</p> - -<p>She had drawn off to get the general effect, -and compare it with the earlier image -in her brain, when she made a dive for one -of the dolls, the last one, that the sleepy -Tibbie had handed her up off the floor.</p> - -<p>"Tibbie!" she said, in a ghastly whisper, -"look at its head!"</p> - -<p>Something had happened to it, certainly. -Its pink-and-white face was pushed in; it -looked very much as if a chair-rocker had -gone over it. Tibbie looked at it, not understanding -at all.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Tibbie!" groaned Sally, "now what'll -we do!"</p> - -<p>"I didn't do it," said Tibbie, lifting a pale -face with perfectly truthful eyes. "I was -just as careful! She was one of my daugh<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[44]</a></span>ters; -I had her in my lap rocking her to -sleep with the others; she must have slipped -off my lap—there were too many for one -lap, I guess—but I didn't step on her. -Sure, Sally—sure as I live, I didn't step on -her!"</p> - -<p>"Oh, law! You must have rocked on -her. Oh, Tibbie, what'll I do!"</p> - -<p>She picked up the doll to examine it, but -saw at once that the little face could not be -made right again.</p> - -<p>Tibbie watched her without a word; her -voice seemed to have sunk far below reach.</p> - -<p>Sally moved the dolls about tentatively, -so that ninety-nine should cover the same -space as a hundred. Certainly at first -glance the one she held would never be -missed. "But what's the good?" she said, -throwing it down. "They'll count them, -and there'll be the mischief of a fuss. Oh, -Tibbie"—and she had reached the end of -her good-nature—"why did I ever think of -bringing you here? Now look at all the -trouble you've brought on me, when I thought -you'd be so careful! And I told you and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[45]</a></span> -told you till I was hoarse. And here you've -ruined all!"</p> - -<p>Tibbie's eyes could not bear to meet Sally's. -She stood with her hands behind her, -speechless and motionless, in the middle of -the floor.</p> - -<p>"I declare I don't know what to do!" Sally -exclaimed, dropping her arms and sitting -down before the wreck. "I wish I'd never -seen 'em! I wish there'd never been any -Christmas! Oh, it's a great job, this! Tibbie, -you've done for me this time!"</p> - -<p>At this moment Miss Catherine came in -to hurry them.</p> - -<p>"She's broken one of them!" blurted out -Sally.</p> - -<p>"You don't mean it!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, she has!"</p> - -<p>"Let me see it. Oh, you wicked child! -She's smashed its face right in! Now who -ever heard of such naughtiness?"</p> - -<p>Tibbie twisted about ever so little, to get -her back turned towards the two.</p> - -<p>"She didn't do it out of naughtiness at -all, Miss Catherine. She's as good a child as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[46]</a></span> -ever lived!" At that Tibbie's shoulders gave -a little convulsive heave. "It was an accident -entirely. But that's just as bad for -me. I suppose I shall have to say it was -me did it."</p> - -<p>"And then they'll say what was I doing -while the kitchen help was poking about in -the Mrs.'s chamber. No; you don't get me -into trouble, Sally Bean! You'd much better -say how it was—how that you asked me -if you just might bring a little girl to look, -and I said you might, out of pure good-nature, -being Christmas is rightly for children, -and I've a softness for them. And -while we was both in the kitchen, she slipped -away from us and came here and done it -before we knew. And the child herself will -say that it was so. You'll be packed off -dead sure out of this place if you let on you -meddled with them yourself. She won't -have her things meddled with—There -goes the bell. There comes that old cat -Bonnet."</p> - -<p>She hurried off to open.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" said Mrs. Bonnet,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[47]</a></span> -elevating her eyebrows as she appeared at -the door and looked into the room she had -expected to find dark and still. She held a -paper bag; she spoke with an impediment -and a breath of peppermint. Her cheek-bones -and the end of her nose were brilliant -pink with the cold. "What child is that?"</p> - -<p>Miss Catherine was behind Mrs. Bonnet. -"It happened this way, Mrs. Bonnet," she -began, and told the story with a little tactful -adaptation to the intelligence of her audience, -ending, "And now, Mrs. Bonnet, what's -to be done?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, you wicked little brat!" said Mrs. -Bonnet. "I just want to get hold of you -and shake you!"</p> - -<p>She made a snatch at Tibbie, who instinctively -got beyond her clutch, and turning -scared eyes towards Sally, said, just audibly, -"I want to go home; I want to go -home."</p> - -<p>"It don't seem possible," said Mrs. Bonnet, -bitterly, "that I can't run out a minute -just to do an errand for Mrs. Darling herself—to -get a spool of feather-stitching silk—but<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[48]</a></span> -things like this has to happen. Catherine, -I thought you, at least, was a responsible -person, and here you has to go and—"</p> - -<p>"Mrs. Bonnet," Catherine interrupted, "you -just let that alone! Don't you try none of -that with me! I went out of an errand -every bit as much as you did. I went out -to make sure the ice-cream would be sent -in good season for Christmas dinner, I did. -Now I don't get dragged into this mess one -bit more than you do!"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Bonnet looked at her with a poison-green -eye. She seemed to be repressing -what was a trifle difficult to keep the upper -hand of.</p> - -<p>"Well," she exclaimed at last, "Mrs. Darling -will be here in a minute, and then we -shall all see what we shall see. Lord, ain't -that woman been cross to-day, and fussy! -'Tain't as if she was like other people—a -little bit sensible, and could take some little -few things into consideration, and remember -we are all human flesh and blood. Not -much! She don't consider nothing, nor nobody, -nor feelings, nor circumstances! She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[49]</a></span> -just makes things fly! Things has to go her -way, every time!"</p> - -<p>"I want to go home," cried Tibbie, pathetically, -and looked towards Sally now -with a trembling face.</p> - -<p>"No, you sha'n't go home," said Bonnet, -uglily. "You shall stay right here and take -the blame you deserve, after spoiling the -face of that handsome doll. What do you -mean by it, you little brat, you little gutter -imp?"</p> - -<p>"You let her alone, Mrs. Bonnet," said -Sally, with a boldness that had never before -characterized her relations with that lady. -"Don't you talk to her like that! Any one -can see she's as sorry as sorry can be for -what she's done, and all the trouble she's -got us into—"</p> - -<p>"And what does that help, I'd like to -know? The doll is broke, ain't it? And -some one of us is going to catch it, however -things go. You're a lucky girl, I say, if you -don't lose your place. Some one of us is -going to, I can easy foretell."</p> - -<p>"I ain't going to lose my place," said Miss<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[50]</a></span> -Catherine, firmly; and with a lifted chin was -leaving to lay off her things, when the cook's -nice copper-saucepan face was pushed a little -inside the door.</p> - -<p>"What's the matter?" she asked, cheerily, -and stepped in. Her high-colored shawl -was pinned on her breast with a big brooch; -her bonnet-strings were nearly lost in her -fat chin. "What's it all about? Whose -nice little girl is this?"</p> - -<p>Gradually she got the whole story, and -going straight to Tibbie lifted her miserable -little face, saying: "Don't you feel bad one -bit, darlin'! It was all an accident, and it's -no good crying over spilt milk. And if Mrs. -Darling gets mad at you, she ain't the real -lady I take her for. Why, I gave my Clary -a new doll to-night, and it's ready for a -new head this minute. And did I stop -to rear and tear about it? Not a bit of it. -Why, bless you, she didn't go for to do it! -What child smashes a doll a purpose? You're -a pretty set, the whole gang of you, to pitch -into a mite like this!"</p> - -<p>Tibbie by this time was freely weeping,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[51]</a></span> -and Sally and the cook together were trying -to comfort and silence her.</p> - -<p>"I've a great mind to stay here myself and -stand up for her, yer pack of old maids, the -lot of yer!" said the cook, looking hard at -Mrs. Bonnet, who had reappeared without -her hat and coat.</p> - -<p>"You will oblige me, Mrs. MacGrath, by -doing nothing of the sort," said Mrs. Bonnet. -"We've no need to have a whole scene -from the drama. You've no business on this -floor anyhow, and I must insist on your keeping -yourself in your own quarters."</p> - -<p>"And I'll take my own time, yer born -Britisher," said Mrs. MacGrath. Then putting -her arm around Tibbie: "Well, Tibbie -dear, you can be sure of this: however -bad this seems, it'll soon be over. And if -Mrs. Darling does scold, it'll soon be over -too. It'll all be looking different to you in -the morning. However things goes, you'll -soon be forgetting all about it. And to-morrow -is Christmas Day, that our own dear -Lord was born on, and I'll bake you a little -cake and send it to you by Sally."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[52]</a></span></p> - -<p>"But Sally's going to be sent away," -sobbed Tibbie.</p> - -<p>"So she might be, but I feel it in my little -toe that she ain't going to be."</p> - -<p>"Well, and if I am, I am, and there an -end," said Sally, bravely. "But I don't see -why she can't take the price of the doll out -of my wages and let me stay."</p> - -<p>"I think you'll find," said Mrs. Bonnet, -"that it ain't most particularly the cost of -the doll gets you into trouble—There she -comes this minute!"</p> - -<p>The door-bell had rung. Profound silence -reigned above, while all listened. Tibbie -stopped crying.</p> - -<p>"Good-night," came Mrs. Darling's sweet -voice, presently, floating up from the foot of -the stairs.</p> - -<p>"Good-night," came the Rev. Dorel Goodhue's.</p> - -<p>There was a rustle of silken skirts.</p> - -<p>"Oh, Cousin Cynthia!"</p> - -<p>"Yes?"</p> - -<p>"At ten, did you say—or half past?"</p> - -<p>"I said ten—<i>or</i> half past. Good-night."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[53]</a></span></p> - -<p>More rustling of skirts; then,</p> - -<p>"Oh, Cousin Dorel—"</p> - -<p>"Yes?" from the foot of the stairs.</p> - -<p>"It doesn't matter—what we spoke about, -you know, unless perfectly convenient."</p> - -<p>"Oh, but it will be convenient, perfectly. -Good-night. Sleep well."</p> - -<p>"You too. Pleasant dreams. Good-night."</p> - -<p>"Good-night."</p> - -<p>The rustling drew nearer, and Mrs. Darling -stood in the doorway, looking with a sort -of absent-minded astonishment at the assemblage -in her room.</p> - -<p>The violets were quite dead on her white -bosom; her hair was beginning to come -loose, and stood out in golden wisps about -her flushed face. She looked very sweet -and soft and shiny-eyed and pleasant altogether.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" she asked; and as Jetty -was evoluting and clamoring about her feet -she picked him up and kissed him like a -mother. "Has anything happened? What -is everybody doing up here? Whose little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[54]</a></span> -girl is this sitting up so late? They used to -tell me I should never grow, my dear, if I -sat up so late—"</p> - -<p>"This is what it is, ma'am," began Mrs. -Bonnet; and she told her arrangement of -the story, uttering her words as a mowing-machine -cuts weeds.</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling abstractedly took the rocking-chair; -as she listened, the pleasant, happy -look forsook her face.</p> - -<p>"Oh, cut it short!" she interrupted, sharply. -"What you have to tell is that the -child there has broken one of the dolls, isn't -it?"</p> - -<p>There was an assenting mutter from Mrs. -Bonnet.</p> - -<p>"And you've kept her here, when she -ought to have been in bed these hours, to -bear the first beauty of my displeasure—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling had said so much in a hard -voice, with an appearance of cold anger; -here her voice suddenly died, and she burst -out crying like a vexed, injured child. "I -<i>declare</i> it is too bad!" she sobbed, quite -reckless of making a spectacle of herself,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[55]</a></span> -while all looked on and listened in consternation—"I -declare it is too bad! It's no use! -It doesn't matter <i>what</i> I do—it is always -the same! It is <i>always</i> taken for granted I -will conduct myself like a beast. Who can -wonder, after that, if I do? Here I find -them, pale as sheets, the five of them, shaking -in their boots because a forlorn little -child has broken a miserable doll. And <i>what</i> -is it supposed I shall do about it? Didn't I -dress the hundred of them for children, and -little poor children too? And I must have -known they would get broken, of course. -<i>Why</i> did I dress them? <i>What</i> did I spend -months dressing them for? Solely for <i>show</i>, -they think—not for any charity, any kindness, -any love of children, or anything in the -<i>world</i> but to make an effect on an occasion, -I suppose—to make myself a merit with the -parson, perhaps!" Here her crying seemed -to become less of anger and nervousness, and -more of sorrow; one would have thought -her heart-broken. "Oh, it is too bad! One -would imagine I never said a decent thing, -or did a kind act, to any one. And Heaven<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[56]</a></span> -knows it is not for lack of trying to change. -But no one sees the difference! I am treated -like a vixen and a terror. All the people -about me hate and fear and deceive me! A -proof of it to-night! Oh, the <i>lesson</i>! Oh, I -wasn't <i>meant</i> for this! I wasn't meant for -it! When I remember last Sunday's sermon, -and how straight to my heart it went—oh, -I am a fool to cry! Come here to me, -dear child. What is your name? What? -A little louder! What did you say? Tibbie! -Oh, what a nice, funny name!" Mrs. -Darling smiled through her tears, pathetically -hiccoughing and sighing while she spoke. -"<i>You</i> didn't think I was going to scold you, -did you, dear? Of <i>course</i> not! It was an -accident; I understand all about it. I used -to break my dolls' heads frequently, I remember -very well—"</p> - -<p>Mrs. Darling had put her arm endearingly -around Tibbie, and tried to make the -child's head easy on her shoulder. But poor -Tibbie's muscles could not relax; her stiff -little face rested uncomfortably, without -pressing, upon its warm alabaster prop. "Let<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[57]</a></span> -us see, dear, now, what we can do to make -us both feel happier. I dressed all those -dolls for little children I am not acquainted -with at all. Which of them should you like -the very best? Which should you like for -your very own?"</p> - -<p>Tibbie could neither make herself move -nor speak; but the tail of her eye travelled -towards the dolls.</p> - -<p>"The bride!" Sally took the liberty of -saying, beaming as she came to Tibbie's -aid.</p> - -<p>"The bride? Which one is that? That -one? Of course!" Mrs. Darling reached -for the resplendent favorite and placed her -in Tibbie's hands. "There, my dear."</p> - -<p>Tibbie took the doll loosely, without -breath of thanks; but while Mrs. Darling reviewed -the dolls, her hand went out involuntarily -towards the broken one. Mrs. Darling -saw it. "Of course," she said—"of -course, you would want that poor dollie to -nurse back to health. Now, dear, isn't there -<i>one more</i> you would like?"</p> - -<p>At this Tibbie's confusion seemed likely<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[58]</a></span> -to overwhelm and swamp her. "I'll choose -one for you," said Mrs. Darling, "and you -shall call her Cynthia, after me. How would -you like that? Suppose we say this one, -with the forget-me-nots? She looks a little -like me, doesn't she, with her hair parted in -the middle? Her frock is made of a piece of -one of my own, and that blue is my favorite -color. There, Tibbie, now you have two -whole dollies and part of another. You -must run right home to bed. A Merry -Christmas to you, dear child. I am very -happy to have made your acquaintance."</p> - -<p>The exuberant Sally talked like a clock -gone mad all the way home through the -clear wintry night; and since she felt inclined -to conversation, it was well she could -keep one up alone, for Tibbie, who trotted -beside her, holding fast her dolls, did not utter -a single word.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p6"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[59]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="THE_PASSING_OF_SPRING">THE PASSING OF SPRING</h2></div> - - -<p>In the crowded, unbeautiful part of the -city were two streets forming as if the two -long legs of the A we knew as children, the -A with feet wide apart, that stood for Ape. -A third street went from one to the other, as -the little bar does across the A, but crooked, -as a child's hand would draw it. This street -was narrow, gloomy, and relatively quiet. -The tide of traffic kept to the larger streets; -the small street knew, beyond the occupants -of its own houses and visitors to these, few -but hurried foot-travellers who used it as a -short cut, and people of inferior pretensions -coming there to trade. The ground-story -of almost every house was a shop; a person -might have spent a life without real necessity -for leaving the street. Here boots were made<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[60]</a></span> -and mended; in the next door, clothes were -sold (the dim show-windows were full of decent -dresses, very good still for what you -paid; you could be fitted even with a ball-dress, -all beads and satin bows), yonder you -could get money on deposit of your watch, -or your flute, or your ear-drops; farther you -could have yourself shaved. There was a -window full of tarts and loaves; another window -in which a roast fowl set its gold note, -as some would say, between the pink note of -half a ham and the coral note of a lobster.</p> - -<p>Across a certain one of the windows in -that street for a long time had hung from a -line, as from the belt of a savage, tails of hair—black, -brown, blond. Below these, two -featureless wax faces presented their sallow -blankness to the passer, one wreathed with -yellow curls, the other capped with brown -waves of a regular pattern. Ordered around -the twin turned-ebony stands were hairpins, -sticks of cosmetic wrapped in silver paper, -slabs of chalk laid on pink cotton, china pots -with pictures of flowers or beauties and pleasing -inscriptions in French, fuzzy white balls<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[61]</a></span> -of down, combs, gilt-brass ornaments, kid-capped -phials containing amber and ruby -liquids. On the inside of the heavy shutter, -caught back against the street-wall by day, -was pasted a large print. This told you in -what a prodigious way Madame Finibald's -Gold Elixir would make your hair grow, and -showed you the picture of a lady who doubtless -had used it—her hair was extraordinary, -it nearly reached to her feet.</p> - -<p>Perhaps it had been found that the neighborhood -was become hardened to the sight -of the luxuriant pictured hair; perhaps some -who had provided themselves with the small -copy of it, to be obtained inside on a bottle -full of brown stuff, had grown inclined to -treat of it lightly: "Ah, Madame Finibald!" -perhaps one irritated customer had said to -the old proprietress, coming to have made -clear to her why after three bottles of Gold -Elixir her locks were still not thick, still not -glossy and splendid as the announcement -promised they should be, "it's easy to cork -up herb tea. It's easy to make hair long in -a picture, and it's easy to make it thick. I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[62]</a></span> -don't believe there ever was any such person -as that young woman on the label!" One -morning saw a change in Madame Finibald's -window. All the accustomed things were -crowded to the sides to make room for a -chair; on this sat a girl with brown-gold hair -that reached in very truth to the floor.</p> - -<p>On every morning and every afternoon, -through a long winter, first one end and then -the other of the little street was crossed by -a youth who kept to the larger thoroughfares -with the stream. He carried books; he -went rapidly, granting small attention to the -things he passed. It is not from that to be -supposed that he was profoundly thinking. -His face, agreeable in feature and color, was -rather wanting in expression; no more interesting -than it was interested. He passed -at precisely the same hour every morning, -and the time of his passing in the afternoon -varied but little. This, from October unto -April. But when April set its gold stamp -on the weather, had there been any wise person -observing this well—constructed blond -machine, applauding its regularity, holding<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[63]</a></span> -it up perhaps as an example to other young -frequenters of schools and lecture-rooms—that -wise person would have been troubled, -he would have had misgivings, he would -have been at last full of grief.</p> - -<p>A change had come over the young man's -mood. His eye was acquiring a roving habit. -If his step had before been bent on duty, it was -now less directly bent; if before he had been -on time at his appointments, he must now -have been always more or less late. He -walked leisurely, swinging his books by a -strap. He loitered before shop-windows, he -turned to look after a face. The sky smiled -down between the rows of buildings on the -occasion of the first balmy day; little clouds -floated in it, shimmering like dissolving -pearls. He returned the soft sky's compliment; -he looked up at it, the winter sternness -melting from his eyes. At every street -corner he was seen to stop, foolishly smiling -upward; and, yes, positively, he was seen -there, forgetful of all the people, to sigh and -stretch! On that very day he lost three -books out of his strap, and did not for some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[64]</a></span> -time notice it; when he did, he cared nothing! -From a scrawl on the fly-leaf the finder -of these books learned their rightful owner -to be of the house of Fraisier.</p> - -<p>He had come hundreds of miles from an -obscure town to study in this great city; he -had been a serious, mechanical plodder for -months, feeling that he owed it to himself -and to his distant family to fill his head full, -full with precious notions. He had formed -no friendships with his fellow-students, fearing -that they would divert him, or perhaps, -fearing the young fellows themselves, among -whom he felt singularly green. He lived -alone in one little room at the end of the -world, took no holidays, had no fun, went to -bed early so as to be fresh for his book in -the morning. And now, suddenly, he had -completely lost the point of view from which -it had seemed necessary that he should get -dizzily high marks, that he should conquer -field after field in the realm of learning, and -return to his home exuding glory. He could -not persuade himself any more but that it -befitted him perfectly to spend many hours<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[65]</a></span> -strolling through the streets with his hands -in his pockets, amusing his eyes with sights -of every sort. He could find no argument -that satisfied him why he should not lounge -on a garden seat warm with sun, smoking -cigarettes half the day, thinking nothing -profitable. The wretched boy had lost all -sober sense of the duty of man.</p> - -<p>If he had limited himself to sitting idle in -the garden, watching the year develop in that -narrow, charming enclosure, one might have -found an excuse for him, the same as for the -scientist who studies a specimen under a -glass; or, one might have said he had been -overworking, his new circumstances on coming -to the city had induced in him a false -sort of fervor for work—a reaction was to -be expected. But the mood whose first -stage had been simple disinclination for study -and a taste for pointless wanderings, by the -time that in the march of the year the crocuses -had gone, took on developments. It -was not so often before a many-colored -flower-bed he stopped, as before a window -full of hats and bonnets.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[66]</a></span></p> - -<p>If, again, he had limited himself to staring -in at milliners' fronts! The wares there do -somewhat resemble fantastic flowers, and -might explain the interest of a botanist. -But he halted in the same way before shops -that offered no excuse for the same attention; -windows in which were only idle feminine -frocks displayed, flippant fans, frills of fluted -lace, feathery things for the neck.</p> - -<p>One might have imagined from his wonder -and interest that all these things had just -been invented, that they were a strange -spring-crop; that new, too, was the race of -smiling, chatting, shopping beings crowding -the street on sunny days, new and in fashion -only since this spring, such unaccustomed -pleasure spoke in his eye that shyly followed -them in their prettiest representatives. What -exquisite sense shown, O ever-young Creator, -in making the lip red, and the neck white, -and the temperate cheek between white and -red!</p> - -<p>The boy had moments of being drunk in a -glorified way even as is the innocent bee, -with nothing but wandering among flowers.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[67]</a></span> -Owing to a confusion in the ideas attendant -on that mysterious soft travailing among the -atoms of the heart warmed through by spring, -all sorts of things to him were as flowers! -His imagination was so increased in power, -that with nothing but a pair of little shoes in -a show-case to start from he could build up -the most astonishing, dreamy stories: he -could set feet in the shoes and rear a palatial -flesh-and-blood structure over them, as easy -as sigh; fit the whole with graces, laces, circumstances -and adventures—contrive even -to tangle its fate pleasingly with his own.</p> - -<p>Which may make supposed that he was a -youth of some boldness. Far from it. He -scarcely knew what a woman's eyes were like, -except in profile or fugitive three-quarters; -on the other hand, he was well acquainted -with her back hair. Hair, in which he could -pursue long studies unconfounded, seemed -to him the most beautiful thing in all the -world.</p> - -<p>One day, with a view to lengthening the -way by taking a road that though shorter -must from novelty be richer in diversion than<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[68]</a></span> -his daily track, he turned into the little street -that cut off the triangle of the A. He paused -before the window of the worn watches and -sleeve-links; he took his time over the faded -finery of the second-hand clothes shop; he -examined certain yellowed wood-cuts and -stained books he found in a narrow open -stall. As he seemed coming to the end of -the street's resources, he looked over the way -and thoughtfully felt his cheek: he could not -find there what would have justified a refreshing -station at the barber's. He continued -his way slowly, to make it last. Now, he -stopped where several others were likewise -stopping—he had come to Madame Finibald's.</p> - -<p>The girl sat amid her hair, either unconscious -or disdainful of the eyes watching her -beyond the glass. She looked in a book -open on her lap; now and then she turned -over a leaf, sometimes revealing a picture on -the page. Her chair was low, perhaps so -that her hair should amply trail; its lowness -made an excuse for the listlessness of her -posture; her feet were outstretched and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[69]</a></span> -crossed, the passers might know that one of -her shoes was laced with pink twine. If she -moved her eyes from her book a moment, it -was only to sweep them past the faces, unseeing, -and lift them to the strip of sky between -the houses—so blue this day, the little bit -there was of it.</p> - -<p>Her face one scarcely noticed for the first -moment more than any rosy apple; for oh! -her hair!—her hair claimed all the attention -a man had to give, did her shining hair falling -stately along her cheeks, all over her shoulders, -below her waist, beyond her garment—richer, -of course, than any possible queen's -cloak. The light rippled over it, changing -on it all the time, when nothing else in the -window appeared to live.</p> - -<p>Within the shadow of the shop was discerned -a watchful, wrinkled old face, chiefly -differing from a parrot's in the slyness of its -eyes. Fraisier catching sight of it thought -of a witch on guard over a princess enchanted -and imprisoned in a glass-case.</p> - -<p>The little group in front of Madame Finibald's -dispersed, formed anew with other<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[70]</a></span> -faces many times in the hour; Fraisier remained, -his eyes climbing up, sliding down -the golden ropes of hair.</p> - -<p>At last, though the girl gave no sign, he -was made uncomfortable by the sense that -she must, even without looking, have seen -how long he stood. He inquired timidly -of her face. It was informed with a gentle -brazenness, fortified to be stared at all the -day. Yet there was a suggestion of childishness -in its abstracted expression; she -wore the sort of look one has seen on the -face of a little girl playing at being somebody -else far more splendid than herself. -A close observer might have suspected that -she really thought it rather grand to sit there -in the gorgeousness of her hair, and was -amused with pretending not to know that a -soul looked on.</p> - -<p>Fraisier, because her eyes were lowered, -found hardihood to stare his fill at her face. -He surrendered without struggle before the -round cheeks, the short little nose, the good-natured -mouth and chin, which, in truth, took -more than their just space in the face. But<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[71]</a></span> -most—oh, still most! delighted him the -brown-gold hair that tumbled over her forehead -and ears in little curls.</p> - -<p>He was realizing from the mutterings of -what was left him of a conscience how late -it must be getting—he must be taking himself -off; he was making long the one minute -more he allowed himself, when her pupils slid -between the lashes in his direction. He had -lost all presence of mind, he could not withdraw -his glance. After a second's pause -upon his, her eyes slid back to her book and -were hidden. Then, without another thought -towards duty, he crossed the street to the -barber's, from whose window he could see -Madame Finibald's; and, coming forth with -a smoother face than the rose, entered the -little eating-shop next door, from which likewise -he could command Madame Finibald's.</p> - -<p>He went through the little street every day. -He took many atrocious meals in the shop, -on the table nearest the window.</p> - -<p>On such days as brought perfect weather, -the girl in Madame Finibald's would turn -very often to the sky a look easily inter<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[72]</a></span>preted -as longing. Then would Fraisier -look up too and sigh. It seemed such a -pity, this wasted blue weather.</p> - -<p>It seemed such a pity, all this wasted -sweetness, he thought in crossing a public -garden on his occasional unwilling way to a -lecture. The quince-tree blossomed in red; -under the cherry were little drifts of scented -snow; up out of the vigorous, rested earth -were flowers springing in mad, gay multitudes. -The air was silver made air in the -morning; and in the afternoon it was gold -made air. Birds, busily building, busily twittered. -These things did nothing to him, but -the more they were lovely and penetrated the -heart, the more to make him lonesome.</p> - -<p>He took himself away from their radiance -without one regret for them, to spend his -time in preference in an ugly little street -where one could scarcely have known what -season it was, where there was nothing to see -that was beautiful but certain long, long hair. -In thought, though, let it be said in vindication -of spring's power of enthralling, having -done up the hair in braids, and extinguished<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[73]</a></span> -it with a hat, he was always, always guiding -it to the contemned garden. When once it -was in the garden, May there had become -perfect.</p> - -<p>He wondered whether it could be she had -become aware of his persistent presence. He -feared she had, and as often that she had not. -He imagined sometimes that when he looked -her face was quivering with a conquered -desire to smile. That disconcerted him a -shade. Sometimes he thought she looked -suspiciously rosy for a girl unconscious of all -the world. Sometimes he looked away, with -the idea that if he turned suddenly he should -find her stealing a glance at him. But he -dared not look very quickly, lest the action -should be too marked; and turning with discreet -alacrity, he could never feel sure.</p> - -<p>One day, at last, having settled in his mind -that this tame conduct was unworthy of a -man, refusing himself a second in which to -think better of any matter, he crossed the -street and charged the shop. A bell snapped -sharply as he opened the door. It startled -him to the point of gasping. He grew<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[74]</a></span> -crimson, finding himself opposed in truth, as -many a night before in dream, by Madame -Finibald's sly and lowly smile, breathing the -same faintly drug-perfumed air as the princess -breathed, no glass screen between himself -and the hair. He could have touched it, -had he been so bold.</p> - -<p>He stammered a request for soap—scented -soap. He wished himself tens of ten miles -away, or time out of mind dead, when—wonderful! -The maiden in the window -looked frankly over her shoulder. Was it -that her eyes brimmed with friendly laughter, -or did it seem so to him because his head -had become incapable of a true notion? -His heart, so to speak, found its feet; he -made a muddle of every sentence he launched -upon, but his words had a voice behind them. -So much he contrived to convey: he was -very hard to please in the matter of soap. He -sniffed at a variety of proffered tablets, whose -virtues Madame Finibald, in very truth like -a witch with a philter to sell, assiduously set -forth; each cake he examined seemed to -hold in her estimation just a little higher<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[75]</a></span> -place than the foregoing. At the end of ten -minutes, without positively losing her good-humor, -she declared that he had seen all in -the shop, she was sorry and surprised they -could not suit him, they might have a fresh -stock in on the morrow. He was leaving in -clumsy embarrassment, empty handed, with -a promise to return, when the princess -lightly jumped from the window-place, and, -sweeping the hair off her face, said: "There -is one more sort, ma'am. I saw it up there, -high, when I dusted. Let me get it."</p> - -<p>She fetched the steps, and in a moment -had climbed and lifted down a box. She -set it on the counter; she opened it herself -and held towards him, with a direct glance, -a packet with a red rose printed on the -wrapper.</p> - -<p>Madame Finibald, with an exclamation, -snatched it from the girl's hand, and began, -as if here had been a little grandchild recovered -to her old age, to speak with tenderness -of its merits. The girl stood near, twining -and untwining a lock around her finger, -while she unaffectedly looked at the cus<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[76]</a></span>tomer. -Her hair came below her knees; -every moment she had to toss it back out of -her face.</p> - -<p>"Go back to your window, wicked child!" -cried the old witch, suddenly, as if catching -at a piece of gold as it was being taken out -of her pocket. "Go back!"</p> - -<p>"I am tired of sitting!" said the little -princess, twisting her shoulders in her frock -with the prettiest peevishness. "I have sat -and sat and sat! I have finished my story. -Let me go out and get a bun. You know -you said I could when it was noon."</p> - -<p>She caught at her hair, and, to the infinite -wonder of one looking on, began twisting, -twisting, twisting, coiling, coiling, coiling, -driving in great skewers—while he filled his -blissful pockets with rose-scented soap.</p> - -<p>The bell snapped in fretful reprehension -for her passing out. Less than a minute -after, it exclaimed in annoyed surprise for -his.</p> - -<p>Now was he no longer made lonesome by -every coquettish touch the more that the -year put to her toilet. For the girl of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[77]</a></span> -regal hair smiled to him, surreptitiously with -her lips, but unguardedly with her eyes, when -he came by her glass-case; while he dawdled -in the window opposite, she communicated -with him by signs no other eye could have -perceived. Even before their acquaintance -had become very old, she slipped out to walk -in the garden, and they sat on the green seats -and had long, foolish, youthful talks—delightful, -foolish, youthful times.</p> - -<p>Her conversation took an amusing interest -from the peculiarities of her education. She -had seen and heard much in her short life in -a hard world, where it was no one's affair to -keep anything from her young ken—much of -dark, and petty, and unpicturesque—preserving -through all a sort of hardy innocence; -and she had borrowed from a cheap circulating -library a vast lot of fiction dealing with -the supremely grand. Her preference in -literature, however, had remained for fairy -tales, a taste formed when it had been one -of her duties to read aloud to certain little -children of the rich. She knew them by the -score. It was to this, perhaps, some of her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[78]</a></span> -remarks owed the fanciful touch that redeemed -them from the commonness of her -general conversation—a genial commonness, -condoned to such young lips. She had a -childish way of lending a personality to -everything, that amused him more than -epigram would have done. She ascribed -intention to the wind that blew off her hat, -and stopped to express her mind to it. She -assumed consciousness in the bench they sat -on; she wanted to take the same one, lest it -should think they slighted it because it was -rickety, for which it was not to blame. Every -flower was to her a person. "Hush! -They are listening!" she said, looking from -the corner of her eye at a bank of knowing -pansies. She scolded a button for coming -off, as if the want of principle shown -by it had been a thing to revolt her. She -stood in a one-sided relation of good-fellowship -with the brown birds hopping -among the gravel, and the fishes in the -pond; she spared them many crumbs. With -homely good-heartedness she took into an -amused regard all the family of spring—<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[79]</a></span>buds, -blades, insects—addressing speech to -them as if she had been a giant and they a -very little people.</p> - -<p>Never can spring return without Fraisier's -remembering that spring. It was bright; by -it all the springs following have been cast in -the shadow.</p> - -<p>The long hair was woven through and -through his thoughts; but not as a disturbing, -upheaving element. The girl made him -waste a great deal of time, but nothing else—not -the life of his heart. Because of her -good-nature, her entire want of coquetry or -perverseness, his feeling for her complicated -itself in nowise; rather it grew simpler as it -insensibly changed. His wonder and fine -dread at feminine appurtenances had worn -away a little with increased familiarity; he -reposed on that fact as if it had been such -an one as becoming accustomed to the noise -of guns. He felt under delicate obligations -to her for having routed his shyness, and not -at all tormented him in any of the thousand -ways he apprehended a feminine being would -have at her command.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[80]</a></span></p> - -<p>As he was less and less in awe of her and -that suspected arsenal, though a charming, -fearful element went out of his sentiment, -his affection perhaps grew more. She made -such a good little comrade! Insidiously, -she connected herself in his mind with future -days—she who cared only for the day and -the pleasure thereof. When he spoke of a -thing it would be pleasant to do, a place -pleasant to visit, he said, always unreflectingly, -yet from a sincere heart: "Some day -we must go there. Let us do such a thing -some time." When he described the hills -and ponds of home, he said what they might -have done had she been there last summer -or the years before, how they might have -rowed and rambled. He painted the good -time they might have together, in some not -impossible, but not specified time, place, and -circumstances.</p> - -<p>So the green from tender grew brilliant—grew -deep—became void of interest to the -accustomed eye, and more or less dust settled -over it. It was manifest to all that spring -was past.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[81]</a></span></p> - -<p>Then began an anxious time. Those -lectures, those miserable lectures! Those -courses, those wretched courses, which he -had neglected! That blessed information -he had spared to cull when the time was for -it! These things seemed likely to get their -revenge. When he awoke to a sense of his -danger—very late! only when the bloom -was off the year, when lily and early rose -had gone where they could divert no mortal -more—he could not believe that he should -not, by fitting exertion, catch up in time at -the appointed goal. He worked rabidly, -with a wet cloth around his head. He -thought not of girls in those days, I promise -you; he recked not of bronze-gold hair!</p> - -<p>It was written that he should not be -saved. He closed his school term pitiably -conditioned.</p> - -<p>When the worst was known, at least was -time to breathe, however sore the lungs, -then his mind reverted to her. He had -been man enough to harbor no spite towards -her, accuse her of nothing. He sent her a -message and waited at the appointed place,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[82]</a></span> -wondering a little, while he waited, at his -follies of the spring. They seemed so unnecessary, -looked back upon now. Why, -in a very real, practical world like this one, -where a man's failure to pass his exams was -sure to call forth from his progenitor letters -such as his pocket at this moment contained, -conduct one's self as if existing in a world -of lambs and purling streams and shepherdesses? -He was one with the actual world in -looking with astonishment and condemnation -upon his own works. The sky above -was hard, barren blue; it seemed so easy, -looking back, to have stuck to the approved -road. What had possessed him?</p> - -<p>Then she appeared. At sight of her his -heart dropped its armor. She brought back -a whiff of the sweetness of a past atmosphere. -Was it possible he had ever been the happy -boy he seemed to remember! He smiled up -in her face with cheek-muscles stiffened by -disuse, and eyes ringed with studious shadows. -She had on a flimsy frock, printed all over -with little flowers that seemed to him to -smell good; her hair, where the great wad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[83]</a></span> -projected beyond the straw brim, was touched -with a warm, peculiar glory. He had meant -to keep himself well hardened against her, -tell her the various things necessary in a -matter-of-fact way, and bid her good-bye -indefinitely. He felt more like crying with -his disgraced head in her lap.</p> - -<p>He conquered his weakness.... A pretty -man he made!</p> - -<p>He got out with sufficient composure and -dignity what he had to say. He told her all -that had happened, the change it made in -the coming months. He was not going -home for the holidays; he could not endure -to see the folks. He was going into the -country to spend the summer in hard study, -to make sure of "passing" next term. He -was going to the particular place he mentioned -because he had a friend there, a fellow -he had taken up with in the last weeks, one -that had had the same bad luck as himself. -This man's family lived there; it would not -be quite so dreary as being alone.</p> - -<p>She chaffed and consoled him in turns. -Now that the world had gone all wrong with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[84]</a></span> -him, her eyes seemed to him sweeter and -softer than he had ever observed. What a -good, kind little friend! Lord! what a good, -crazy, light-hearted time they had had, and -how pretty she looked to-day! What wonderful, -thrice wonderful hair it was, waving -and ringletting about her glowing summer -face, coiling massively on the back of her -head! No woman on earth had such hair!</p> - -<p>He did wish for a moment that Green, his -new friend, might see her—he was proud of -her. One night, when they had sat grinding -together for mutual assistance, the oil giving -out, Green had told him of a cousin of his. -Fraisier had said nothing of any girl. He -only wished that Green might see the hair -of this girl whose name he had foreborne to -speak.</p> - -<p>Good-bye, Minnie! He should be working -like a slave all through the burning golden -days—let her think of him a little. He -should be very lonesome. When he had -studied until his eyes smarted and his head -swam, there would be nothing pleasant to -do, no one pleasant to talk with—she might<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[85]</a></span> -spare a moment to be sorry for him now -and then. He should be back in the fall. -Bless the beautiful and beautiful and beautiful -hair! Good-bye, Minnie!</p> - -<p>She so little perished from his mind after -their parting that whenever—as Green and -he lay under the trees, withdrawn from the -world and devoted to arduous studies, keeping -off the insects by smoke—Green began -talking about that cousin of his, Fraisier -became half sick with reminiscence. He -could not resist replying by talking—with -the finest, shyest reverence always—of Minnie. -There was a dreamy solace in talking -of her to some one. She described so well, -too; so unusually. He had a proud secret -assurance that as an incident in a man's life -she altogether eclipsed a cousin in interest.</p> - -<p>"How long is your cousin's hair?" he -asked, with assumed casualness, once. Green -stared a little, and confessed not having the -slightest idea. Fraisier opened his arms as -wide as they could go, and said, vaguely -blushing, "The young lady I spoke of has -hair as long as this!"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[86]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Come! I should like to see it!" spoke -Green, in such a tone that Fraisier turned a -deep, vexed red.</p> - -<p>He said nothing, but on the next day took -his books to a different place, choosing to -keep to himself so long as Green did not seek -him with a suitable apology.</p> - -<p>The spot selected by the young men as a -meeting ground lay at an equal distance -between Green's home and the cottage in -which Fraisier had taken up his summer -quarters. It was on the skirts of a wood, -and, by some accident of the land, often cool -when other places were hot. The rolling -pasture it commanded was dotted with -scrubby evergreens, and crossed by a small -brook the cow's hoofs had in some places -trodden broad and shallow. It was colored -in patches with the frequent pink of clover-heads, -surprised here and there with the -white of a long-necked, belated daisy.</p> - -<p>Fraisier took himself to a spot just not so -far from the usual haunt but that Green -when he came might see him.</p> - -<p>It was a fair, soft, simmering morning,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[87]</a></span> -promising a scorching day. He stretched -himself under the trees and lighted a pipe—he -had taken to a pipe in place of cigarettes since -coming into the wilderness. He composed -himself for a serious forenoon's work, deciding -that it was much more profitable, after all, to -study alone—Green was always digressing.</p> - -<p>The spot he had chosen was not so good, -it proved, as the one he had left clear for -Green. A path ran through the woods, just -within the trees; there was a frequent patter -of bare feet on the dust, children with pails -passed looking for things. He waited to -proceed with his theorem till their high -piping, scattered voices had died away. It -was not so cool, either; as a fact, it was -hotter than most places. He did not crave -the exertion of seeking a better; this was at -least shady. He turned over on his back -and closed his eyes, yielding gracefully to -the force of circumstances.</p> - -<p>A light blow in the face, from an acorn, -perhaps, roused him. He thought of Green, -and, instantly broad awake, looked for the -development of some practical joke.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[88]</a></span></p> - -<p>It was not Green—he saw it with a sort of -disappointment. It was one of the berry-seeking -children that had caught sight of him -snoozing, and followed its natural instinct. -A boy's grinning head was seen bobbing -above one of the neighboring bushes. He -turned from it in disgust and felt surlily -about the grass for his pipe, about his person -for a match—</p> - -<p>Gracious powers! what sort did the young -one take him for, with this free persecution? -Another acorn had hit him smartly on the -head.</p> - -<p>"Look out, there!" he called, making a -feint of rising to give chase.</p> - -<p>"Come on!" shouted the boy, gayly, from -behind the bush. There was a burst of -laughter, a flash and flutter of pink, and the -boy, who turned out to be a girl, came precipitately -towards him. She stopped just -short of a collision, and dropped in the grass -panting with laughter. He stared at her -blankly. Every time she looked up and -caught sight of his expression she doubled -herself and fairly writhed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[89]</a></span></p> - -<p>"He doesn't know me!—he doesn't know -me!" she brought forth amid her convulsive -giggling.</p> - -<p>"Minnie! My God! What—what have -you done to yourself?" he exclaimed, and -had no breath left.</p> - -<p>She moderated her laughter, and presented -her smiling face a moment for him to see -well what had happened. She ran her fingers -over her cropped head, ruffling it absurdly, -making the short locks stand on end.</p> - -<p>"Isn't it funny? Doesn't a person look -funny at first? The rest of it is hanging, -like a fairy horse's tail, in the window, across -the picture of the Elixir lady. (Bad old -woman! Cheat! She didn't give me much -for it! But, Natty Fraisier, I would have -taken even less, I did want to come so!) -You poor, lonesome boy! I can stay a whole -week—perhaps more. I have found a place -in the village, just near you. The first child -I met told me all I wanted to know. I -thought it would have been harder. Mercy! -isn't it heavenly still and sweet here, with -hills and cows? I was never in the true<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[90]</a></span> -country before. Mercy! isn't it good? Look -out, you flower there—over there, you, miss! -That is called a bee; he has a terrible stinger—oh, -he is an old acquaintance? Go ahead, -then, and give him a nice swing, and honey -for his tea. Oh, Natty, I am so glad! Aren't -you glad?"</p> - -<p>He choked and cleared his throat. No, -without that voice, never in the world would -he have known her. Before him seemed to -be a common little street-boy who had run -off in a girl's new pink dress and shiny shoes—an -unknown boy whose features had something -painfully familiar. Strange! He remembered -Minnie's face as possessing a certain -harmony in its lines, however childish -and trivial they were; this terrible little impostor, -though not ill favored, was broad of -jaw and narrow of forehead; his eyes even -were not the same, but smaller and nearer -together, while the mouth was larger—its -very proneness to laughter increased its commonness. -And that ridiculous hair—literally -chopped off by an unskilled hand and twisted -here and there with unpractised tongs! It<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[91]</a></span> -was so thick, it had no more light or lustre -than a hearth-brush.</p> - -<p>Her face sobered ever so little as she looked -at him. "What is the matter? Poor dear! -you haven't got over those exams. But I -won't bother, you know, and take up all your -time; I have learned better. I won't interfere -with any work, I promise, Natty. See me -swear? On this algebra! Only, before you -begin and when you have done each day, we -will go for walks and rows. I saw a boat on -the pond. We will have lunch on the grass, -and make a fire with sticks we pick up. -Look! you put three long sticks like that -and hang the kettle in the middle. We will -do all those things we used to plan when we -never much thought there would be a chance. -You poor, lonesome boy, have you been having -a horrid time? We will make up for it -now. Natty, you don't care about the <i>hair</i>, -do you? You needn't. You know, I had -got mortally sick of sitting in that window. -I could not have stood it a day longer. -When a fly buzzed on the pane I wanted to -scream. Again and again I have come near<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[92]</a></span> -putting my foot through the glass at one of -the gaping faces, then jumping down and -catching the old woman while she told lies -about my having used her Elixir faithfully—never -touched a drop!—and dancing her -up and down all around the room until she -dropped. I shall go back to taking care of -little children now, as I did before she found -me. I do love children! And in that business, -I don't mind telling you, I shall do -better without all that hair. No matter how -tight I did it up, some one was always grumbling -that it made too much show. You -mustn't care a bit about the hair, Natty; I -gave it up without a twinge. I cut it off -with my own hands. You have no idea -how much comfortabler this is in hot weather. -My head feels so light! I can dip it in -the water any minute. I do love it like -this!"</p> - -<p>She ran her hands through her hair again, -ruffling it still more fantastically. Fraisier -winced. He was sick beyond calculating -the degree. "Oh, my poor girl!" he contrived -at last to say.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[93]</a></span></p> - -<p>She looked at him more closely than before -in her overrunning joy, and her face -fell a little. No doubt she had seen herself -in mirrors since her alteration, but not in a -real mirror until she saw herself reflected in -his very pale face. She smiled still, but a -little foolishly; then no more, and stopped -chatting. It was as if a stone had been set -to seal up a spring—a large stone laid upon -her bubbling heart. There was a silence.</p> - -<p>He saw that she must be seeing what he -could not keep out of his face. He could -not help it; he could get no control over his -feelings, over his expression. He was not -sure he cared to—he did not try. He was -at sea: he did not know what he felt, what -he did not feel. The bottom seemed to -have dropped out of his heart, out of the -world—out of something, everything. He -knew not! He only knew he was sick—sick, -and incapable of speech, of action, of -reflection.</p> - -<p>"You can't stay here, child," he heard -some one saying, in a matter-of-fact, superficial -voice. "Don't you see, yourself, that<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[94]</a></span> -you can't? For your own sake, I mean. It -would never do, Minnie. You must understand -that. You don't know what a thing -a small country village like this is, for gossip -and slanderous tongues. I couldn't let you -injure yourself so, don't you see?"</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't be proper?" she inquired, -faintly.</p> - -<p>"No, Minnie; no, it wouldn't—at all. -Don't you see it?"</p> - -<p>She got to her feet, full as pale as he now.</p> - -<p>"All right," she said, and after a few mechanical -steps, paused a moment, looking -down, biting her finger—lost in thought, or -waiting for something to happen, for him -to say something further.</p> - -<p>He could not speak—he could not make -himself speak.</p> - -<p>"All right," she said again, very distinctly, -and turned to go without another word.</p> - -<p>"Minnie! Minnie!" he faltered, and had -instinctively cast himself after her. His -outstretched hand almost touched her pink -draperies. She turned on him fiercely, whisking -herself out of reach. He was confront<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[95]</a></span>ed -for a second by a little angry street-boy -face, but with the gathered experience and -woe of half a race in the eyes. "Let me -alone! Don't dare to touch me! Nathaniel -Fraisier, I hate you!"</p> - -<p>She began desperately to run. He saw -her clutch her poor little ruined head, and -heard her cry out, breaking into sobs: "Oh, -my hair! Oh, my hair!"</p> - -<p>He dropped in the grass, face downward, -and pressed his hands over his ears, trembling. -It all seemed so strange, so out of -proportion.</p> - -<p>In the late afternoon of that same hot -day the crabbed little bell on Madame Finibald's -door snapped to let in a tired, dusty -youth, whose dejected face was so flushed, -one's thought at sight of him turned at once -on sunstroke. He leaned wearily over the -counter and asked a few questions, at which -madame's liver seemed so shaken she could -not keep a hold on her good manners. At -the height of her voice she began berating -all the world, and one absent person. Fraisier -tried to calm her, with vague, soothing mo<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[96]</a></span>tions -of his hands patting down the air. -When she subsided enough for him to be -heard, he pointed to a long tail of shining -hair in the window, and spoke again, growing -redder, if possible, than before—so red -that his eyes watered, and he had to shade -them a moment, leaning his elbows on the -counter. She unhitched the hair, shaking it -brutally. He put out his hands in remonstrance. -She flung it down before him with -a forbidding proposition and a deep snort of -malice. Meekly he emptied his purse on -the counter, unfolding the bills, spreading -out the silver and lucky pieces to count, reserving -only for himself a crumpled ticket.</p> - -<p>She watched him with gleeful, avaricious -eyes. After computation, he rose without -breath of argument and went down the -street to pawn his watch and studs and -cigarette-case, returning solvent.</p> - -<p>He left with a rather unsightly parcel in -his hand; the cover was burst in more than -one place. Madame Finibald had not been -so particular as she sometimes was in the -selection of her wrapping-paper. He had no<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[97]</a></span> -overcoat and no pocket large enough to put -his prize in; he was forced to hold it, conscious -how it was heavy and soft and its -contents gleamed through the holes.</p> - -<p>He got home at dark, reporting to his -landlady with his back to the light. He -wanted nothing to eat: there were lamps -and voices in the dining-room. He could -not go to bed, worn out as he was: on the -porch below his window was singing and -picking of strings.</p> - -<p>He went forth into the fields. At last, -beyond all sounds but the summer's own, -he sank on the grass. He did not look up -once at the stars, but lay sprawling with his -forehead on his crossed arms, and let his -heart torture itself at its own good leisure. -He drank deeper and deeper of its dark -bitterness, forcing himself recklessly to it, -reaching a sort of desperate drunkenness. -It seemed to his inexperience there could -be nothing worse at any time in this life -to taste.</p> - -<p>He woke long hours afterwards, wondering -a little at first, feeling somewhat stiff.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[98]</a></span> -The air was warm and still, tremulous with -crickets—thrilled through with the shaken -baubles of the summer's myriad little jesters. -In his sleep he had rolled over; his -face was to heaven. The sky was faint with -starlight; the Milky Way was a road of diamond -sand; the great constellations had -hung themselves with solemn jewels; down -near the rim of the world watched far-spaced -large earnest beacon-lights—but above, the -tiniest irresponsible stars twinkled in and out, -like shining ants in ant-hills. He looked, -almost wondering why his eyes felt so queer—sore -besides heavy; why his breast felt so -heavy. He rose sitting; he was on a hillock. -Like an opaque reproduction of the transparent, -lightsome sky looked the ground -about him, which the scythe had this season -respected; it was dark dotted with -daisies. He rubbed his aching head a little, -then lay back again, the grass shooting -coolly up along his cheeks. After the sound, -dreamless sleep of utter exhaustion from -which he had waked, because he had drained -it to satisfaction, his head was numbed, but,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[99]</a></span> -the little it worked, clear in its working; his -heart was sore, but quieted. Something had -changed; all wore another aspect; all seemed -farther removed. Hours had gone by already, -a month would go—a year—fifteen -years. This would be lived out of memory. -If it is realized that a thing must cease, has -it not begun to die already? At the first -one must be patient, and take suffering as -a matter of course. He stretched his limbs -wearily, not entirely deceived by himself, -nor unaware of depths of heartache under -this film of philosophy that had scummed -them over in sleep. He drew his hot palms -over the grass; his hand came upon the -parcel that he had not dared to leave behind -nor to open, that he never would have the -strength to open—and his philosophy was -severely shaken. His heart was near bursting -out afresh; he laid his face on the -wretched, soft, dead little bundle, and agonized.</p> - -<p>Then he revolted against this suffering -that seemed to him undeserved, disproportionate. -He was not a bad fellow; looking<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[100]</a></span> -into his heart, he could declare truthfully -that it was not in him to willingly harm anything—give -any one pain. Why should he -feel so endlessly mean, so endlessly miserable? -He appealed to Minnie, his reasonable -Minnie of old, against this state of things. -He defended himself to her; she defended -him to himself. When all was said, he had -at no time done anything to blame, had that -day said nothing that was not wise and for -the best, that he would not in like case be -forced to say over again. He had been -taken unawares; he had not expressed himself -with tact—he had been fatally slow. -The fact remained that the girl could not -have stayed by him, setting the whole country-side -agog. But if his heart still refused -to be at peace about this matter, let it be -assured he meant to seek till he found the -girl; it must be easy enough to find her, -though he had failed that day. Alas! poor -little forlorn head, shorn of its great gleaming -beauty—poor little discrowned head, at -this hour full of what thoughts, God knew! -He would make all things right to her; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[101]</a></span> -was extravagantly ready to pay any price; -he was lavish of his future, free of all the -gods gave him to give. At the same time -that he made these protestations to himself -and to her, and he was sincere in making -them, he knew that Minnie would never -look at him again—he knew that she had -understood how he was changed with the -change in her; it was beyond his governing, -but she must be forgiven for not forgiving -it. And looking into his man's heart, he -wondered at the mystery of it.</p> - -<p>In that hour of being honest, after revolting -at it, reasoning about it, trying to sophisticate -it away, he came back always to a -hopeless contemplation of it as a simple fact, -not to be done away with. In the face of it -he might clear himself of all blame, perhaps, -but he remained humiliated and full of a -vague pity. As he lay in the grass so, -plucking heedlessly in the dark at the little -tufts, emptied of all pride under the -lofty stars, a dreamy mood followed upon -what degree of success he had in suppressing -feelings he was determined not to en<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[102]</a></span>dure, -so did they hurt! His thoughts in -search of soothing travelled back to days -before last spring, when he could hardly -have conceived what he had this night been -suffering. Peaceful period, but without great -charm, he decided, loyal to his altered taste. -He thought of the past spring, the soft -awakening all without and within a man—the -tender, vast burgeoning, fluttering, shimmering, -outreaching! He judged it sadly -from a midsummer night. Not all were -flowers that put forth in that mad amenity -of nature; no, not all flowers.</p> - -<p>And in connection with all that freshness -and fragrance and beauty of spring, -he thought unavoidably of what had seemed -to his new-quickened heart its very expression, -its chiefest adornment—the gentle -order he loved in so general and devoted a -way. His conjuring head filled with charming -phantoms, pathetic to his sense at this -juncture; they passed, exquisite pageant, -leaving as if a perfume of themselves through -the halls of his mind, not one little grace, -one foolish trick, one dainty manner of be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[103]</a></span>ing, -lost on his worshipping sensibility: silver -laughter—odors of violets—sunny loose -hairs and white hand tucking them behind -the ear—pretty feet tiptoeing across the street -in bad weather—pouted lips cooing to a baby, -or quaintly attempting its own language to a -bird—languid attitudes—belts of a span—caprices—teasing -humors—tenderness—pity for -small creatures—long lashes blinking a tear—queenly -bearing—rods of lily held over bowing -heads with such assurance of power as -never a sceptre—aye, power greater than -any emperor's, founded, dear God—upon -what? at the mercy—of what? And he -yearned and grieved over them, poor youth, -as if he had been their maker.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p6"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[104]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="PAULA_IN_ITALY">PAULA IN ITALY</h2></div> - - -<p>On his way down-stairs Prospero came -upon the <i>padrona di casa</i>.</p> - -<p>She stood at the door of the first floor, -which he had supposed untenanted, the windows -on the street being always dark. She -looked pleased, anxious, and full of business.</p> - -<p>"Just step in for a moment, signorino," -she said, "and tell me what it seems to -you."</p> - -<p>The young man followed her. The windows -of the apartment were wide open—most -likely to let in the heat, for to lean -forth beyond the chill boundary of the -stone walls was like dipping into a warm -bath. The long, old, neatly darned lace -curtains waved gently in the April air. -The stone floors had been sprinkled; a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[105]</a></span> -pleasant freshness arose from them. Everything -had an air of having just been gone -over with a damp dust-cloth; everything -that could be furbished shone to the utmost -of its capacity.</p> - -<p>The little woman led Prospero into the -large <i>sala</i>, from which, through several open -doors, one got glimpses of other airy chambers. -The great height of the ceiling—increased -to illusion by the cunning of the -fresco, which professed to open into the sky -itself, and show a flight of rosy cupids tumbling -among the clouds—had the effect of -dwarfing the furniture, even the gigantic -vases under their shining bells. The seats -were placed about in social groups; in the -embrasure of the balcony window stood a -small table supporting a coral-colored coffee -service, lately placed between two low chairs, -with a view to spreading about suggestions -of cosiness—the joys of intimate life.</p> - -<p>"I see that you are expecting a tenant," -said Prospero.</p> - -<p>"So it is indeed; a great lady—a foreigner," -replied the <i>padrona</i>, under her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[106]</a></span> -breath. "Just see, signorino, what you -make of this name." While she felt in her -pocket she went on: "It is Dottor Segati -sends her to me. Oh, he has sent me -families before when there was a patient -among them; and this apartment has always -given satisfaction; that I can say with my -hand upon my conscience. There—can you -read it? I can tell the letters, but I can't -make the sound. One ought to have another -tongue on purpose for these foreign -names."</p> - -<p>Prospero studied a second, then pronounced, -clearly, "Gräfin Paula von Schattenort."</p> - -<p>"<i>Gräfin</i> means Countess," said the landlady. -"The doctor told me that she is a -Countess; but whether Danish or Swedish -or Hollandish I don't remember. For me -all those countries are the same. Schattenort, -you call it? What would that be in -Italian?"</p> - -<p>Prospero laughed. "It stays as it is, dear -lady. Is this Countess young, do you know?" -he went on, looking again at the name on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[107]</a></span> -the paper he still held. "Is she coming here -for her health?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know anything beyond the fact -that the doctor engages the rooms for her, -and I can rely upon him. Oh, he has sent -me families before, you know, who have always -been perfectly satisfied with me, and I -with them. You can see yourself that the -quarters are such that even a Countess -might find herself well in them—"</p> - -<p>"Yes, truly," replied Prospero, agreeably. -"She would be hard to please if she were -not content. Well, if you allow me now, I -go. Have you perhaps a commission of any -sort for me? I shall do myself a pleasure in -serving you."</p> - -<p>"Too good—much too good. If you -would just say the name over—"</p> - -<p>"Von Schattenort."</p> - -<p>"What it is to have a memory! What -a thing is education! Not but that also I -can make myself understood in the French -tongue. Schattenort—Schattenort. I should -not like to <i>scomparire</i>, you will understand, at -the very first meeting. But if I forget, I will<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[108]</a></span> -simply say <i>Signora Contessa</i>. Only one likes -to be able to tell friends whom one has got -in the house."</p> - -<p>Prospero, late already, was hurrying down -the stairs, his music under his arm; at the -foot he was forced to stop. He took off his -hat, and leaned against the wall to let the -ladies pass.</p> - -<p>The gray-haired gentleman talking unpractised -French he knew to be Dottor -Segati. He fixed upon Paula von Schattenort -without a second's hesitation; of the -two ladies, only the one in the hat and -feather could, in his conception of possibility, -be she. He was half-conscious as she -passed him on her upward way of a faint -pang of disappointment. The name had -suggested to his imagination something tall -and frail, delicate yet imposing, exceedingly, -luminously blond, with eyes of a corn-flower -blue. The magic of the name was defeated.</p> - -<p>He bethought him how late he would be, -and without turning his head for a second -look, or giving another thought to the arrivals, -slipped past the two maids, who stood<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[109]</a></span> -in the doorway talking in a language unknown -to him, while the Countess's man -handed them bundles from the carriages -drawn up to the door.</p> - -<p>Paula, on entering the apartment, let her -little gloved hands drop at her sides, and -looking around with wide, quick eyes, gave -a long sigh of pleasure.</p> - -<p>"Here I can breathe—here I can breathe -indeed!" she said to her companion, in their -Northern tongue; then turning to the doctor, -she assured him in French that she found it -charming, as she had found everything in -Italy—that she thanked him for his goodness. -The doctor and the landlady both -watched her with a half smile and slightly -raised eyebrows as she walked quickly -through the rooms, exclaiming at every -window with delight at sight of the fawn-colored, -warm-looking river flowing below -and flashing back the sunshine, and the low -hills clothed in their early green.</p> - -<p>Her companion followed her with an unusual -solemn dignity of manner, intended -to counterbalance Paula's unaccustomed vi<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[110]</a></span>vacity, -and give the people of the house, if -possible, an adequate impression of the two -as a whole.</p> - -<p>"Oh, look—look, Cousin Veronika!" exclaimed -the younger woman from the balcony, -over the parapet of which she had -been leaning venturously far—"look at that -dear old bridge; it is the Jeweller's Bridge; -I recognize it. <i>N'est-ce pas, cher docteur?</i> -Oh, what a sky! But have you any patients -at all in this city, doctor? Is it possible to -be ill here? Do persons die? Of what? I -will never believe it!"</p> - -<p>"My dear lady," said the gray doctor, his -kindly face lighting as if with the reflection -of her childish excitement, "will you be advised -by me? Will you sit down on this -commodious divan and rest a little, while -you take what the signora has brought for -you—this little glass of our white <i>vin santo</i>? -It will do you good. You must be tired, -very tired."</p> - -<p>"Oh no! no, doctor! It is like magic. I -do not understand it. I feel like another. I -shall not be tired here, ever. You must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[111]</a></span> -come and see me every day indeed, but not -as a doctor—as my good, good friend. Tell -me, is it still standing, the house where -Dante lived? Have you a book—I mean, -could you advise me a book—in which there -is everything of the story about him and -Beatrice? It must be sweet to think of -when one is in their city."</p> - -<p>"I will do myself the pleasure of sending -you the <i>Vita Nova</i>," he said; then, solicitously, -"but accommodate yourself, my dearest -lady, and drink this—"</p> - -<p>"<i>Vita Nova?</i> Does that mean new life? -New life!" she said, as if to herself, suddenly -half stretching her arms up in the air and -smiling in indeterminate happiness at the -ceiling, whereon the shining river cast a restless, -quivering brightness. "Yes, send it -me; I want to read it. I will drink this to -please you, signor, but not that I am tired. -Here is to New Life!"</p> - -<p>She touched her glass to the doctor's -and Veronika's, and emptied it at an eager -draught. Veronika watched her in surprised -displeasure, sipping her own wine staidly and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[112]</a></span> -decorously. It warmed her very heart to -see Paula merry, only she thought it unbecoming -to behave in the presence of strangers -as if one were a person of no importance.</p> - -<p>Her good-humor returned as soon as the -doctor and the <i>padrona</i> had excused themselves. -When they were alone she seized -Paula unceremoniously by the wrists and -forced her back into an arm-chair; then lifted -her feet, and with much decision placed -them upon a footstool. "Now you don't -stir," she said, shaking her finger in Paula's -face.</p> - -<p>"But, cousin, it is so different," pleaded -Paula. "I feel no more as I do at home, -than this mild, heavenly air is like our -joyless atmosphere. Are your eyes open, -Cousin Veronika? Do you perceive the -things about you—or is it all a dream of my -own? It seemed to me as we drove from -the station that we had arrived in an enchanted -place."</p> - -<p>"It's just a city," murmured Veronika.</p> - -<p>"Those sombre palaces we passed, how -they make the spring-time in the sky above<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[113]</a></span> -them more lightsome, more warm! And -those flowers banked up for sale against -that black stone wall, could you see what -they were? They seemed to me all new -sorts—marvellous. Have you noticed how -happy every one looks in Italy, even the -beggars sitting in the sun? And what beautiful -faces one sees—"</p> - -<p>She stopped and mused, gazing ahead in -silence for a few moments; then went on -aloud: "Yes—beautiful faces, like pictures. -Did you see the young man whom we met -on the stairs? Not? Veronika, for what -have you eyes? The light just there was a -little dim, but I saw him perfectly. I passed -him slowly on purpose—he leaned against -the wall to let us go by him. He had wavy -hair, longer than is usual, falling over his -forehead, and soft brown eyes like an animal's. -I am sure one sees such eyes only in -Italy, half asleep, yet deeply intelligent, that -when you look in them you think a thousand -things—"</p> - -<p>"You certainly took in a great deal at a -glance," said Veronika.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[114]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, I could tell you much else," laughed -Paula; "beside that he wore a pink in -his button-hole and carried a roll of music."</p> - -<p>"Veronika," she said, after a pause, jumping -up from her chair and walking about excitedly -as before, "we must be very happy -here. We must begin at once. Think how -much time we have lost—all our years up -to this day. Now we must really enjoy -ourselves, live—love!" she added, recklessly, -with light in her eyes.</p> - -<p>Veronika, kneeling over an open satchel, -paused in her task to look over her spectacles -with a vaguely shocked air, as if -something immoral had been said.</p> - -<p>"This seems like the opening chapter in a -lovely story-book that becomes more interesting -with every page," said Paula, dropping -on her knees and crushing her cheek to -Veronika's gray hair, with an expansiveness -that took this lady aback. "I have the happiest -presentiments! Ah, Veronika, there -was once a woman who said that happiness -is to be young, beloved, and in Italy!"</p> - -<p>"Unless you keep quiet and rest," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[115]</a></span> -Veronika, "you will be ill, and that is as far -as <i>you</i> will get—"</p> - -<p>Paula stared a second in wonder at Veronika's -impatience; then she reflected that her -cousin was old and could not understand. -"Poor Veronika!" she thought, with a sympathetic -shake of the head, "<i>she</i> can never -have but Italy!"</p> - -<p>Like a good child, she went back to her -chair, but before settling down in it she -pushed it to the balcony window; then she -sat with her eyes fixed upon San Miniato.</p> - -<p>Dr. Segati came the next day, early. He -found Paula pale and infinitely tired, but -wearing a contented face. She sat in the -balcony window, closed to-day, with a cushion -behind her shoulders; flowers stood in -the water near her—a delight to the eyes, -wonderful wind-flowers, white and pink, purple, -scarlet, pale violet. She rose to meet -the doctor, and gave him the childish smile -that had won his heart to her the day before.</p> - -<p>She pointed to the book she held. "It -came last night. I thank you. I am trying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[116]</a></span> -to read it, you see. But I do not know -enough. I can make only just a little sense -here and there, where it resembles French. -Oh, I like it all the same—very much. The -title is beautiful—<i>Vita Nova</i>!"</p> - -<p>"Tell her she must not read, doctor," said -Veronika. "It is bad for her. She has been -tiring herself over the book."</p> - -<p>The doctor listened politely, an intelligent -eye fixed on Veronika's, and made no objection -to what she said. She had always -after that half an idea that he understood her.</p> - -<p>"I had the cook sent in," said Paula, with -a brightening face. "The native cook whom -the <i>padrona</i> was so good as to engage for -me. I asked her about some passages. She -could read them easily—how I envied her!—but -she could not make them clear to me, -though she seemed to do her best."</p> - -<p>The doctor laughed amusedly, and took a -seat beside her. "What an eager little lady! -Certainly that is the way to learn. But why -this hurry? The great object first is to become -robust. Oh, this air will do it! I have -no fear. And how did you sleep?"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[117]</a></span></p> - -<p>Paula blushed as if caught in fault. "I -don't know why it should be I lay awake so -much. My old doctor at home (I bless him -for his inspiration of sending me here!) has -written you about me, I suppose. I dare -say you know I cough sometimes in the -night. Doctor," she asked, abruptly, "who -lives above us?"</p> - -<p>He looked interrogatively at the ceiling, -and shook his head.</p> - -<p>"Oh, I am so sorry you do not happen -to know. It is a great musician, and I feel -much gratitude towards him. I was becoming -nervous with lying awake—I was on -the point of calling my poor cousin—when -some one began playing on the piano in -the room above me. Sweetly, very sweetly. -I could hear it just distinctly enough. It -was a joy. I lay awake, but it soothed me -more than sleep."</p> - -<p>"I seem to remember that there is a -music-master living in the house," said the -doctor. "I will beg the <i>padrona</i> to speak to -him. He should not play in the night."</p> - -<p>"Not at all," exclaimed Paula, with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[118]</a></span> -warmth he could not expect. "Please, I -want him to play. I shall be grieved if you -say anything to prevent him. It does not -keep me awake. If I were sleepy I could not -hear it."</p> - -<p>The doctor prolonged his visit far into the -forenoon. At the first movement he made -to go, Paula said, pleadingly: "Oh, not yet. -I entertain myself so willingly with you!" -And he stayed.</p> - -<p>He was interested, in the woman as well -as in the case. She was different from his -other aristocratic patients. She was of a -type new to him; without appearing to, he -studied her face as she spoke, and from it, -and from frequent allusions she dropped, he -built up a theory of her past.</p> - -<p>He divined that she was older than she -looked. It was, he resolved, the childlike -glance and smile, the voice as of shyness -overcome, her artlessness, her continually -outcropping ignorance of the world, her -immature mind perhaps, that gave the impression -of youthfulness one at first received -from her. If one looked well, she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[119]</a></span> -had even already a sad little beginning of -faded appearance. Her face was a trifle -broad, and the high cheek-bones were commencing -slightly to accuse themselves, as -they say in French. The charm of her -countenance, to such as felt it, lay in her -eyes: they were unsophisticated, hopeful, -interested, idealizing eyes. Vanity, it must -be pityingly related, had taught her nothing. -Her blond hair, dull and fine and soft—a -large treasure that would have made the -boast of many another woman—was drawn -away rigorously from her forehead, braided, -and wound compactly against the back of -her head, like a school-girl's.</p> - -<p>He noticed with amused wonder how unpretending—nay, -provincial, homely, for persons -of rank and fortune—was the <i>mise</i> of -the two women. Fashion by them was misconstrued, -or else despised. He did not incline -to the latter interpretation of their -plainness; he rather laid to a touching innocence -of the mode's dictates Mamsell -Veronika's pelerine and the black lace tabs -on the sides of her head; the antiquated cut<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[120]</a></span> -of Paula's deep violet gown, the little black -silk mitts that covered her pale pretty hands -to the point where her rings began. These -were numerous rather than rich, and gave -the impression of being heirlooms—things -worn for a memory: brilliants mounted in -darkening silver, enamels, carnelians; one -showed a pale gleam of human hair.</p> - -<p>Paula had never spoken so much about -herself to any one as she did to the doctor. -Her loquacity was an effect of her unreasoning -instinct that in this new place everything -was good to her, every influence favorable. -She let herself go in a way that would have -seemed out of her nature at home.</p> - -<p>All she had ever read in the long, melancholy -winter evenings at Schattenort, of poetry -or romance, came back to her mind in -essence, drawn to the surface by an inexplicable -magic. Her conversation in this -mental excitement teemed with allusions -and modest flowers of speech that almost -surprised herself, and gave her a strange delight. -She felt as she were some one she had -some time read of.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[121]</a></span></p> - -<p>"Oh, we will make you well, quite well, -soon," said the doctor, cheerily, on taking -his leave. "But you must promise to be -very good, very prudent."</p> - -<p>He gave his directions with a light air, but -as he turned from the door a shadow settled -upon his kindly old face.</p> - -<p>In his breast-pocket lay folded the letter -his colleague, Paula's former doctor, had -written him. The consciousness of what -was said in it gave rise in his heart to a tender, -grateful thought of his own children—grown-up -daughters, fair and healthy, happily -established in life.</p> - -<p>Paula had hoped to go for a drive that -day, but a light rain fell, and she could only -watch the turbid stream outside through -the glistening window-pane. She sat with -her forehead leaning against it, her book in -her lap. Now and then she opened this and -let her eyes wander over the lines, without -trying to understand, just for a pleasure she -found in its being Italian too.</p> - -<p>She had prevailed upon Veronika to go -out for a walk, so that she might amuse<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[122]</a></span> -her with an account of what there was to -see.</p> - -<p>Towards evening the clouds broke. She -saw the red reflection of the sunset on the -river. Tempted, she opened the balcony -door; a smell of damp stone came gratefully -to her nostrils. She slipped out and leaned -over the cool balusters, and looked up and -down the empty gleaming street. The hills -were as if washed with wine; the air was -sparkling. She heard a footstep; she hoped -it might be Veronika's. She looked. But -it was not a woman. She recognized the -young man who had been on the stairs -when she arrived. He did not look up. -She leaned over to see him disappear in the -<i>portone</i> below. Then, swiftly, she came in-doors -and stopped in the middle of the floor. -She listened intently. In a few moments she -thought to hear, faintly, faintly, footsteps in -the room above. She clasped her hands silently, -saying to herself with unaccountable -excitement: "I knew it already. I knew it -well."</p> - -<p>Late in the night again she heard music.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[123]</a></span> -She had been listening for it a long time. -Night to her was often tediously long. Often -she spent many hours staring at the square -of paler darkness, star-bestrewn, the window -made. At a certain pitch of nervousness, -soon reached when the city had become quiet -and the stillness of the bedroom was full of -mysterious sounds, she always thought of a -dear sister she had lost, rehearsing old sad -scenes vivid in her brain as if they had been -lived through but yesterday. Her own physical -discomfort increased as she thought of -that other girl's long-drawn-out suffering. It -seemed to her that already she could not -breathe; her body was damp with sweat of -fear. "It is all useless!" she groaned, tossing -wretchedly. "I too—I too am going -that way!" Then she prayed diligently, and -looked out up at the stars with a return of -tranquillity, hoping steadfastly in a beautiful -world beyond them.</p> - -<p>But on the night in question she lay -patiently and happily watchful. And late -in the night again she heard music. No -very definite melody was played; it was as<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[124]</a></span> -if skilful hands were dreamily straying over -the keys, unravelling a little tangled skein -of musical impression, thinking aloud. The -tune wandered and flitted like a butterfly -over a summer garden. Paula's thought -climbed upward and entered the musician's -chamber. She saw him clearly, leaning back, -looking upward, swaying slightly. She took -joy in the symmetry of his dark Italian face. -She pictured him intensely, and held her -breath gazing. Then she tried to build up -his surroundings; she adorned his room poetically.</p> - -<p>Satisfied at last, her imagination folded -its wings and dropped back into its nest. -She merely listened, and let herself be comforted; -accepted passively what dreams the -music imposed. It was as if she and another -were walking in a moonless starry -night along a quiet village road; and the -dewy flowers in the stilly little gardens -skirting the way were giving forth perfume -in the warm dark. Then it was as if another -and she were in a boat with drooping -sail, becalmed, drifting slowly. The<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[125]</a></span> -moon was behind a great cloud wonderfully -silvered on the ravelled edges; the sea at -the horizon was a streak of pure light. The -other had laid her on velvet cushions and -covered her with a cloak, was playing and -singing softly to her. They hoped the wind -would not rise. Drifting—drifting. And she -slept.</p> - -<p>In the gayest mood next day she showed -the doctor a little package of letters to different -persons in the city, but said that -she was not ready yet to let these distinguished -ones know of her arrival; she must -first attend to various important things. He -derived from her words that she wished to -make her establishment more elegant, and -became gruff and severe when she asked -him to procure for her the address of the -most fashionable mantua—maker. She almost -cried when he forbade the expense of -any precious energy on worldly vanities, but -was half consoled by his promise soon to -make her well enough to employ a master -in the art of playing the guitar.</p> - -<p>He prescribed a daily drive in the sun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[126]</a></span>niest -hour. Paula came back from her first -excursion with flushed cheeks. Veronika -grumbled: "I will tell the doctor, and he -will forbid your going out at all. It is not -to kneel in damp churches will help you. -You might as well take up your abode in -the cellar."</p> - -<p>"Don't scold me," said Paula, gently. "I -had to thank God."</p> - -<p>Towards sunset she seated herself on the -balcony wrapped in fleecy white, and looked -down the street towards the Jeweller's -Bridge. She saw Prospero come. But he -did not look up. That night again she -heard him play.</p> - -<p>Many times she sat on the balcony and -saw Prospero coming. Sometimes he looked -up, but oftener he passed into the house -unaware of a Countess gazing after him -from above.</p> - -<p>Some nights he did not play; those were -restless, disappointed nights for her.</p> - -<p>Once or twice she met him on the stairs as -she was going to her carriage; he glanced at -her with an unimpressed eye, then looked<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[127]</a></span> -elsewhere, standing against the wall, hat in -hand.</p> - -<p>Occasionally she saw him in the street, -but he seemed never to see her. A vague -heartache grew out of those occasions.</p> - -<p>The Italian spring deepened in warmth -and color; the air had a fragrance, some -days, as of lilacs; other days, more penetrating, -as of hyacinths. The little hills in -the midst of which Florence lies took on -dewy morning hues of the opal, changing -evening tints of the dark dove's neck. The -pure noon light made the statues in the -King's Garden, where Paula walked sometimes, -look dazzlingly white against the -sombre walls of clipped laurel. The open -country now was full of blossoming fruit -trees; Paula often begged Veronika to -alight from the carriage and gather for -her the flowers she saw shining in the -grass—primroses and violets, tulips, narcissi, -fleurs-de-lis. She brought home immense -nosegays, which she spent long minutes -breathing; this perfume of Italy went -to her brain.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[128]</a></span></p> - -<p>At sunset once a red flower lay by chance -on the rail of the balcony, just where a -movement of her arm would brush it off; it -would drop in the street. A bold thought -crossed her mind. But that evening Prospero -did not come at the usual hour. She -sat outside, trembling slightly as the dusk -closed around her and the dew fell; then -Veronika, with shrill cries of surprise and -blame, came to fetch her in. She felt guilty -and ashamed, and did not protest. She -spent the evening on the divan, with her -face to the wall, crying softly with a vast -invincible melancholy, a sense of forlornness -and failure, giving no explanation of her -humor.</p> - -<p>She was kept in-doors for many days after -that. Only she insisted upon being folded -in a fur and seated on the balcony at a certain -hour every afternoon. The beggar-woman -stationed at the street corner with -a basket on her knees got used to seeing -the sick <i>forestiera</i> appear, who always threw -her a bit of silver, and gave her a faint little -smile.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[129]</a></span></p> - -<p>Veronika suffered from Paula's silence and -depression. She went about with two deep -lines constantly between her updrawn brows. -Her heart misgave her; her inability to communicate -with the doctor and those around -her became a gnawing despair. She formed -a habit, which never left her after, of talking -audibly to herself. She gave up the effort to -hold cheerful conversation with Paula, and -simply tried to preserve in her presence an -unconcerned attitude. She secretly yearned -to be at home. She felt an unappeasable -animosity towards this Italy, that had seemed -to do her Paula so much good, only to -make her worse. She began to hate everything -Italian.</p> - -<p>Paula herself sat by the window watching -the hills opposite with an absent face. Now -and then she rose to take a few desultory -steps about the large room, touching the -things, passing her hand over the flowers, -making the guitar-strings give forth a murmur -as she brushed them; she went back to -her chair and closed her eyes, tired out.</p> - -<p>Once a friend was walking at Prospero's<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[130]</a></span> -side. They were talking. As they approached, -the friend looked up, and evidently -asked a question of Prospero, who -looked up too: she thought his lips framed -her name. Her heart leaped; she drew -back, faint, and felt foolish at feeling such -pleasure. She waited more eagerly than -usual that night to hear him; it seemed -the music must have a special message for -her. Silence—utter, atrocious. The night -seemed unending.</p> - -<p>The doctor wondered next day what spring -had broken within her. She showed so little -interest in anything; she was fretful as he -had never seen her before. He scarcely -knew how to conduct himself to avoid irritating -her. At a loss, he picked up the little -tome of <i>Vita Nova</i>, that always lay on the table -at her side, and inquired of her progress in it.</p> - -<p>"Oh, put it away!" she said, tears springing -to her eyes. "Put it away! I cannot -suffer it. That title exasperates me; it -works upon my nerves. Doctor, doctor, I -shall never be well again!" and she poured -forth a long complaint.</p> - -<div class="figcenter2em" id="illo5"><img src="images/illo5.jpg" width="500" -height="351" alt="" title="" /> -<div class="caption"> -<p>"PAULA HERSELF SAT BY THE WINDOW"</p> -</div></div> - - - -<p class="p2"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[131]</a></span> -He feigned to make light of her fears; he -comforted her. Casting about in his mind -for things to say that should divert, interest -her in her gray mood, he found this, which -brought the sudden color to her face:</p> - -<p>"Did you not once ask me who lived in -the apartment above? I know now. I will -not take the credit of having applied myself -to discover just on that hint of curiosity from -you; I confess hearing it by chance. Your -neighbor is the young <i>maestro</i> Prospero -C——, celebrated in his way. He has -written an opera, to be produced for the first -time precisely to-night. Those who know -promise great things for it—"</p> - -<p>She had leaned forward, listening thirstily. -The doctor could congratulate himself.</p> - -<p>When Veronika went to the door with -him, he turned upon her suddenly, and asked, -almost violently: "Why did you wait so -long? Why did you not bring her to this -climate before?"</p> - -<p>She looked at him in a puzzled way, and -in her turn said something he could not understand.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[132]</a></span> -He appeared for a moment as if he meant -to shake her, but shrugged his shoulders and -brusquely left.</p> - -<p>Some who were present at the first night -of "Parisina" remember well how when the -curtain dropped on the first act and they -looked about to discover whom they should -salute, their attention was arrested by the -strange apparition in one of the second-tier -boxes. There, in a crimson velvet chair, sat -very upright an unknown lady in a gown -such as no one nowadays wears—a gown of -cloth of gold, that might have figured at a -court ball perhaps a century earlier. An -ermine-lined mantle half covered her arms -and neck, dainty thin and white as wax, and -half extinguished the gleam of her heavy -jewels. A wreath of roses was twined in -her pale hair, that might have made one -laugh in its <i>démodé</i> pretentiousness but that -one divined the lady to be a foreigner from -some Northern country, where perhaps it is -still customary to adorn the hair with a garland. -She held her fan like a sceptre, her fingers -stiffly closed on the pearl sticks. A<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[133]</a></span> -mass of roses lay in her lap. She turned a -colorless face upon the stage; her eyes were -wide and glassy, and fixed as a somnambulist's.</p> - -<p>On the opposite side of the box, less clearly -defined against the darkness, sat an elderly, -soberly clad lady, whose face expressed a -degree of uneasiness, misery, and fear almost -pitiful—if not comical—to behold. She -made no pretence of interest in the stage or -the gleaming galleries, but watched her golden-haired -companion with an unswerving, -frightened eye.</p> - -<p>No one knew who these were, though -many took pains to discover.</p> - -<p>Through the second act the lady in gold -listened breathlessly, as if life itself were suspended. -It seemed to her that the soul left -her body, and went floating up, up, on the -strains of the music. She was praying, praying -with all her strength, for the success of -this work, that the people might feel just -as she felt how it was beautiful!</p> - -<p>When a crash of applause came and a call -for the composer, it seemed but an answer to -her prayer. She rose to her feet, radiant.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[134]</a></span></p> - -<p>Prospero C—— came to the foot-lights -below, looking a slight thing, the acclaimed -great man, in his close black evening dress, -and bowed his thanks. Then, as the applause -continued, he lingered a moment, -and let his eye pass along the friendly -faces in the boxes, a grateful emotion expressed -in his smile.</p> - -<p>The lady in gold leaned over the velvet -parapet, breathing short, tremulously smiling, -her flowers in her hands. His eye -passed her unrecognizing. She wanted to -shout: "It is I, Paula! Nothing could -keep me away!" The clamor subsided. -Panting, she leaned back in the shade.</p> - -<p>The third act ended in triumph. Again -the composer was called. Paula laughed -and cried at the same time, clapping her -little hands like mad, forgetting herself.</p> - -<p>Then, when it was all over and she sat in -the dark carriage rolling homeward, she felt -a chill seizing upon her very heart; she began -to shiver. But her physical condition scarcely -interested her; a sense of the sad things of -life weighed heavily upon her: the vanity of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[135]</a></span> -earthly hopes, the evanescence of happy -things, the inequality in the measure of pain -and pleasure to God's children, the fugitiveness -of illusions, the foolishness of dreams. -She thought of the beggar sitting at the corner -in sun and rain through years: she felt -disgust for a world where such things could -be. She said, "It is a good thing to have -done with it. It is a deliverance. I will -not give it one regret; no, not one." She -felt suddenly that she did not love Italy: it -had betrayed her. "It is you, you who are -to blame," she said, full of helpless resentment, -shaking a pale small hand vaguely -from the window out at the balmy moonlit -world; "you, soft air! you, flower smell! -you, velvety firmament with the many-colored -stars! I was a simple soul: my common -life was enough for me; you sowed in -my unguarded heart all the seeds of vain -dreams, and fostered them. And they bear -no fruit; they wither on their shallow roots—they -are weeds!—But I will not curse you, -for God made you lovely."</p> - -<p>She closed her eyes; her thoughts turned<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[136]</a></span> -to remote Schattenort; she wished she were -there again, in the dull, quiet, big, cold, familiar -country house where she had been -born and bred. A mist of bitter longing -rose in her eyes. The moon was shining -clamorously, obtrusively; it cast a green -light, a light almost warm, on the pale -pavement. She hated its fervent beauty. -"Would God I were home!" she sighed.</p> - -<p>Veronika, mistaking her meaning, said, -"You are almost there."</p> - -<p>Paula suffered Veronika and her maid to -put her to bed. She seemed not to notice -them. She was thinking—far away. Out of -habit she listened a moment for the piano -above. But all was silent. "He is happy," -she said to herself; "he has gone with his -friends. Or perhaps he is up there living it -all over again." And her imagination, touched -anew with the old obstinate insanity, took -the road up to his never-seen chamber, bent -over him, and rejoiced with him. "Oh, if I -could—" she said; "if I could! But he will -never know how a dying noble lady used to -listen to his playing in the dead of night,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[137]</a></span> -and loved him, and left him her blessing—"</p> - -<p>Veronika had no sleep that night. Before -day the doctor was summoned. He remained -several hours. At going he drew Veronika -aside, and by signs succeeded at last in -procuring from her the package of letters the -Countess had once shown him. He looked -at the superscriptions, and took from among -them one "To the Abbé S——."</p> - -<p>That evening he brought with him a white-haired -old man in priestly garb, whom Veronika -was relieved to hear address her in -her native tongue.</p> - -<p>Presently, with muffled footsteps and a -frightened, solemn mien, she led him into -the Countess's bedroom, dimly lighted by -shaded candles, and left them long alone -together.</p> - -<p>Prospero, returning home that night, opened -the window wide and stood a moment -looking out at the stars, at peace with life, -every desire for the moment hushed, satisfied. -Then he lighted the candles on the -piano, and the faint yellow illumination<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[138]</a></span> -brought out a hint of color in the objects -around. It showed an ordinary, rather bare -room; he lived in it very little. The littering -music and the piano formed its chief -adornment.</p> - -<p>He sat down, but for a moment did not -touch the keys. He removed the flower -from his coat and smelt it, thinking of -Rosina, who had given it him at the theatre -door—Rosina with the broad velvet-faced -hat, the tight silk dress, the diamonds in her -ears, and the small basket of flowers on her -arm. She was pretty—oh, pretty! Having -thought how pretty she was, he wisely tossed -away her faded favor, determining to remain -cold and prudent. He shook back his -hair, as if thereby to free his mind of her, -spread his hands over the ivory keys, and -began, as he loved to do before sleeping, to -let his fancies and emotions make themselves -sound.</p> - -<p>He played long, losing himself, finding a -melodious vesture for his half-formed dream. -The night was very quiet; it came to be -very late without his perceiving it. Sudden<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[139]</a></span>ly -he felt a cool air on his forehead—he -looked up, and paused in his playing, his -hands motionless above the keys, his lips -open. He felt that he ought to speak, but -his voice failed to answer his will. He was -asking himself in the dim background of his -consciousness how the Countess Paula von -Schattenort had entered his dwelling so -noiselessly, and what she might be seeking -there. More clearly he was wondering at -her face, strangely still and white, vaguely -woe-begone, astonished, pathetic. He -recognized her, yet she seemed to him altered -from the one he sometimes saw on the -balcony and met on the stairs—that object -without interest, a woman not pretty. Perhaps -it was the wonderful hair that, shining -along her cheeks like a pale gilded mist, -transfigured her. The firm fine braids that -heretofore he had seen always wound in -austere simplicity about her head were undone; -the narrowly waved hair floated to her -knees; her face peered wistfully between -two shimmering bands of it. She was -clothed in a white garment bordered with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[140]</a></span> -dark fur; a heavy rosary hung about her -neck.</p> - -<p>She looked at him a long moment with -fixed eyes, an expression of plaintive disillusion, -and said nothing.</p> - -<p>He tried to ask in what manner he might -serve her, but his tongue was numb.</p> - -<p>She turned and looked all about the room, -very slowly, as a person seeking something. -Then she looked again at him, silently, with -that same face of disappointment; and her -hands, that had been tightly shut on the -golden crucifix appended to her rosary, -opened and slipped softly to her sides. She -turned to the door. He rose from his seat, -and without taking his eyes from her, fumbled -to lift the candle from its socket, to light -her way; he was awkward in his amazement. -He saw her pass the threshold. In a second -he followed her. She was not in the next -room. He passed through the two rooms -that separated him from the door leading to -the common stairway. He came to the door; -it was as he had left it, secured for the night. -Seized with dismay, in spite of the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[141]</a></span> -that she must have lingered behind in the -shady embrasure of a window, he undid the -chain and bolt and came out on the landing -and looked, expecting inconsistently to see a -white figure vanishing down the steps. He -saw nothing but a faint light cast upon the -wall at the turn of the stairs. He stood hesitating.</p> - -<p>In a moment he heard below a sound of -weeping; he went down with a trembling of -the knees. On the landing of the <i>piano -nobile</i> was the landlady. She had set her -little brass lamp on the last step, and was crying. -The door to the Countess's apartment -was wide open, and the draught from there -made the tiny flame flicker and smoke.</p> - -<p>"What is it?" said Prospero, in a husky -whisper.</p> - -<p>"She is dead, the poor lady!" sobbed the -<i>padrona</i>.</p> - -<p>He felt his hair softly rising.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p6"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[142]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="DORASTUS">DORASTUS</h2></div> - - -<p>She had large violet eyes, of a melancholy -effect, and fine honey-colored hair, flowing -smoothly over her ears. She looked excessively -meek and always a little apprehensive, -as if accustomed to reproaches, yet never -quite hardened to them. One easily supposed -her to be an orphan.</p> - -<p>She lived with an aunt, her mother's half-sister, -considerably older and less pleasing -than her mother in that charming woman's -brief day. Her cousins were all older than -she; the girls were so perfect in every respect -that intimacy between her and them was out -of the question; the son, a big, blunt young -man, was mostly away, and, when at home, -too much taken up with other interests to be -more than just aware of the violet eyes. So,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[143]</a></span> -life was very dull for Emmeline—"Emmie" -she was familiarly called.</p> - -<p>She went often of an evening to her -mother's grave, and, sitting beside it, reflected -how it was in keeping with the general -sadness of things that there should be no -prospect of any change for her in all the -years of her life, no change from the present -weary round of aunt and cousins, of sterile -duties and insipid pleasures.</p> - -<p>And there, by her mother's grave, came -the very change she was sighing for. She sat -on the sward, musingly watching the square -tower of the church grow gray against -the delicate, flushed sky, when she became -aware of a stranger going from stone to stone -in the fading light, examining the inscriptions. -At first she was afraid. While she debated -whether to hide or flee, the stranger approached, -and in a foreign voice and accent -asked some common question about the -place. She could not answer readily for a foolish -shame mixed with terror. She got to her -feet, blushing, then turning pale. It could be -none other than the astonishing fiddler who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[144]</a></span> -had played the night before in the hall at -Colthorpe, and who could, they said, make -your hair rise on end by the power of weird, -unearthly music, or your eyes dissolve with -tenderness—as he chose. She stared without -speech into his dark, peculiar face. And he, -seeing that she was discomfited, instead of -apologizing and withdrawing, undertook, in a -tone as persuasive as his violin's, to set her at -ease. And when a few days later he disappeared -from that part of the world, the violet -eyes disappeared too.</p> - -<p>Aunt Lucretia in time received a letter, -asking her forgiveness and announcing Emmie's -marriage.</p> - -<p>She did not grant her forgiveness until -several years later, after due savoring of sad, -black-bordered letters from Emmie, imploring -kindness. Her husband, after a brief illness, -was dead; her little boy and she were left -alone, without anything in the world. She acknowledged -her fault so humbly; she owned -so freely that her marriage had been excessively—deservedly—wretched; -she longed -so desperately to be taken back into her old<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[145]</a></span> -home, that Lucretia found herself relenting. -Her daughters were now married and lived -at a distance; she felt daily more and more -the need of a female companion. Her son, -after reading the young widow's pitiful appeals, -protested that it would be inhuman to -refuse her a shelter. It was decided that she -should be allowed to come, and in time the -big, blunt Gregory, of whom she had been -afraid in old days, went a long stretch of the -journey to meet her, for that had seemed to -him requisite, though to his mother superfluous. -He even crossed the arm of sea that -she must presently be crossing, with no apparent -purpose but to cross it again with her.</p> - -<p>When the boat was well out at sea and -the passengers had disposed themselves -in patience about the deck, he marched up -and down, as did several of the others, and, -while avoiding to look like one in search, -sought diligently the remembered face of his -cousin.</p> - -<p>It was a cheerless gray day. The sea was -quiet; the boat pitched but slightly. He -was not long unsuccessful; when he had satis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[146]</a></span>fied -himself that she was not in the crowd on -the windside, he went to lee and saw her -sitting almost alone. She might have gone -there for warmth. She did not seem to -notice that cinders and fine soot were raining -down upon her. He found himself disinclined -to accost her at once; he went to lean -where he could watch her without pointed -appearance of curiosity.</p> - -<p>She looked mournful in her black things—not -the new, crisp crape of well-to-do bereavement, -but a poor gentlewoman's ordinary -shabby black. Her cheeks had lost their -pretty roundness; the effect of her eyes was -more than ever melancholy. The pale little -face, set in its faint-colored hair, framed in -its black bonnet, might pass a hundred times -unnoticed: it had little to arrest the attention; -but attention, by whatever chance -once secured, must be followed by a gentle, -compassionate interest in the breast of the -beholder. This emotion felt Gregory.</p> - -<p>She sat on one of the ship's benches, hugging -her black wrap about her, hiding in it -her little gloveless hands. A bundle was on<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[147]</a></span> -her lap, at her feet a large bag. She looked -wearily off over the crumpled leaden plain, -and now and then called: "Dorastus! Dorastus!"</p> - -<p>At that, a toddling bundle came towards -her, never near enough to be caught, and -toddled off again, coming and going busily, -with muttered baby soliloquy. He was a -comical little figure, clumsily muffled against -the cold, with a pointed knit cap drawn well -down over his ears. If he ignored her call, -she rose and fetched him, shaking his little -hand and bidding him not to go again so far -from mother. He dragged at his arm, squealing -the while she exhorted, and almost tumbled -over when she let him loose. Then he -resumed his interrupted play.</p> - -<p>After a time he seemed to tire of it. He -came to his mother and, touching the bag at -her feet, unintelligibly demanded something. -She shook her head. He seemed to repeat -his demand. "No, no, Dorastus—mother -can't!" she said, fretfully. Then this dot of -humanity made himself formidable. Gregory -watched in surprise the little imperious face<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[148]</a></span> -become disquietingly like an angry man's. -He hammered with both small fists on his -mother's knee, and stamped and loudly sputtered. -She caught his arms for a moment -and held them quiet; mother and child -looked each other in the face, his strange, -unbabyish, heavy-browed eyes flaming, hers -lit with a low smouldering resentment. He -struggled from her grasp, and at last, as his -conduct was beginning to attract attention, -she stooped, vanquished, and, bruising her -fingers on the awkward buckles, undid the -bag.</p> - -<p>Gregory at this point approached and -spoke to her by name. She lifted her face, -her eyes full of helpless tears. She reddened -faintly on recognizing him. She handed -the boy a diminutive toy-fiddle from the -bag. Pacified, he retired at a little distance -and, while his mamma and the gentleman -entered into conversation, scraped seriously, -the tassel on the tip of his cap bobbing with -his funny little <i>airs de tęte</i>.</p> - -<p>"How good of you, how good of you—how -comforting to me!" she said, her forlorn<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[149]</a></span> -face softly brightening; "I was getting so -tired of taking care of myself! I have never -travelled alone, and—and I am so timid—"</p> - -<p>How different seemed the old house to -Emmie returning! She settled down in it -with the sense of passionate contentment. I -can imagine in a dove restored to the cote -after escaping the fowler's snare and the rage -of wintry storms. How shut it was against -the cold! how safe from arrogant men demanding -money! Life in it now seemed to -her one round of luxurious pleasures: one -could sleep undisturbed, tea and buttered -bread came as regularly as the desire for -them; flowers bloomed at every season on -mantel-shelf and table; the grate glowed as -if to glow were no more than a grate's nature. -There was undeniably the domestic tyrant -still; but what a mild one by comparison! -Aunt Lucretia might be peremptory and -critical and contradictory: to Emmie in these -days she personated a benevolent Providence. -It is possible that the lady's disposition had -softened towards her niece: her superior -daughters were removed, and the little widow<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[150]</a></span> -with her manifold experiences was unquestionably -a person more interesting to have -about than the moping girl of yore.</p> - -<p>The two ladies, sitting together with their -wools, in undertones talked over Emmie's -married miseries. She was as ready with her -confidences as Aunt Lucretia with her listening -ear. There seemed no end to what she -had to tell or the number of times she might -relate the same incident and be heard out with -tolerance. She was glad of some one to whom -to unburden her heart of its accumulated -grievance; she could not but be a little glad, -too, now it was well over, that so much that -was unusual had happened to her, since it lent -her this importance. Aunt Lucretia gave a -great deal of good advice—said what she would -have done in like case; Emmie accepted it -with as much humble gratitude as if it had -still been of service. She concurred with all -her heart in her aunt's unqualified condemnation -of her first lapse from the respectable -path—her elopement; she declared with perfect -sincerity that she was puzzled to explain -how it all happened—certainly before<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[151]</a></span> -a week had been over the folly of it had -stared her in the face.</p> - -<p>The young widow, when she had taken -her aunt through scenes of rage and jealousy -that made that matron's nostrils open -as a war-horse's, and had shown up the petty -tyrannies and meannesses of a bad-tempered, -vindictive, vain man, afflicted with a set of -morbidly tense nerves, would sometimes inconsistently -betray a sort of pride in the -fact that she had been adored by this erratic -being, whose ill-treatment of her came partly -from that fact; also a certain pride in the -assurance she had had on every side, of his -being a great artist who might have risen to -fortune had he been blessed with a different -constitution. A prince had once, in token of -his appreciation, bestowed on him a jewelled -order; Emmie wished she had not been -forced to sell it when he was ill. She herself -could not judge of his playing—she -could not abide the sound of a violin—but -the star might be accounted a proof of his -ability.</p> - -<p>"You were too meek, my dear," said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[152]</a></span> -Lucretia, conclusively, after a tale of oppression; -"I should have taken a stand."</p> - -<p>"Dear aunt," said Emmie, pensively considering -her relative's size and the cast of -her features, "I think you would. He would -have been afraid of you. If I displeased him, -he said I was rebellious because I felt myself -bolstered up by the admiration of whoever -in the inn had happened to give me -a passing glance, and he would torment me -until I swore I loved him with every thought -of my life. Sometimes, when he had made -me cry, he would cry, too—I hate that in a -man, aunt!—and go on tormenting me until -I said I forgave him—"</p> - -<p>"Ah, I should have taught him a lesson!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, aunt, you would. But I swore whatever -he pleased. If I was sulky, he was as -likely as not to sit up all night, wailing on -his violin when I wanted to sleep. He always -took remote chambers at inns, for the -privilege of playing at night, if he pleased. -If I complained, he said that if I had liked -the music it would have soothed me to sleep, -and if I did not like it, it was well I should be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[153]</a></span> -kept awake. He was very sore on the -point of my not being in love with his -music."</p> - -<p>"I should like to see a man play the fiddle -in my bedroom!" said Aunt Lucretia, with a -face of danger.</p> - -<p>And Emmie, from this lady's example and -counsel, got a retrospective courage that enabled -her in memory, now that she was well-fed, -well-dressed, and possessed of the assurance -that goes with those conditions, to -bring the stormy scenes with her husband to -an end more honorable to herself. She could -imagine herself even braving him—when, -perhaps, would come in sight Dorastus. Then -her heart would sink in consciousness of its -folly. There was no contending for her with -a nature like that. That baby could bend -her to his will even as the father had done. -He was so little now that she could not strive -with him to any enduring advantage; and -when he would be bigger, she felt it already, -no revolt of hers would be of use. The tyranny -was handed down from father to son, with -the sensitiveness and the jealousy. She look<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[154]</a></span>ed -over at the little, intrepid face sometimes -with a sort of slave's aversion: every day he -would be more like that other; he kept him -disagreeably alive now in her memory with -the tricks of his face, the difficulties of his -temper. She only hoped, in an unformed -way as yet, that before he grew to make -himself heavily felt something might have -arisen for her protection.</p> - -<p>She made him pretty things with a mother's -full indulgence, caressed him in due -measure, and gave dutiful attention to his -every request; but deep in her heart and in -her eye was a reservation. And in him, -though he could hardly frame speech, seemed -an inherited suspicion of this want of loyalty -in her, a consciousness of her appeal to something -outside, against him. In his baby -rages he seemed aware, by an instinct beyond -his understanding, that she did not care for -them, except that they made her uncomfortable, -and he beat her with all his fierce little -strength for it. She belonged strictly to him, -and there was always treachery in the air; so -he must be foes with all surrounding her, and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[155]</a></span> -most severe with herself, whom he idolatrously -loved.</p> - -<p>Often, if they were alone and she did nothing -to cross him, but treated respectfully his -every whim, he rewarded her gravely with -such tokens of his devotion as he could devise. -If they were out under the trees, he -would make a hundred little voyages and -from each bring back some treasure, flower -or pebble, that he dropped in her lap, watching -her face to see if she were appropriately -pleased. If she were busy with her stitching -and after a time forgot to acknowledge his -gift, he would make known his disgust by -taking everything from her and stamping it -under foot; but if she wisely kept her whole -mind on him, and gave him praise and smiles, -and admired his offerings, he would multiply -his efforts to please her, get her things the -most difficult and perilous to obtain, stones -that were heavy, insects that were frightful, -parade before her every little accomplishment, -be débonnaire and royal, and expose -his true worshipping heart to his servant.</p> - -<p>Woe if in such moments of expansion<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[156]</a></span> -Gregory came out on the lawn and took the -empty seat on the rustic bench beside Emmie! -The child would know nothing of a -divided allegiance, and showed his sense of -outrage by a prompt attack on both, whom -he seemed to think equally conspirators -against his peace. They stood his babbled -vituperation and baby blows with smiling patience -for a little, trying to converse coherently -under them; then, when he burst into -angry tears, with a sigh the mother bore him -off to be lectured and calmed, resuming her -conversation with Gregory at a more opportune -moment. Before Gregory she never -spoke of her husband.</p> - -<p>With the passing months her cheek got -back its freshness, her eye its clear brightness. -Now a haunting fear awoke in her -breast: Aunt Lucretia was wearying of -her presence. She had heard all of her injuries -till the story was stale. She was beginning -to find fault with her just as of old, -to set her back in her place now and then -with the former terrible abruptness, and -that place a very low one. The poor little<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[157]</a></span> -woman accepted all abjectly, shuddering at -the possibility of being again cast on the -world with her child. She went about with -reddened eyelids and a look of pathetic nervousness, -hushing Dorastus whenever he -lifted his voice, doing her pitiful best that -neither should give offence. Gregory could -not look on in patience: he laid the gentle -afflicted creature's tremors forever by asking -her to become his wife.</p> - -<p>His mother left the house and went to -abide with her daughters. But in time she -became reconciled to what was unalterable -and returned to her ancient seat of government, -allowing her age to be cheered by -the sight of her favorite child's happiness. -Little sons and daughters, his wife gave him -four, among whom prevailed straw-colored -hair and eyes of the admired flower tint. The -old house was gay as at early dawn a tree -full of gossiping birds.</p> - -<p>So to Emmie was raised a mighty salvation; -against Dorastus arrayed themselves -innocent yellow heads, like so many insuperable -golden lances.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[158]</a></span></p> - -<p>When the children were called into the -drawing-room to be shown to the company, -a visitor was sure to ask, "And who is this -little man?" meaning Dorastus; so unlikely -did it appear that he could be of his mother's -kindred. To the golden hen, her golden -brood. How in seriousness call a chick the -little black creature with the large beak and -the piercing eyes?</p> - -<p>And as unlike his brothers as he was -physically, so unlike he remained in disposition. -By all the children as by Dorastus -himself the difference in kind was felt. He -remained solitary among them and at odds -with all. They set him down a domineering, -bad-tempered thing, and he summed -them up scornfully as a pack of pudding-heads. -It was not plain to any one why -he thought himself superior: his actual -accomplishments were somewhat less than -ordinary. Bullet-headed, downright Hector, -his brother nearest in age, could beat -him at any sport, and when their differences -brought them to blows was rather more than -half sure of victory over his senior, inferior to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[159]</a></span> -him in size and art; Martin was cleverer than -he at his books; the little girls even could -give him points in conduct—yet his attitude -of every minute insisted upon it that he was -better than any of them, and that his mother -was more particularly his mother than she -was theirs. Emmie, it is true, did not reprove -him quite as she did Hector; he was allowed -more than the others the full swing of his -temperament. His step-father punctiliously -refrained from meddling with him, and if he -made trouble with his temper and his pride -Emmie warned her nice-natured children not -to irritate him, to make allowances for him. -Insensibly that qualified the relation between -Dorastus and his mother. That negative -indulgence he felt, however dimly, did not -prove him a favorite: it made him a sort of -alien. He became more reserved in his demands -upon his mother. There were too -many yellow heads for one boy to contend -with successfully by ordinary means. He -still held to it bravely in his attitude towards -his brothers and sisters that he was better -than they, and that his mother belonged ex<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[160]</a></span>clusively -to him, but herself he troubled less -and less with his jealousy and his claims. It -might have seemed at last almost as if she -were become indifferent to him. Absorbed -by her domestic cares, she had scarcely perceived -the change.</p> - -<p>The cares were many, but pleasant in their -nature. Gregory was steadily, lazily kind, -the children were healthy, she herself was in -the beautiful full bloom of life—she found it -good. She had almost forgotten the bitter -taste of her beginnings, when one night, startled -from a deep sleep, she lay in the dark -awhile and wondered that she should dream -so clearly of hearing the long, low wail of a -violin. It had recreated about her in an instant -the atmosphere of old days. She lay -as she had lain often enough, with lead upon -her heart, a dead sense of there being no escape -in view from this slavery, this poverty, -this succession of weary travel and third-rate -inns, this nerve-racking sound of the violin -penetrating through the brain as a red-hot -needle—no release from this unrelenting -master, this terrible added burden of baby.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[161]</a></span> -She shook herself free from what she thought -the remaining effect of a nightmare; she had -seemed for a moment to smell the very essence -her first husband used on his hair, -mixed with the flat odor of the small Dutch -inn-chamber in which Dorastus was born. -She turned over on her side to sleep again, -when she became assured that she heard a -violin. She listened through her thick heart-beats, -a thrill of superstitious horror stiffening -her skin. She knew it unreasonable, but -could not dispel her fear. She rose sitting -in bed, becoming at last fully awake. Still -she heard the violin, sounding faintly, as if -from some distant part of the house. Then -she thought. It had been these long years -in the garret, the treasured Amati he had -made her swear to keep for his child. The -child had found it.</p> - -<p>She could not fall to sleep again, she must -satisfy herself.</p> - -<p>She slipped her feet into their shoes, got -her dressing-gown about her, and crept -through the shadowy corridor, up the stair, -to where Dorastus slept. Since he would be<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[162]</a></span> -the master, whoever shared his room, which -was obviously unfair to his room-mate, he -had been allotted a little chamber by himself -in a somewhat remote part of the house.</p> - -<p>As she approached it, the sound of the -violin came more and more clear to her. -She stopped and leaned against the balusters, -yielding to a soul-sickness that had its -rise in she scarce knew which, memory or -foreboding. She listened curiously. It was -strange playing, though simple, subdued to -not wound the night silence; unordinary as -it was, there was nothing tentative about it, -the hands seemed going to it with a fine -boldness, a delicate natural skill. The mother -felt not a moment's joy.</p> - -<p>She came to the door, opened it noiselessly, -and stood in the doorway with her candle -shining upward in her wide eyes, her solemn -face.</p> - -<p>Dorastus stopped playing, and said, with a -gleeful, short laugh, "I knew it would make -you come!"</p> - -<p>As Emmie had expected, he held the -Amati. He had thrown off his jacket and<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[163]</a></span> -tie and stood in his shirt-sleeves, with his -neck bare. His dark eyes were burning and -dancing; his black hair was ruffled and -pushed up on end; his face was hotly -flushed. His whole attitude had in it something -new, finely expressive of conscious -power.</p> - -<p>"I knew it would make you come!" he -said, with a triumphant nod.</p> - -<p>She entered and set down her light on the -little chest of drawers. "You ought not to -play at night," she said, faintly. "It disturbs -people's sleep."</p> - -<p>"It wouldn't wake <i>them</i>!" he exclaimed, -scornfully, "and if it did I shouldn't care, -as long as they didn't come and bother. I -wanted to call you, to make you come to -me. I was sure I could. Are you cold, -little mother dear? Get into my bed."</p> - -<p>He laid down his instrument; he came -where she stood, with her silken hair tumbling -over her shoulders, and felt her chilled -hands.</p> - -<p>"No, no," she said, irritably, taking them -from him, "it is unheard of, playing at this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[164]</a></span> -hour of the night. I must go." But she -went mechanically to sit on the edge of his -bed, that had not been lain in that night, -and still kept towards him that wondering, -dismayed face.</p> - -<p>"How did it sound?" asked the boy, whose -excitement seemed to dull his perception, so -that he remained unchilled by her want of -warmth. "Did it say plainly, Arise, wrap -your sky-blue gown about you, never mind -tying up your gold hair, light your light, and -come gliding through the shadow of the -sleeping house, to your dear son, the only -one who loves you, in his solitary room, far -from all the others? That is what I meant -it should say, but towards the end I meant -it to say something else, towards the end it -was explaining. Did you understand that -part?"</p> - -<p>"How did you find it?" asked Emmie, -still in her faint voice. "Why did you take -it without asking our permission? Who -taught you to play on it?"</p> - -<p>The boy laughed again his gleeful laugh. -He got on to the bed beside her and sat<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[165]</a></span> -with his chin in his hand, his glowing face -full of pride in himself. "Ah, how I found -it, when it was up in the garret? It was like -that story of the Greek fellow—what's his -name?—dressed like a girl. When the peddler -brought shawls and ribbons and things, -and a sword hidden among them, he took -the sword, and the peddler knew by that sign -that he was a man. In the garret there -were old hoop-skirts, and broken mousetraps, -and bird-cages, and boxes full of -religious books and things—but my hand -went straight to the violin!"</p> - -<p>"Tell me the truth, Dorastus," spoke his -mother, wearily.</p> - -<p>"Well, then, after talking with a certain -person, I concluded that it must be there. -I looked for it and found it, months and -months ago. I took it and learned to play, -to give you a surprise. Do you think I can -ever play as my father did?"</p> - -<p>"Whom have you heard speak of your -fathers playing, Dorastus?"</p> - -<p>"Aha! There is some one who remembers -him at this very place—who heard him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[166]</a></span> -just once and never forgot it. I might as -well tell you: it is the brother of the inn-keeper's -wife at Colthorpe; he used to be -the hostler, but is too old now. He plays -the violin himself, at weddings, sometimes, -and dances—but not much, dear. He taught -me, but I have gone far ahead—oh, far ahead -of him now! He knows when it is good, -however, and you should hear what he says -of me and my playing. You must see him -and ask him. He had climbed up from outside -into the window when once my father -played at Colthorpe, and he can speak of it -as if it had happened yesterday. (He says -that I am very like my father, that any one -would know me who had seen him. He -knew, before asking, whose son I was. -Only, my father wore his hair long; well, -I will wear my hair long!) He says that, -as he played, every trouble he had ever -had came back to him, even the death of a -dog, and he could not help crying—but he -liked it; he enjoyed feeling bad. And he -says that it made him see plain before him, -but not very plain either, a lot of things he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[167]</a></span> -had only heard folks talk about—the shepherds -in the East, for instance, with the -angels singing good-will in a hole in the -clouds. And he knew for sure, he says, -how it would have felt if the girl he wanted -hadn't married some one else and gone to -live away, but had taken him. I asked him, -the other day, if I could make him feel those -things. He said, 'Not yet, not quite yet;' -but he thought I was beginning. He has a -number of music sheets; I can read the -notes much quicker than he already, though -he taught me. But I don't care for those; -there must be others much better than those! -Those are nothing! I like better what I -make up myself than I do those. Did you -notice—but no, you must have been too far—how -quickly I can play some passages? -My left fingers go like a spider, and it is so -easy for them! Giles says my hand is like -my father's—he remembers it—a true violinist's -hand. I feel that it can do anything, -dear—anything! And I mean that it shall -do such things! Look at it, mother!" and -he held up the thin, unboyishly delicate,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[168]</a></span> -angular hand, stronger in appearance than -the rest of his body. "Is it like my father's? -You are the one, of course, that remembers -best. Is it like my father's?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, yes—yes!" she almost moaned.</p> - -<p>He did not seem to perceive her impatience, -but contemplated his own hand a -little while, calmly sure that he must be an -object of pride to her now. "It is quite -unlike Hector's, at least. I should like to -see him try to play with his pink paws!"</p> - -<p>"He might not be able to play," said -Emmie, "but he will, I dare say, do something -quite as useful."</p> - -<p>"There is nothing quite so useful!" cried -the boy superbly, and laughed again in his -perverse glee. "It is more useful than anything -you can invent to say that Hector is -going to do. Hector! Hector will be a -rabbit-raiser; he likes rabbits better than -anything. But I will come with my violin -and make the rabbits stand up on their hind-legs -and stare; I will play softly, wheedlingly, -going slowly backwards towards the woods, -and they will all come after me, without stop<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[169]</a></span>ping -for a nibble. I will lead them away, -away, all the flock of little, round-backed, -skipping things—just as I made you get out -of bed and come up here."</p> - -<p>"I came to tell you to stop, foolish boy. -I didn't want you to wake the others. It -was very inconsiderate in you—very inconsiderate. -And I am not sure that I am -pleased with you for taking a thing so valuable—it -is worth a great deal of money—unknown -to me, or for doing things in secret, -or for having dealings with people I know -nothing of—hostlers and inn-keepers' wives. -You certainly play nicely—"</p> - -<p>"Ah, did you truly think I did, mother?" -he asked, eagerly. "You ought to know; you -used to hear himself. Now, tell me, dear—"</p> - -<p>"But I am not at all sure"—she interrupted -him, lamely querulous—"that the -violin—You have been so underhanded, -and I see now how you waste your time—it -explains your being so bad with your lessons. -I am not at all sure that the violin -ought not to be taken from you."</p> - -<p>"I shall not give it up!" Dorastus said<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[170]</a></span> -instantly, and it might be perfectly understood -that he would struggle with his last -breath to keep it, doing as much damage as -in him lay to his opposers.</p> - -<p>Emmie, quite pale, looked into his face, -that had fully returned from its mood of -happy pride, and he looked into hers, as -they had looked already when he was but a -baby. Then, seeing what she had always -seen, she tossed up her hands with a little -helpless, womanish motion, and complained: -"Oh, I am so cold, and I feel so ill! It is -like a horrid dream—and I am miserable." -She rose and pulled her things about her -to go, tears shining on her cheek.</p> - -<p>Dorastus, who had leaped up and laid his -hand resolutely on his violin and bow, if they -should be in any immediate danger, watched -her with a strange face. His jaw was iron. -When, as she reached the door, he unclinched -his teeth to speak, his face worked in -spite of him and tears gushed from his eyes. -"You never understand anything!" he exploded, -in a harsh, angry voice all his pride -could not keep from breaking. Then, with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[171]</a></span> -the indignant scorn of a child for a grown-up -person who seems to him out of all nature -dull—"Go!" he said, beating his arms violently -about, "Go! Go!"</p> - -<p>So Dorastus retained the violin, and defiantly -played on it, in and out of season. His -mother's failure to be pleased with his playing -seemed to have cut her off, in his estimation, -from all right to an opinion. It is true -that after the first night she armed herself -with patience towards a situation she could -not change. She did not cross the boy more -than her conscience positively enjoined; he -might play since he pleased, but must not -neglect his studies in pursuit of a vain pastime.</p> - -<p>In spite of her, his studies suffered. He -felt no humiliation now that Hector or any -should be ahead of him with books; he could -have been far ahead of them if he had chosen, -but they could under no circumstance -have done what he did. Of these things he -was proudly convinced, and he declared them -without hesitation. His almost untutored -playing took on a strange audacity, a fantas<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[172]</a></span>tical -quality that made it pleasing to none in -the household. That did not disturb him; -he pursued triumphantly in the direction repugnant -to them, taking their disapproval to -naturally point to its excellence. Sometimes, -half in scorn, he would play for the little -girls the simple melodies they knew, to show -them that he could do that, too, if he chose; -full tenderly could he play them and delight -their gentle hearts, but he preferred, if he -could catch an unprejudiced soul for audience, -a housemaid for instance, to set her opposite -to him and play to her from his head, -then question her as to what the music had -made her think of, helping her to detail her -impressions, expressing his contempt freely -if the music had not had on her the desired -effect, but hugging her if she happened to -answer as he wanted.</p> - -<p>Whenever he had a holiday, or took one, -he disappeared with his instrument, returning -with a conqueror's mien, out of place in a -boy with whom every one is displeased, and -who has had nothing to eat. It was felt by -all how he was in these days not friends with<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[173]</a></span> -anybody, nor anybody friends with him. It -suited his pride to carry off the situation as -if he had been a king among boors.</p> - -<p>Her eldest child's conduct began at last to -be something of a grievance to Emmie. She -appealed to no one for help to reduce him to -obedience. She would not have dared do -that; an intimate sense forbade it, a scruple -which would have had no voice, perhaps, had -she loved him more. She excused and up-held -him in her little wars with Lucretia, and -respected Gregory's reluctance to interfere -with him, founded in justice on the consciousness -of a deep-seated, invincible dislike; but -she fretted under his undutifulness and only -refrained from satisfying the desire to attempt -asserting her power over him, though it -should be futile as ever, in the idea that, at -the worst, he would soon be leaving home, -with Hector, for school, when the detested -violin must be given up and stronger hands -than her own find a way to bend his obstinate -spirit. At the same time, in a corner of her -heart, she felt unreasonably, unaccountably -hurt, as perhaps she would have felt if<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[174]</a></span> -Dorastus's father had suddenly ceased from -his persecutions and she had known by that -sign that, worm as he was, he had ceased to -care for her.</p> - -<p>"This is all very well; but when you get -to school—" Phrases begun on that line -became frequent in Dorastus's ear as the -time approached. He heard them with a -singularly bright eye.</p> - -<p>The two boys set out for school together, -under the guardianship of the tutor. Consternation -fell on the family when it was -known that Dorastus had been missed on -the way. The boy was traced to London; -there he was easily lost among the millions -of its inhabitants.</p> - -<p>While the question was in discussion -whether it behooved Gregory himself to travel -to London and institute a search for the -runaway, came a letter from the boy, making -it easily decent for his step-father to leave -the stinging weed to get its growth where it -might without being a nuisance, and reconciling -his mother to letting him take his -chances as he pleased, since he was so sure<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[175]</a></span> -they were brilliant—very brilliant, those -chances.</p> - -<p>His certainty of himself, his enthusiasm, -were such that gradually they communicated -themselves in a degree to her. Why not? -After all, his father, they had said, was a -great man; princes had honored him. An -involuntary respect crept through her for -Dorastus's daring. It seemed advisable at -least to give him the opportunity he wanted; -the more that the process of finding him, -bringing him back in what to him would -seem ignominy, and thereafter keeping watch -over him, was uncomfortable to think of.</p> - -<p>His letter was to his mother, a mixture of -boyishness and manliness, more frank than -any speech she had had from him in a long -time. It vaguely stirred her heart; for it -seemed to restore to her something that possessing -she had not prized, but, careful economist, -did not like to think lost.</p> - -<p>"You must promise that I shall not be -troubled by any attempt to get me back. I -will do anything terrible if I am trapped. -Don't you see that I couldn't go to school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[176]</a></span> -with Hector, who is younger? We should be -put in classes together, for a while at least, -and I couldn't stand it. Besides, I haven't -the time, I have so much to do! Besides, I -couldn't go on living with <i>those people</i> forever. -I don't mean that you shall, either. I -won't tell you all now, but after a time you -may know that there is to be a house much -better than theirs for you to live in, with me. -You shall have everything much better. But -I will not tell you more. Only, you can be -perfectly sure of it. You will not think that -I came away without caring about leaving -you. I was afraid you would guess something -if I hugged you before them as I -wanted to, but I had been to your room in -the night, and any of your gowns you put on -is full of your son's kisses. If I thought you -would show this letter, I think that I should -never in my life write you again. If you -should send me any money, I should return -it at once or destroy it, so please don't do it, -it would make me angry. I know that we -had nothing when we came to their house, -except the violin. One of the servants told<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[177]</a></span> -me how we came. What do you suppose -keeping me all these years has cost? When -I can, I mean to give them double; you can -tell him so, if you choose. I can't now, but -what I can do is to take nothing more from -them. You need not be anxious about me. -I am prepared, because I have long known -what I meant to do, and I can take care of -myself. I have met several persons already -who know of my father; it seems to be something -here to be his son, though not at home, -except to one man, and he a hostler. Well, -I will show them—you, too, dear mother. I -don't mean to vex or grieve you, mother, -dear. If I have vexed you, I know I shall -make you forgive me some day, before long, -perhaps, when I shall have made you understand. -You can write me at the Tartar's -Head, but if you hunted me there, or information -concerning me, you would never find -me, I vow."</p> - -<p>Other letters came from time to time, -written in fine spirits always, referring, but -mysteriously, to fine successes. Emmie felt -a certain modesty about these letters. She<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[178]</a></span> -communicated what was in them with reserve, -and adopted towards inquirers the tone -of discretion that the letters had with herself. -But she found herself often brooding -over the contents. They charmed the imagination; -they sounded like things one -read. It was so remarkable, this circumstance -of a poor boy, a boy of her own, arriving in -a great city, with little but his violin, and by -sounds merely forcing the things one values -to come to him, as he had spoken fancifully -once, she remembered, of making a flock of -rabbits follow him into the woods. He wrote -little very definite, but dropped telling hints -of how he had played before this great man -and that man of importance, and this one had -said—the other had promised. He had been -called upon to perform at a certain levee, and -out of his fee had bought the things he was -sending; he had money to spare. And there -came a parcel of presents for Emmie and the -little girls, by which all were greatly impressed. -Dorastus's rank in the memory of his -family rose a degree. Now, on looking back, -each knew that he had always foreseen how,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[179]</a></span> -with that powerful will, Dorastus must be -able to hew his way through difficulties and -compel circumstances to serve him. He was -looked on rather as a man than a boy, even -as he looked on himself. His mother was -grateful to him for seeming to efface the -weak foolishness out of her first marriage: -she was justified in her latter days, and -proved a virgin full of good sense. She -wrote Dorastus encouraging letters. Her -good words got glowing answers: surely it -would not be long; he was working with all -his might. But they must be patient, for -success as a material recompense was slow; -and he hinted with the effect of a sigh at -rivalries, at the density of the public mind. -Yet talent must inevitably triumph in the -end and manly effort meet its reward.</p> - -<p>When Hector came home for his holidays -he found it just a little stupid to have been -a good boy. The personage in the general -mind seemed to be his undisciplined half-brother. -He contrived, however, in the -course of weeks, to fix a good deal of attention -on himself. He restored the balance to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[180]</a></span> -his mother's mind. Dorastus sank into his -natural place in relation to her other children. -She waited in serene patience—sometimes -with a passing touch of scepticism, the reflection -of some outsider's attitude, oftener with -childish perfection of faith—for the developments -he announced in letters somewhat decreasing -in frequency, but preserving their -early tone of hopefulness.</p> - -<p>So time passed. The unusual became the -usual and lost consideration, according to its -habit.</p> - -<p>Then the sisters-in-law, those perfect -daughters, mothers, and wives, came to visit -the head of the house in the home of their -girlhood. They brought maids and children -and chattels manifold.</p> - -<p>Now these ladies had been in London, and -Emmie heard much from them of the glories -and greatness of that city; she had long opportunity -to learn respect for their manners -and gowns, which alike came from there. -They had not happened upon Dorastus; they -could not remember hearing of him, and as -that seemed to make it plain to Emmie they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[181]</a></span> -had not been in the most polite places, they -explained that the city was so large and populous -you might not come across a person in -a lifetime.</p> - -<p>They left on a rainy autumn morning. -Emmie, with her forehead against the glass, -watched their carriages dwindling, dwindling. -Gone, with all their patterns for gowns, with -the last sweet thing in worsted-work; gone, -with their fashionable conversation, the art -of which she had not had quite time yet to -master. But even if she had become perfect -in all, as they, of what use could it have been -to her here? she asked, turning from the -dripping window-pane.</p> - -<p>She moved with an air of being the moon -by day. The sickness of the decaying year -seemed to have got into her blood; she felt -as if she herself were the perishing summer, -which had somehow been wasted. She said -over her children's ages with a sort of terror, -a sense of time having stolen a march on her; -she was vaguely panic-stricken to think there -was so little of the good time of life left before -her. She sought the mirror to divert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[182]</a></span> -her mind with trying on again the bonnet -the sisters had bestowed on her, pronouncing -it so becoming. Under the severe gray light -the face she saw reflected held more than -ever to her discontented eyes a forecast of -the cheerless coming days when the rose -should be withered, the gold gone. The -deadly quiet of the country, the silence of -the well-regulated house, suddenly seemed to -her an outrage, a roof incontrovertible that -no one cared what happened to her. Gregory -in particular did not care. Else would -he not have comprehended that movement -and novelty and gayety alone could at this -pass save her from the insidious oncreeping -evil that encouraged hard lines between -the pale cheek and the drooping mouth? -Clearly he did not care. He cared for -nothing but not to be disturbed after dinner. -In this connection she thought over -many a subtle wrong she had been putting -up with for years. She thought of Dorastus, -from whom this husband, with his -royal indifference, allowed her to be so long -separated; Dorastus, who as she looked to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[183]</a></span> -him, turning from the lukewarm, apathetic -tribe surrounding her, seemed an embodiment -of swiftness and strength, a tempered -steel blade to rely on, a flame at which to -warm the numb hands of the heart. Ah, -well, he was making a home for her with him, -yonder in the living city. She lost sight of -the mirror into which she was staring; she -saw that home. Suddenly it seemed to her -she could not live longer without seeing her -boy. She rose with the energy of true inspiration. -It was such an obviously legitimate -desire, this desire to behold again her -own flesh and blood, that she need not be -at pains to fabricate palliation or excuse for -it. She sought Gregory directly. She was -weary and ill, she had dreams at night, he -did not know how hard her life had become. -She wanted to see Dorastus.</p> - -<p>Gregory yielded.</p> - -<p>They came to London. They took rooms -at a quiet hotel known to him of old.</p> - -<p>The novelty of all, the anticipation, made -Emmie feel young again. Her violet eyes -were still childishly clear, her hair was pretty<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[184]</a></span> -still; little was missed of the beauty of her -youth but its slender lightness.</p> - -<p>"No, no; you must leave it all to me," -she said, when Gregory would have accompanied -her in her search for Dorastus. "I -have a clue which I will not betray. He has -shown, dear fellow, that he might be trusted -to take care of himself. I will bring him -home to dine with us. You may take seats -for the pantomime."</p> - -<p>So the good Gregory put her in the care of -a trusted driver, and saw her started on her -adventure.</p> - -<p>Now she was driven—it seemed to her -they were hours on the way—to the Tartar's -Head, a coffee-house of not very imposing -appearance, in a crowded part.</p> - -<p>Before reaching her destination she almost -wished she had let Gregory come: it was so -noisy; the air was so dingy it deadened -one's spirits despite wealth of delightful -prospects; and she must face various unknown, -perhaps unfriendly, faces before finding -his face—after which all would be well.</p> - -<p>She descended from the carriage with a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[185]</a></span> -little flutter, then with the haste of rout got -into it again, and requested the driver to -bring some one to her, as if she had been a -great person.</p> - -<p>A young man came out to take her commands, -a well-oiled young man in side-whiskers -and a broad shirt-front.</p> - -<p>Had not letters been received there addressed -to so-and-so?</p> - -<p>The young man was more than polite. -Inquiries were made. Such letters had been -received. The person to whom they were -addressed called for them.</p> - -<p>"I am his mother," said Emmie, lamely, -for she had prepared another course than -this simple one, a course involving strategy. -"Does he not live here? Where does he -live?"</p> - -<p>The young man continued very obliging. -He made further inquiries and came back -looking a little blank. The person came himself -and left no direction for forwarding his -letters; a letter had once been waiting several -weeks.</p> - -<p>"Does no one here know him?" asked his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[186]</a></span> -mother, nearly in tears. Of a sudden this city -seemed to her terribly large, and terribly full -of people who cared nothing for any distress -of hers. "He plays on the violin—he plays -very beautifully on the violin."</p> - -<p>A possibility of intelligence dawned in the -obliging young man's face, and he ran in-doors -again. He came back with a hopeful -air. "Yes, your ladyship. There is an old -man belonging to the place knows him. He -took him a letter once when he couldn't -come himself, being laid up. He didn't -want to tell at first, saying how he'd sworn. -But I let him know your ladyship was the -young man's mother, and he told. It's a -bit far."</p> - -<p>The waiter stepped up to the coachman -and gave him instructions. Emmie rewarded -his obligingness with bounty in proportion -to her relief at all proving so easy. Of -course some one knew him. It was part of -his boyishness to suppose he could hide, -after his light had begun shining through -the bushel, too.</p> - -<p>She looked out through the misty pane<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[187]</a></span> -at the bright passing shop-windows; there -seemed to her thousands in a row, and hundreds -of carriages rolling along with her. -She liked the city again exceedingly, and -was glad to hope she might be there often -after a time; it was so various, it put life -into one. If only the murky cloud would -lift that rested on the chimney-tops, and the -rain stop making more the gray slime on the -flags.</p> - -<p>It was a long distance. She looked out -until she was tired and confused; then leaned -back and meditated pleasantly for a time, -then looked out again, with a little shock of -disappointment at seeing no more bright -windows.</p> - -<p>They were going more slowly; the streets -here were narrow, the air seemed dingier, the -houses and people looked miserable.</p> - -<p>She watched with a saddened interest -these that she fixed upon as the poor city-people -in their poor quarters. She was sorry -for them, but she would be relieved when -they were left behind for the gayer thoroughfares, -or the roomier, more cheerful suburbs.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[188]</a></span></p> - -<p>Now at the entrance of a narrow court the -carriage stopped. She wondered what could -be hindering its progress, and fidgeted while -the coachman left his box and came to the -door. He opened it with a stolid face and held -his finger to his hat, waiting for her to alight.</p> - -<p>"But—but"—she stammered, eying the -poverty-stricken appearance of the place, -"this cannot be it!"</p> - -<p>"The directions were clear, ma'am; I've -followed them," said the man, with respectful -firmness. "This is as near as I can get to the -house; there's no room to turn around in -the court."</p> - -<p>Emmie leaned back a moment, determined -not to stir from her cushions—the mistake -was on the face of it too stupid.</p> - -<p>The coachman stood waiting, a man of -patience carved in wood. Emmie eyed him -helplessly; then, seeing that the imposing -creature would be satisfied with no less from -her, with the abruptness of impatience she -alighted, and rustled into the dark court, peering -upward for the number.</p> - -<p>There it was. She knocked, and listened,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[189]</a></span> -with a heart in which strange things seemed -to be happening. To the capless woman -who opened she stammered a name, looking -for the relief of being told instantly that -none of that name lived there.</p> - -<p>"Three pair back, ma'am," said the woman, -who appeared like a cook, actual, past, or -potential. "But he's not in. There's no -telling how soon he will come. What name -did you say? Drastus what? Sibbie-mole? -Oh no, ma'am. Beg pardon. I listened as -far as Drastus, and answered because it's -such a curious name. Ours name is Fenton. -But, let's see. What manner of young man -might yours be? Like a foreigner, with a -large nose and black eyes, and plays the -fiddle, and wears his hair long? Dear me, -ma'am, the very same! His room's three -pair back. You wish to wait for him? This -way, then, ma'am."</p> - -<p>Emmie, in whom all processes of thought -had stopped in amazement, followed the -landlady as best she could up three flights -of dark stairs, and entered through the door -flung open for her.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[190]</a></span></p> - -<p>They stood in a little room that received -the day through a sky-light. Emmie dropped, -sitting on the edge of the narrow bed and -knotted her little gloved fingers together in -silence. She was so pale that the landlady -felt alarmed and asked if she were feeling ill. -She shook her head, and continued looking -about fearfully and in wonder.</p> - -<p>There was little to see, nothing that might -not have belonged to any one in the wide -world as well as to that boy; not one of these -sordid appurtenances reminded her of him, -except the music on the table—but any fiddler -might have just such music.</p> - -<p>She rose to her feet as if jerked by a hidden -string, and walked stiffly towards the -door, saying, "It is evidently not the one. -This one's name is Drastus Fenton, you say. -The one I seek is Dorastus Sibbemol. Good-morning, -ma'am."</p> - -<p>But near the door she stopped, her eyes -widening upon an object set upright in the -corner—a black wooden box, very old, scarred -and worm-eaten, mournfully resembling a -child's coffin.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[191]</a></span></p> - -<p>She went back to the bed, and limply -leaned against the wall. She stared over at -the box, with its peculiar wrought-iron hinges -and handle.</p> - -<p>"Has he been here long?" she asked, faintly, -at last, of the blowzy woman who was looking -at her with some concern, and at the same -time, in view of the lady's respectability, trying -to smooth down her untidy hair.</p> - -<p>She thought a moment and judged he -might have been there half a year.</p> - -<p>Emmie wrung her hands in an aimless way. -She felt little of pain as yet, or indignation; -only vague throes and convulsions of change, -a working of all the atoms in heart and brain -trying to adjust themselves to something -new.</p> - -<p>"And he is poor!" she murmured.</p> - -<p>"Well," said the landlady, exculpatingly, -"we are all poor folks here, ma'am. He -mostly pays his rent—I don't ask much, -but when he's behind I'm not hard on him. -He's a good lad," she went on, and as she -was a sizable woman, after a gesture of deferential -apology she took a seat, to support her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[192]</a></span> -in her view of lingering to angle with information -until she caught a little enlightenment. -"A good lad, but that proud! He thinks he'll -be as rich as a dook some day, with his little -fiddle!" She shook her head in compassion -and chuckled fatly over a household joke of -long standing. "He's all right in his head, -ma'am, except on that point. A poor lad -that plays in the streets is none so likely to -pick up a fortune. And such tunes as he -plays! I've always been told I'd an uncommon -ear for a catch, but to catch head or tail -of them is beyond me!"</p> - -<p>"He plays in the streets!"</p> - -<p>"Yes, poor Dook—come rain, come shine. -Sometimes he has a good day, sometimes a -bad one; but times is hard—it's not very good -at best. He's not one of them pretty-impudent -Italian boys with wheedling brown velvet -eyes. He looks too scornful, and despises -folks more than is for his own good. I have -felt hurt at it myself, ma'am, and I may say -I'm not touchy. When I've known that he -was a bit hard up and he looked hollow, and -I've asked him in neighborly to have a bite<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[193]</a></span> -with us, he has answered me almost as if he -hated me for it—and gone hollow."</p> - -<p>His mother drew in her breath sharply.</p> - -<p>"Might you be a friend of his?" asked the -landlady. "Once when he was sick abed, -and I came up to say a good word, he got -sociabler than usual, and spoke of a lady, -a lady of quality, who'd heard him play—I -thought likely it was before he came here -with his coat so seedy—a lady who thought -he was very fine. Perhaps I don't understand -about fiddle-playing, and he is all he says. -Might you be the lady?"</p> - -<p>"Yes, yes, yes!" said Emmie, scarcely -knowing what she said.</p> - -<p>The landlady looked much interested. -"Well, now, I thought as much, for I don't -think he's any one in the world belonging to -him. He's a good lad, ma'am," she said -again, with a good-natured impulse to make -hay for a fellow-creature while this, possibly -a sun, was shining. "He deserves better -than he gets, if I do say it. He works at -them music-books for hours sometimes, at -night, till the man below is fit to go mad.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[194]</a></span> -But I tell him I can't put out a lodger that -pays more frequent than he, and when I -speak to Drastus he says he'll leave, though -he should have to sleep on the pavement—he -must play when he pleases. He says -that it's because he can't play as other fiddle-men -do, from a book and in a particular way, -that he can't get nothing to do but play in -the streets. So he must learn, and learn he -will, and he scrapes away like a meeting of -cats on the roof. I'm sorry he's out, ma'am. -What did you want with him, now? Couldn't -I give your message—or must you wait yourself?"</p> - -<p>"I will wait—I will wait."</p> - -<p>"He may not be home till night. He -sometimes even—"</p> - -<p>"Oh, leave me, my good woman!" moaned -Emmie. "What else can I do but wait?"</p> - -<p>And the landlady, taking pity on what -seemed to her an inordinate perturbation of -spirit, left the visitor to herself, returning -now and then to listen, and bringing up once -an inquiry from the coachman.</p> - -<p>Emmie remained sitting on the edge of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[195]</a></span> -the bed. After a time she rose and looked -with pointless minuteness at everything in -the room, opening every drawer and reading -every paper. She found all her letters tied -in a bundle and wrapped in a silk neckerchief -of her own, old, and that she had never -missed. He had few possessions, and they -made the heart sick to pore over.</p> - -<p>The light faded off the dull glass overhead. -With chilled fingers she felt for the candle -and lighted it. The landlady, coming up at -dark, insisted on bringing her a cup of tea. -The good creature had so disciplined her -curiosity concerning the history implied in -this gentlewoman's presence here that her -delicacy now in endeavoring to discover was -touching. Yet it went unrewarded. She -stayed for the satisfaction of seeing the lady, -who she thought looked fairly ill, refresh herself; -and when it was delayed, tried by example -to institute in the atmosphere that -cheerfulness which is conducive to a better -appetite—until asked again, with an imploring -glance from eyes like a shot dove's, to go, -for the sake of pity to go.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[196]</a></span></p> - -<p>Emmie now took down the few clothes -she had seen on the hooks, with a vague idea -that they required mending. She spread -them out over her lap one by one, and passed -her hand mechanically over the threadbare -places where the black was green, over certain -fringes about the holes, her heart feeling -extraordinarily large and empty and silent. -The rings on her cold hand glittered in the -stroking movement, four rich rings with -various stones, Gregory's gifts. Four—but -she had five children.</p> - -<p>She stretched herself suddenly on the bed -with her face in the old coat, the chill of the -room slowly seizing upon her as she lay. She -prayed in a distant, half-conscious way, without -the least illusion that such words could -persuade any one, for God to unmake everything -that had happened to her, to let her -have died, and Dorastus too, at his very birth; -for them to have both been lying in the remote -Dutch God's-acre these many years. -For one fleeting moment memory gave back -to her perfect an impression never before recalled. -She seemed to have been roused<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[197]</a></span> -from a stupor deeper than sleep; her eyes -dwelt without wonder on what she thought -to be a cathedral, with colored windows ablaze—it -dwindled, until it was a mere night-light -glimmering. Then shadowy people placed a -little bundle in her arms. She tingled as an -instrument whose every string is touched, a -coolness rippled from her head to her feet, -she knew a state never known before or since, -a sense of unlimited wealth, a tenderness ineffable, -a trembling outgoing of all her being -to this handful of life. She heaved a great, -faint sigh, and with effort unspeakable bent -till her lips were pressed as to a warm rose-leaf. -She sank to sleep, weak unto death, -but blissfully happy—waking stronger and -in a different mood.</p> - -<p>She wished she might not have waked, but -been buried with her poor first baby in her -arms, having ceased to be in the single moment -wherein she completely loved it. Nothing -that had happened to her since then -seemed to her sweet; all was sicklied through -by the consciousness of a crime gone before -and daily confirmed, a woman's most mon<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[198]</a></span>strous, -miserable crime—not loving enough. -Nothing could make her withered, yellowed, -cheapened life right now—she should have -died at that moment. She said this over and -over again to the powers that hear us, until -all meaning had faded from it. She started, -with a sense of something going out—she -thought it must be the candle and she should -be left in the dark. She sat up, frightened -and freezing.</p> - -<p>The candle was burning quietly. Then, as -she scrutinized the shadows ahead, loath to -stir, she became aware of her rings having -grown loose, they were in danger of dropping -off; of her clothes having grown loose, they -let the cold in under them; she felt a prickling -at the temples, as if it were the gray -creeping through her hair; she felt her features -becoming pinched and old, beauty dropping -from them like a husk. She wanted to -cry then with a childish self-pity, but no tears -would come; she did not know how to start -the flood that she longed for to relieve her. -She felt that she could only have screamed.</p> - -<p>She got up to rid herself of this congeal<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[199]</a></span>ment, -and paced the room from corner to -corner with sweeping black gown that told -of the dusty things it had that day brushed.</p> - -<p>Company had come to the man below; -they were making a great deal of very jolly -noise. The candle guttered drearily; a reek -of warm cabbage climbed up the stairway to -her nostrils. She looked up on hearing a -soft tapping—the black sky-light was spattered -with silver tears, like a pall.</p> - -<p>She walked up and down, waiting and listening, -everything taking more and more the -quality of a dream wherein the most unnatural -things grow ordinary. She had felt with -a numbed sort of cowardly loathing that every -moment brought her nearer to a black -stream of realizing grief and remorse into -which willy-nilly she must descend; but now -it seemed in accordance with every known -law that she should be here, destined to go -on walking so forever, never arriving, nor -anything ever changing. She heard herself -say aloud in a light, indifferent tone, "He -will never come. He will never come."</p> - -<p>For a moment she remembered Gregory,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[200]</a></span> -whose image seemed to rise out of the dim -past: Gregory in the warm light of the hotel -coffee-room, where dinner was set on a little -table for three, dinner with wine-glasses of -two shapes, and fruit and confectionery in -crystal dishes. The thought worked upon -her as a sweet smell in sea-sickness. All -that had to do with Gregory seemed of negative -importance; let him wait and wonder -and worry. She felt hard-hearted towards -him and all prosperous things.</p> - -<p>A burst of voices reached her through the -floor; they were rough and hoarse, their -mirth had turned to wrangling. It was so -horribly lonely here! If they were suddenly -possessed to climb the stairs, to burst in -upon her! There was a crash of glass—she -screamed; then a laugh—she shuddered—and -the noise grew less. She breathed again, but, -feeling her knees weaken, went back to the bed, -and sat listening in fascination for the murmuring -sounds to develop again into a quarrel.</p> - -<p>Suddenly, without the warning of gradually -approaching sounds she had prepared herself -for, she heard footsteps just outside.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[201]</a></span></p> - -<p>She knew them. An impulse to flee seized -her. She looked about for a place to hide -in, a place to get through, to jump from. -She could not bear to see him, she felt as a -murderess whose victim's ghost is upon her. -His image flashed before her, pinched with -hunger and cold, worn, embittered with disappointment, -terrible with its long unrequited -love turned to hatred—gray, with glassy eyes.</p> - -<p>She looked wildly, but she could not move. -Besides, it was too late, a hand was on the -door.</p> - -<p>As it opened, a deep stillness fell upon -her, a suspension of all.</p> - -<p>A spell seemed to snap with his coming -into the range of the candle-light; it was as -to a child locked all night in a graveyard the -cock-crow that lays the ghosts and heralds -the day. She took a feeble breath and her -heart gave a warm little throb. The very -face! only, a young man's face rather than a -boy's, thinner and bolder than ever, but, -thank Heaven! not pathetic, not heart-breaking—but -with red where red should be, with -living light in the eyes.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[202]</a></span></p> - -<p>He held his violin; he was meanly clad, -and his woollen muffler was of a cheap and -dismal tint no mother would have chosen for -him.</p> - -<p>He looked in surprise at the lighted candle, -and quickly cast his eyes about, frowning -to see who had taken this liberty. He -caught sight of her, blinked and narrowed -his eyes, to distinguish.</p> - -<p>She could not make a sound, or bring a -vestige of expression to her face, or lift the -pale little hands from her black lap—but sat -transfixed under his questioning stare.</p> - -<p>He took a few steps, uttered a jubilant -shout, and dashed towards her with outstretched -arms—But he stopped before -reaching her. He gave a glance around the -horrible little room, a glance at her face with -the eyes full of stern sadness, of reproach for -the many, many lies he had told her. Abruptly -he turned his back to her and dropped -on his knees beside the table, saying furiously -in disjointed syllables as he pressed his -working face against his arms. "You won't -understand! You never understand any<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[203]</a></span>thing! -I think sometimes that you are a -fool!"</p> - -<p>But he felt her soft icy hands tremble -about his head, he felt her fluttering breath -in his neck. She was kneeling beside him, -saying in choked whispers in the intervals of -lifting her poor lips from his wet face, "Don't -speak!—Don't speak!"</p> - -<p>She was straining him to her with a passionate -tenderness never shown another being, -raining on him the sweetest kisses.</p> - -<p>Both fell to crying as if their hearts would -break.</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="p6"><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[204]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2 id="CHLOE_CHLORIS_AND_CYTHEREA">CHLOE, CHLORIS, AND CYTHEREA</h2></div> - - -<p>To make you acquainted by sight with -young Chloris: she was a tall girl, a trifle -meagre in outline, but not disagreeably so; -she had light reddish-brown hair, and a -sprinkling of freckles on a peachy skin, and -those eyes with dead-leaf spots in them; altogether -an air of openness and intelligent -goodness that had quickly thrown the newly -introduced off the question—was she pretty? -But she was pretty, too, at her hours.</p> - -<p>On this day she had shut out the sun by -means of the green Venetian blinds, and her -room, like a submerged crystal chamber, was -full of a watery light; she herself, white -clothed, made a fair green-shadowy nymph -in the dim green atmosphere.</p> - -<p>This was her first hour of complete con<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[205]</a></span>scious -content. So rich was she in content -that she had set herself to perusing a volume -of the driest essays, a present for a diligent -girl graduate.</p> - -<p>This sense of life unfolding like a normal -flower and becoming the perfection of a rose -was too much for the grateful heart to contemplate -at its ease; some great demonstration -towards God must follow on such contemplation. -And Chloris in her security -putting it off until bedtime, sat reading about -the discipline of the will, the happy blood -all the while keeping up in her veins a pleasant -undercurrent babbling of other matters. -Two hours more and the summer sun would -be reaching its glorious haven, the cool flow -in with the darkness, and time take up -again that sweet scanning of the lines of her -idyl....</p> - -<p>After reading the same passage some -seven times, Chloris let her book lie a moment -in her lap. How marvellous, how -simple, how natural, how exquisite! Truly -like the coming up of a flower. First, they -were children together, fair-dealing, un<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[206]</a></span>quarrelsome -playmates; then, schoolboy -and schoolgirl, always good unsentimental -friends; and finally, time, passing over them, -slowly turned them to lovers; for this, no -question, was whither they were tending: -quiet, undemonstrative, unjealous, faithful, -devoted lovers, presently married people, -and by and by, God pleasing, tenants of one -same grave. And this sweetness in the -heart, this best of all earthly goods, God -granted it to the humblest of his creatures! -Why, then, were so many dissatisfied with -this dear earth? Why were some on it interested -in the discipline of the will? Ah, -this summer, so endearingly begun, to be -ended so—and Chloris, in a confusion of -bliss, almost as if to give herself a countenance -towards herself, took up her book -again, finding moonlight and wild azaleas -and whippoorwills between the lines, a -dappled, singing shingle, a golden beach, -velvet winds from over sea.</p> - -<p>The sunshine crept off the window-square; -a sadness instantly invaded the room; Chloris -jumped up to open the blinds. Time to<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[207]</a></span> -dress! Then she did her hair as painstakingly -as ably, put on a just-ironed white -gown with a violet figure, and stood at the -glass weighing the question of a velvet band -around the neck. A fateful sound already -was dawning on the distance outside, but -she did not as yet hear it. Too hot! She -tossed the velvet ribbon in the top bureau-drawer -so unconcernedly as if not, at that -moment, the Parcć had been tangling the -skein of her life, and wondered idly if any -one describing her would call her pretty. -She thought, in conscience, not; but of a -charming appearance, she hoped any one -would.</p> - -<p>At this point penetrated to her brain a -sound of voices out on the road beyond the -lawn and the hedge. She looked between -the curtains.</p> - -<p>Two ladies, unknown to her, were slowly -sauntering past in the direction of the beach; -one, near middle age, in a darkish gown; the -other, young, in light colors of a distinctly -fashionable tone; this latter carried over her -shoulder a very large, fluffy, and, as it showed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[208]</a></span> -even at this distance, inexpressibly costly -parasol. She turned her face a moment -on the ancient vine-overclambered country-house, -from one window of which peeped -Chloris, looked it up and down and across, -and turned away, making, Chloris supposed, -some comment upon it to her companion.</p> - -<p>When they had disappeared from sight, -Chloris, still at the window, musing on that -face seen a moment, heard a leisurely jingling, -and saw pass at a walking pace an -empty shining carriage, drawn by two superb -bays, driven by a man in livery.</p> - -<p>"It must be their turn-out," she concluded -her wondering. "Who can they be but the -people that were to move into the Beauregard -cottage?"</p> - -<p>Then, as there was time to spare before -tea, she sat down in the window. Shortly, -was a lively jingling, a trampling, and the -shining carriage bowled swiftly by on its way -back from the beach; on its cushions, two -ladies under a broad lacy parasol; a mighty -cloud of dust running after it, never to over-take.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[209]</a></span></p> - -<p>Almost at the same moment Chloris saw -Him, half the subject of her idyl, coming -across the lawn.</p> - -<p>She went to meet him.</p> - -<p>"Who are the arrivals?" she asked at once.</p> - -<p>And here was pronounced, for the first time -before Chloris, the name of Cytherea.</p> - -<p>"Cytherea, Damon? Who is Cytherea? -Where does she come from? Do you know -her?"</p> - -<p>"Very slightly," answered the young man; -"I have met her in town. She had told me -she thought of coming here for the summer, -but I supposed it was conversation. I had -completely forgotten, until I saw her this -afternoon. She is entranced with everything! -You can never see our poky little -old place in its true light: you must get a -description of it from her, Chloris. She will -find it deadly dull before the end of a week; -but for the moment she imagines quiet to be -all she wants. She has been working like a -slave at doing the proper thing in town."</p> - -<p>"She has brought her style with her, I -see."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[210]</a></span></p> - -<p>"They are inseparable. She arrived yesterday -on the late train, and you should see -the change already in the Beauregard."</p> - -<p>"You have been there, then?"</p> - -<p>"Just a moment. They called to me from -the veranda. They were having tea. Fancy -their bringing down a grand-piano!"</p> - -<p>"Does she play much?"</p> - -<p>"I don't know. Very probably. She -looks as if she might."</p> - -<p>"Oh, no, Damon! There you mistake. -She looks as if she mightn't. She is very -pretty, but I will vouch for it she can't -play—"</p> - -<p>"Perhaps the cousin is the pianist. We -shall see. I said you would call on them -this evening."</p> - -<p>"I, Damon? The instant they arrive? -Why did you say that? Why should I call -before they have had time to breathe?"</p> - -<p>"Do you mind? I am so sorry. They -asked me to come, and I half promised. It -is likely to be somewhat slow for them here -if we stand on ceremony. You will like them, -I am sure."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[211]</a></span></p> - -<p>"You are sure? No doubt I shall. But -to-night seems rather—instantaneous, if you -don't mind. You will excuse me to them, -and I will wait till they get a little more -settled."</p> - -<p>"Settled! They have brought down an -army of servants. The house looks as if -they had lived in it for a month."</p> - -<p>"Make what excuse for me you please, -then."</p> - -<p>"You won't come, Chloris?"</p> - -<p>"I think not. Not this evening. Go by -yourself, and tell me all the great changes -to-morrow. She will be much better pleased -to see you than me, anyway."</p> - -<p>"Why do you say that?"</p> - -<p>"Her face, my dear boy! She can't play -the piano, to speak of, and she greatly prefers -men to women."</p> - -<p>"Perhaps you do her an injustice—"</p> - -<p>"Have I said anything disparaging? I -signalled two virtues, I think. You don't -really mind my not going, Damon? I had -intended to write letters this evening, and -mend table-cloths and read to father."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[212]</a></span></p> - -<p>When, shortly after tea, Damon had gone, -Chloris tried to return herself into a truthful -person by reading an hour to her father, and -adding a dozen stitches to a delicate darn, -and writing a note, which, when finished, she -tore up. In order, as far as possible, with -her conscience, she seated herself at the -piano, a poor, tin-voiced instrument, tired of -the sea-air. No one so well as Chloris, -accustomed to its senile vagaries, could -make the worn thing discourse music; -her greatest successes on it were old-time -compositions written in the day of spinet -and harpsichord, minuets with a sprinkling -of grace-notes, things not sonorous or profound. -To-night, playing for no one's praise, -she plunged haphazard into the melodies -most sympathetic at the moment, stormy -and subtle, melancholy and intricate and -modern. It was Chloris's one proud gift, -this effectiveness at the piano.</p> - -<p>Her father and his elderly sisters took -themselves off to bed on the stroke of ten. -Chloris remained on the adjustable stool, -relieved at their going. She took up her<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[213]</a></span> -playing again, without trying now to keep -her eyes dry.</p> - -<p>The sweet, hot air of the day, cooling, was -turned to dew outside; something of the -same kind seemed taking place within herself—and -the dew was tears. Why had she -been so curiously uplifted that day, so at rest -concerning every point in life, so sure of one -thing at least? Nothing was changed, yet -she saw no reason now for blessing this summer, -golden hour for hour, and looking to it -for the greatest, serenest happiness. Damon? -What was Damon to her, or she to Damon? -He had never in so many words made love -to her, and she had never felt the first pang -of wonder or disappointment at this. They -had walked, rowed, ridden together. What -of it? They should do these things again a -hundred times, probably. What of that? -What had she been dreaming, erewhile? -Or was this the dream, this bad one? Something -splendid and shining and purple had -gone gray.</p> - -<p>While continuing mechanically to play, -she looked through the open window into<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[214]</a></span> -the summer night. It was rightfully her -moon, that honeyed bright moon outside; -her balm-breathing night; it was her silver -sea yonder out of sight; they were her -odorous pine-needle paths in the sighing -grove—and she was robbed of them. And -the sense of it gave her a seething in the -heart, the like of which sensation she had -never dreamed existed: as if a painful separation -of all the atoms in it one from the -other, as well as the stern conviction of being—oh, -the novel idea!—a fool.</p> - -<p>"I won't have it!" she muttered, emphatically, -without knowing definitely what she -meant, and struck an angry discord.</p> - -<p>Through her playing reached her suddenly -that merry harness-jingle of the afternoon, -approaching, passing, fading away.</p> - -<p>"There they go—to the beach for the -second time to-day—to look at the ocean -by light of the moon."</p> - -<p>When in little less than an hour she heard -the breaking again, on the quiet air, of the -fatuous silvery jingle, she let her playing -fall to a mere musical murmur, and lis<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[215]</a></span>tened, -acutely, burning all the while with -shame.</p> - -<p>"Go slowly, Humphrey," she caught, in a -rich, sweet voice; "I want to listen to the -music."</p> - -<p>"She plays really wonderfully. I have -never heard playing I preferred to hers," -came in a well-known deeper voice, at -which Chloris's cheeks waxed hotter still. -She pressed her foot on the pedal and shut -herself within a wall of dinning, buzzing -sound.</p> - -<p>When she had lifted it, and risen, the road -was empty, the night silent, but for the crickets -and the distant surf, as the grave.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Several days passed, each bringing Chloris -its very natural request from Damon that -she would go with him to pay her respects -to the new neighbors; but with a perversity -that surprised herself more livelily than him, -she daily found a bad reason for putting off -the duty. This hindered the progress of the -idyl; for Damon had a delicate conscience -where these strangers were concerned; he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[216]</a></span> -would not see them bored in a latitude whose -honor, as an earlier inhabitant, he appeared -to have at heart.</p> - -<p>And presently the atmosphere of the whole -country-side seemed qualified by the presence -of this Cytherea. It seemed to Chloris one -could not escape the effect of her, without -taking to the deepest of the woods. She -was like an unstopped jar of some powerful -essence; the little country world was redolent -of her.</p> - -<p>Before the time Chloris had at last rigidly -fixed for a formal visit came a message from -Cytherea inviting her. Hard as she sought -to discover a reason for misliking the dainty -note, she could find none; it was irreproachable, -and Chloris dressed herself for the occasion -with a divided mind, the preponderant -part of which was finally comfort: she -should at least grapple now with a reality.</p> - -<p>She came to Cytherea's house at evening -under Damon's escort. As one approached -it among the trees it looked rather more like -one's idea of an Eastern temple than a sea-coast -cottage. The veranda was behung<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[217]</a></span> -with colored paper moons, glowing subduedly -among the vines; soft light streamed -through lace from the changed interior.</p> - -<p>Excitement took Chloris from herself. -Now the great adversary was welcoming -her; and Chloris, at the touch of a warm, -soft hand, said to herself, "What bugbear -have I been frightening myself with?" and -found ease and ability to converse, and -release from that sense of disadvantage that -had ridden her helpless heart like a nightmare.</p> - -<p>This atmosphere of the great world that -went with Cytherea, how awakening, how -satisfying after all, to the mind! Not the -smallness of envy, thought Chloris, should -keep her from giving it its due, or getting -her benefit from it. In the distance and -abstract she had hated it; but entered into, -seen close, how unconscious, how inoffensive, -nay, genial, it proved! What a great good, -too, this wealth that permitted such distinction -in luxury! Country girl as she was, it -seemed to Chloris she was breathing her -native air.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[218]</a></span></p> - -<p>At Cytherea's prayer she sat down at the -piano, and to her own surprise played better -than usual. When she had done, she begged -the hostess to play. She forgot how she -had declared that Cytherea's face showed no -soul for music.</p> - -<p>She was surprised to hear the lady say, -"I play hardly at all." She sincerely now -could not believe it.</p> - -<p>"Ah, well!" laughed Cytherea; and good-naturedly -she pushed a chair to the piano, -and appeared preparing to begin.</p> - -<p>Chloris looked on in some wonder. Cytherea -seated herself half away from the keyboard, -one nonchalant arm over the back of -her chair, her curly forehead on her hand; -and, the first to smile at her own affectation, -played an elaborate waltz, very languidly, -with her left hand.</p> - -<p>Impossible for the eyes to leave her a -moment while she performed her pretty -trick; and ably enough she performed it, -with an adorable cream-white hand.</p> - -<p>Chloris seemed to be slowly returning to -consciousness. What perfection was here!<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[219]</a></span> -Nature had given this creature everything. -Criticism of her could only pass current under -the stamp of envy. That gracious dark -beauty, that warm radiance! And sparkle, -and charm—with winningness, dignity, rarity, -variousness!</p> - -<p>Chloris looked over at Damon; and the -image of his fascinated face, as, a fond forgotten -smile on his lips, he followed with his -dark dog-eyes each movement of Cytherea's, -affected her as a drop of poison let into her -blood. She seemed to herself growing aged -and haggard, even as she sat there, the dancing -measure beating on her ear. Her hands -lay cold in the lap of her best gown—modest -made-over gown of pale purplish silk that -she wore with a lace bertha of past fashion, -once her poor mother's. "What is the use -of trying to contend with a thing like that?" -her heart asked, dully.</p> - -<p>An acuter pain pierced it when, the waltz -played out, the laugh following it laughed -out, and conversation resumed, she realized -the faintest possible shade of disregard in -Cytherea for the observations made by<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[220]</a></span> -Damon. Cytherea prized her, Chloris's, -utterances distinctly more; her, she seemed, -from all her manner, to be honoring; him, -for some reason, she held a trifle cheap. -This seemed to Chloris just a little more -unendurable than all the rest. And the -dear boy, who, totally ignorant of the effect -he produced, was in such high spirits, was -so anxious to please, so cheerfully making a -mantle in the mud of himself for the beauty -to tread upon.</p> - -<p>At last it was over; Chloris lay in her own -bed in the pale summer darkness, and felt -she was the heart of the created world, and -this pain man's old inheritance; it seemed -the very essence of her being which was distilled -slowly from her eyes.</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>On the day following, Chloris punctually -sought Cytherea, for appreciation must be -shown the cordiality of the beauty. That -was a question apart from others: one is -just and polite before anything else. A -person overhearing the chatting and laughing -of that afternoon in Cytherea's room<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[221]</a></span> -would have thought certainly he listened to -a pair of heart friends. The greater expense -of admiration between the two women -seemed of a truth to be borne by Cytherea. -Chloris must look herself mentally over in -astonishment at this value set on her by so -great a judge. After the examination she -felt foolish and humble. She felt profoundly -how, all being different, she too could have -worshipped Cytherea.</p> - -<p>And now she must be concerned in every -sort of rural festivity organized by Damon -for Cytherea's amusement; she must see -the rival's first effect of being mildly bored -by Damon's whole-souled dedication turn -into an effect of indulgence, daily tinged -with increased liking; for who in nature could -fail to do final justice to one so simple, so sincere -as Damon—Damon, with his dear, clear, -curiously gentle Roman face and curly hair?</p> - -<p>"The heat does not seem to agree with -you this summer, child," one of the aunts -concluded her kindly meant scrutiny of -Chloris's face; and the girl's heart tightened -with affright.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[222]</a></span></p> - -<p>She stood that day before the glass, and, -leaning her elbows on the bureau, seriously -examined the tinted shadow. "All is of -no use," she said. "The more I care, the -more I must look like that. Does it not -seem a little strange that the more one loves -the less lovely one should become? And a -little hard, too, perhaps, oh, you, my God, -with all respect, who have arranged these -little matters?" And tired, discouraged -Chloris began weakly to laugh aloud, though -she was alone; and watched the grimacing -of her own reflection with a sort of brutal -contemptuousness. "Oh, you sickening -object!" she exclaimed, and hid the delicate, -nervous, tell-tale face in her hands. "This -cannot go on!" she raved. "Human flesh -cannot endure it—and I cannot alter it. -All must soon see how it is with me. I can -barely keep a hold on my temper now. I -must get away. Damon shall court her; -she shall bloom and smile at her ease for -him. Welcome to each other—both! I -shall be where I cannot see it. I refused to -visit Fidele in her mountain home. I had a<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[223]</a></span> -use already—God help me!—for every hour -of the summer. I will write to say I repent. -Then Damon, Cytherea, sing duets out in -the canoe by moonlight; find clover-leaves -for each other. I shall be scouring the -mountain in search of healing herbs, and I -do not doubt but, God helping, I shall find -them. It is not in nature that a torture like -this should last!"</p> - -<p>And Chloris, when next she appeared before -the public eye, looked almost triumphant. -And when her leave had been taken -of all, and the swift air of change was blowing -against her brow, her heart felt so strangely -sound and quiet that she almost laughed, -asking herself, "Why am I going away? I -am recovered merely at the notion of it. -Had I but known, I could have remained -like a little heroine, and stood it out."</p> - -<p>But the hours passing broke down and -carried off more and more all the gallant -props of pride and resolution, and at last -Chloris sat in the galloping car, a drooping -runaway, who looked steadily out of the window, -and saw the flying scene through tears.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[224]</a></span> -Contemptible, countrified Chloris, with her -freckles and inferior clothes, and so ordinary -notions of conduct and taste, running away -from comparison with the peerless Cytherea; -taking her envy and weakness out -of sight till she got strength to disguise -them.</p> - -<p>Now the scenery, which she had not been -seeing, became more lonely and wild; the -first low hills, heavy and slow in the general -nimbleness of things, shifted themselves with -an amiable clumsiness till they had closed in -Chloris with her train; waking her suddenly, -with a faintly happy sense of diversion -from immediate suffering, to the feeling of -being a child again visiting strange countries. -Then wheeled and tumbled themselves -about and came to meet her the little hills' -big brothers, the mountains, with velvety -sides, and rocky, rosy summits. A weight -for no reason seemed to melt away from -Chloris's chest as she looked up at them, -and thought of living among them now for -many a day—the distinguished, sage, cool, -sturdily benevolent ones, so high above, so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[225]</a></span> -far from, the world she knew, down on the -hot-colored, populous plain.</p> - -<p>Here she was at last, where she must -alight; in a high, pure, crystal-clear atmosphere, -at a little lost place, wildly green to -eyes used to the sun-burned shore, forgotten -of all the world but this train that remembered -it for a second twice a day.</p> - -<p>And here was Fidele! It seemed to -Chloris she had not half known, until this -moment, how fond she was of Fidele. Tears -sprang to her eyes on meeting the familiar -eyes, and she embraced her old school friend -with an impulse of overflowing gratitude. -She felt like a storm-beaten lamb come to -some sort of shelter at last.</p> - -<p>After the first moment's frantic clutch -the two friends stood apart, holding hands, -and looking each other fondly and frankly -over, with wide, moved smiles. Fidele, seeing -Chloris's eyes, wondered why tears had -not come to her, too; and compared her -own nature unfavorably with her friend's -rich nature; and at this thought of her -friend's deep, sweet nature, behold! tears<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[226]</a></span> -were come in her affectionate eyes, too. -Then both girls fell to giggling like schoolgirls, -from mere association of this meeting -with other meetings; and in a moment were -talking lightly and inconsecutively, in an -involuntary imitation of old days; and -Fidele had taken her friend's arm tightly -under her own, intertwined their fingers, and -was dragging her along at a hop-and-skip -pace.</p> - -<p>"What a godsend you are to me!" she -exclaimed, rapturously. "There is not a -soul in this forsaken place to whom one can -talk like a Christian. Oh, but we are slow! -Oh, but we are primitive! Oh, but we are -simple!—"</p> - -<p>"What air it is!" Chloris breathed, profoundly. -"How sweet! I never dreamed -such green!—My dear, this is Paradise!"</p> - -<p>"The air is good enough. The grass is -certainly green. But oh, the people are -green too! But now you are here, we will -change all this, dear. What a holiday! -You will inspire us. We will rise up, and -look into our closets, and fetch out where<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[227]</a></span>with -to make a good impression on the -stranger. You bring the very air of civilization -with you in your clothes and hair. -Where did you get it, Chlo—the general -air, you know? How ravishingly you do -your hair! And that little hat! Now, -who in the world but you would have a -hat like that? Oh, you rare darling! Do -you know you are greatly improved? You -are thinner, but it suits you. You always -were a beauty, you know. Yes, you were! -But you have acquired so much besides—such -an interesting air—yes, you have!—so -much expression. No one could see you -without—gospel truth, Chlo! But, yes—I -will—I will hold my tongue. Did you bring -your music at least, for there is a piano, such -as it is. Thank Heaven! You shall make -their capture with song. They shall grovel. -You know, dear, I am not really so silly as I -seem; your arriving has turned my head. -I always did adore you, but it is even better -than I remembered."</p> - -<p>Chloris that night, alone at last, tried -to readjust herself, to get back through this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[228]</a></span> -new experience her self of yesterday. The -morning of her starting from home, but sixteen -hours removed, seemed withdrawn into -a much remoter past; a screen of glittering, -crumbling, changing color was arisen between -herself and it. She interrogated her breast -curiously for that pain lately grown so familiar, -forgotten for the first time only in these -last hours; her breast did not answer by at -once producing it. She goaded it tentatively -with a sharp memory or two; it responded -sluggishly—a divinely restful torpor was -possessing it. She knelt by the window, -and looked out at the still, strong, black -mountains; instinctively she wafted profound -thanks to their rude majesties. Far, -far away in her dream at this moment, in -an infinitely small, sun-warmed, murmuring -plain, moved two tiny figures: the great -Damon, who erewhile filled the entire horizon -of her life, and the great Cytherea, who -interposed her fair shape between her and -the sun, shutting off the light of life—two -tiny black figures, in a far-off, sunshiny place -it fatigued her to think of. Only the moun<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[229]</a></span>tains -were big and important; and this cool, -rough bedchamber was fifteen by twelve; -only Fidele and herself and the people -seen for the first time this evening were -life-size and real.</p> - -<p>Stretching her tired limbs in the bed, that -had nothing to-night in common with the -rack, feeling natural sleep creep over her as -it had long not done, she remembered with -a vague joy that she was young; she divined -a time ahead—perhaps not so far ahead -either—when life would become possible -again.</p> - -<p>She felt as if cosily tucked in and kept -warm by the sense of Fidele's affectionate -appreciation, and the evident admiration of -her friends, called in even on this first evening -to greet her. It was good. It restored -one's lost self-confidence.</p> - -<p>The last thought Chloris was conscious of -was not for Damon this once, but Demetrius. -(Demetrius, I said. The reader here revolts. -Chloris, Cytherea, a Chloe apparently still to -come, and Fidele, Damon, Demetrius! Are -these names to pass off on the discriminating<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[230]</a></span> -reader in a tale that has nothing to do with -the times of Theocritus or Addison? I confess -it, I would have deceived. The persons -in this story knew themselves by none of the -names I have set down. They had been -given at the font, and had by chance and inheritance -come into, names that represented -them far less well. Who can assume to fitly -name a babe in arms? With a pure purpose -I rechristened them. If you could know -what, for instance, was the real name of Cytherea—But -enough.)</p> - -<p>On the next morning arises Chloris, constating -with thankfulness that no more than -the night before is her heart bleeding at -every pore. Filled with a venerable feminine -desire to still increase the favorable impression -she is sure she has made on the inhabitants -of this high hamlet, she does her hair -more than ever engagingly, puts on her -crispest white gown with the lavender ribbons, -and her broad straw hat with roses—the -hat Damon had praised in the early part -of the season. Something stirs in her sleeping -bosom at the remembrance; she pauses<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[231]</a></span> -in her task of pinning it on; the green-gray -eyes with the brown spots grow fixed upon -a vision, small as if seen through the wrong -end of the opera-glass: On a shining shore, -two little figures setting out in a sail-boat—only -two, for the cousin has pleaded the disagreeable -effect on her of the motion of the -sea. Chloris sits down discouraged, feeling -the blood drop from her face, and her heart -present her with as finished a pain as ever. -"It really matters so very little," she murmurs, -firmly restraining from wringing her -hands; "I only—only should like to know -how long this kind of thing may be supposed -to last!"</p> - -<p>Chloris and Fidele loiter about the garden -full of morning sunshine, snipping off wet -sweet-peas and roses, and reminding each -other of things. Then, to please Chloris, -they go for a stroll. Chloris is eager for a -little climb. Heated and pleasantly tired, -they come to the top of an eminence and -sit down under the only clump of trees, in -company of the unbudging horned cows, -who know their claim is good, for they<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[232]</a></span> -got there first. Fidele, leaning against a -tree-trunk, fans herself more and more fitfully -with her hat, and presently slumbers. -Chloris, with her head in Fidele's lap, can -never weary of looking off over the faint-hued -valley which the shadows of clouds softly -overstray. In this delicious bodily relaxation -after hill-climbing in the sun, strange -peace inundates her soul, and she entertains -a superstition that it is flowing out to her -from the mountains, and lies luxuriously, -letting herself be done good to. "They -know the secret of peace," she muses in her -manner of a girl. "They cannot speak, but -the effect of their knowledge radiates from -them, and reaches us. The end of all—of -all is peace. All works towards it incessantly, -as one sees nature do towards harmony. -Through these battles, to peace. -Why can one not remember it down on the -plain?" Now a cloud obscures the sun that -gropes through it with long golden fingers; -Chloris, dreaming, ponders half wistfully -what it would be to remain here always, -begin life anew, never return where one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[233]</a></span> -had suffered so much, and was surely so little -missed!</p> - -<p>On their way home the girls meet Demetrius -in his chaise, on his rounds. He reins -in, and leans out of the leathern hood; with -arms alink the girls stand in the white road -below, in a great bath of light. They converse -a moment; Chloris's lifted face, with -the stamp on it still of her high thinking on -the hill-top, is like a flushed pearl under her -rose-laden hat.</p> - -<p>"You must let me show you the country," -says Demetrius, before driving on.</p> - -<p>When he is gone, Chloris and Fidele naturally -fall to talking of him.</p> - -<p>"How is it," says Chloris, "that a man so -superior has attained his age and is merely -a doctor in a place like this?"</p> - -<p>"My dear, we have our ailments like the -rest. You don't grudge us a good doctor? -He was born here, and after a good number -of years down in the haunts of men came -back in a natural sort of way. His father -left him property up here. He is not ambitious; -he has an abundance of money. He<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[234]</a></span> -practises more or less for the love of it, and -something to do. He is our most presentable -man, and I want you to appreciate our -good points in him. He adores music; the -piano I spoke of is his. He has invited us up -there; as soon as you feel inclined we will go."</p> - -<p>When, in a few days, Chloris consented to -go, one-half the curious population went with -her, to hear her play.</p> - -<p>The stiff farm-house parlor, closed nine-tenths -of the year, had been made to breathe -out its musty ice-house atmosphere; lighted -and garnished and filled with guests, it -scarcely recognized itself.</p> - -<p>Demetrius leaned on the instrument while -Chloris played, his untrimmed head dreamily -drooping, his eyes half closed, like a lazy -cat's in the sunshine, when a hand is stroking -it the right way. When she had finished, -and all lifted their hands and praised and -questioned her, he turned away with a sigh, -saying nothing; and yet both knew that the -truest music-lover of all was he; and when -she played again it was chiefly with the -thought of him as an audience.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[235]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What an air of intelligence your hands -have when you play," he said, later. "But -it is the same when you are crocheting, or -just drumming on the chair-arm. They look -as if they could talk, and utter such wise and -witty things."</p> - -<p>A very friendly understanding was almost -at once established between them; after -which, he being such a sensible, direct, humorous -man, well on towards middle age, -and Fidele urging it, it seemed but proper -to accept the offered seat in his chaise and -see the country to the best advantage.</p> - -<p>They travelled many leagues behind his -mare; they reached many points of vantage -from which to look off at the view. Their -conversation was half laughter; yet Chloris -felt a serene security in the awe she knew -she inspired.</p> - -<p>In the country doctor's company, such was -his effect on her and hers on him, Chloris -felt always sweetly young, and unusually -well-dressed, unusually beautiful and brilliant—as -well as experienced in the ways of the -world, and possessed of a strong and compli<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[236]</a></span>cated -character. With all this, something of -an impostor.</p> - -<p>After many rides, many conversations, -the light about Demetrius was insensibly -changed, and offered him under a different -aspect. What genuine kindliness in his -rather heavy yet well-featured face! what a -good, sane, comprehensive intelligence under -his shaggy hair! and under his country-made -waistcoat a heart suspected to be tender and -faithful! If he had done little, risen little, -circumstances were more to blame than will; -and it pierced through his mockery of himself -sometimes that he was not all satisfied -now with his condition; ambition that had -slumbered gave signs of waking. And he -was still young enough to mould his fate to -a different shape.</p> - -<p>Chloris, regarding him, as she told herself, -merely in the light of a specimen in which -to study human nature, concluded that the -woman who intrusted her happiness to Demetrius, -at least in the event of her being a -superior creature, would be in the main a -very fortunate one. Nothing to fear in this<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[237]</a></span> -man from inconstancy; no account to make -with the inflammable imagination of youth; -the gracious, condescending woman would get -unbounded gratitude from his humility for -every little favor shown. Her life would be -so peaceful, so guarded from all trouble that -care can keep at bay, so surrounded with -delicate consideration.</p> - -<p>So the herds-grass purpled and was mown; -the mustard yellowed, and its yellow vanished; -and the apple began to redden. -Then Demetrius, with a little help from -everybody, gave a party—a party the like -of which had not been given in the sleepy -place since his sister's marriage a dozen years -before; but this Chloris from afar, as Fidele -had foretold, was inspiring the natives.</p> - -<p>And undoubtedly she was the queen of -the party. To see her was to know as much. -She wore a grand gown of pale purplish silk, -with a real lace bertha (the talk of the place -for nine days after), and white flowers pricked -into the shiny structure of her hair.</p> - -<p>There was hired music, and dancing on -the waxed kitchen-floor, and an opportunity<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[238]</a></span> -never surpassed in the annals of the neighborhood -to get enough of good things to eat.</p> - -<p>Towards the end, when one-half the simple -revellers were gone, and the musicians were -silenced with feeding, and the night air -breathed in at the open windows with a feel -of great lateness in it, came a petition to -Chloris to play a piece on the piano.</p> - -<p>After various laughing negatives, yielding, -Chloris, whose eyes were lightsome and -dancing to-night, pushed away the stool, -and, substituting for it a chair, sat a little -sideways in this, with one arm over the -back; and, a curious little smile playing on -her lips, propped her ruffled head with its -wilted flowers on her right hand; and, while -the country innocents exchanged wondering -glances, with her nimble left hand, amply -sufficient to the task alone, began playing a -waltz—a sweet, dreamy waltz.</p> - -<p>When they were at last home, and Fidele, -half undressed, had come in to chat a moment -with her friend, she asked, "Did you -enjoy yourself, dearie?"</p> - -<p>"Immensely!" said Chloris. "How nice<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[239]</a></span> -they all are to me! What dear, kind things -they are! By the way, though, there was -something I wanted to ask. Who is that -dark-haired, plump young woman, with black -bugle eyes, and a skin like red-and-white -paper—quite passable-looking, if she did not -look so sulky?"</p> - -<p>"What did she wear?"</p> - -<p>"Something pretentious but unbecoming. -It had a lot of bead-trimming. Now, speaking -of how nice every one and everything -was, I except that girl's manner. <i>She</i> was -positively rude. I did not know how to -take it. I have met her before, with all the -others, and passed her on the road, bowing -my best; but we have never more than exchanged -a word or two, so I can have done -nothing to offend her."</p> - -<p>Fidele was laughing.</p> - -<p>"Who is she?" asked Chloris.</p> - -<p>"That is Chloe," replied Fidele.</p> - -<p>"Chloe?"</p> - -<p>"You mustn't mind her rudeness, dearie. -She is really a good sort of creature. But -she is no doubt sorely tried."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[240]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What tries her? Why do you laugh?"</p> - -<p>"Demetrius! He was a shade partial to -her before you came—not enough to cause -comment in any place but this. And, even -here, not enough to lay himself open to -blame. It is a pity, though, that she can't -keep her feelings hidden, and must vent -her spite on you. Silly thing! I have no -patience with that kind of girl."</p> - -<p>Chloris's fingers became absent among the -hair they were braiding. She looked into the -lamp-flame with a vacant expression.</p> - -<p>Fidele plied the brush in her tangled locks, -and went on chatting.</p> - -<p>Suddenly Chloris, who for some time had -not spoken, laughed.</p> - -<p>"What is it, dear?" asked Fidele, looking -up at her friend, where she stood still staring -in the lamp-flame. "Have I said anything -funny?"</p> - -<p>"No, it was nothing you said. I was -thinking—my mind travelled from one thing -to another—you know how it jumps about—and -I had to laugh, before I knew, at a stupid -old circumstance—"</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[241]</a></span></p> - -<p>"What circumstance?"</p> - -<p>"Oh, nothing, dear—a thing we learned in -school, in French, a fable—never mind!"</p> - -<p>"A fable! My dear Chloris, how interesting! -What fable?"</p> - -<p>"I can't quote it. I have forgotten my -French. It was about a hare—a hare who -ran away in terror of a bull, and in his flight -came to a swamp where the frogs were just -as much afraid of him. Wouldn't it be -interesting to know the rest? What the -hare did, whether he put on his fiercest outside, -and tried to make the frogs quake in -their little wet boots?"</p> - -<p>"What nonsense, you dear idiot! Ask -Demetrius! He will give his best consideration -to the frog question, and be impressed -with its profoundness, while Chloe wears -bead trimming and grows sage-color. Good-night, -dear. I am dreadfully sleepy."</p> - -<p>"I mean you shall take me to call on -Chloe some day soon. Now that I see her -face with a different idea of her, it is a nice -face! Poor child! I could never settle down -contentedly under the notion that some one<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[242]</a></span> -disliked me; could you? Even a dog! I -have had such a happy, peaceful time here, -in this dear little place, I want every one to -feel kindly towards me when I leave."</p> - -<p>"You speak as if I were going to let you -go, Chloris."</p> - -<p>"Oh, my dearest, I don't want to talk of it. -I have put off talking of it, day after day, -yet you must know that I can only stay a -very little longer. Think of it! I came for -a month, and I have stayed—how long is it? -And father must be getting lonesome; and -he so seldom writes, and then tells me little -or nothing. And everything must be needing -me—"</p> - -<p>"You extraordinary girl!" exclaimed Fidele, -now very wide awake; "I swear I absolutely -do not understand you! What do you -mean? First you seem—you seem—and -then—and then suddenly—"</p> - -<p>Fidele could not get out her words, for -Chloris's hand was across her lips.</p> - -<p>"Hush!" she pleaded, quite earnestly. -"Say nothing about it! When a thing has -been spoken it seems to exist! You don't<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[243]</a></span> -understand—I don't understand either. -Who is consistent? Who knows what he -wants? Who knows ever what he is doing? -How many creatures we crush just walking -across the grass! A path opens ahead, we -take it blindly, not knowing whither it leads. -With good reason we say we grope in the -dark. Let us have the grace, then, when a -moment's illumination is granted us, to go -by its light. You don't know what I mean; -I scarcely know myself. But don't try to -keep me, dear! Remain at my side every -minute that is left of my stay here; see me -to the train without the shadow of an adventure—and -I will love you all my life!"</p> - -<p>And a few days later the train that had -brought Chloris picked her up again, all -flushed with Fidele's last kisses, and flew -with her homeward.</p> - -<p>She looked out of the window with other -eyes than those she had first turned upon -the mountains. Yet tears were in them, too, -as she said, "Good-bye, dears! Your little -sister leaves you, made quite well again. -But never will she cease to love you. You<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[244]</a></span> -shall be always in her dreams. And she -will come back one day. When God sends -her sorrows she will take refuge again with -you."</p> - -<p>All through the first hours of being rushed -along across the brilliant fading land, that -she looked at, scarcely seeing, she retained a -sense of exaltation. She seemed to herself -as a sword after the proofs of furnace and -ice-brook. She could have laughed to think -of the philosopher that was going home in -place of the pallid victim of an almost pathological -sensibility.</p> - -<p>The mountains were dwindling to little -hills; the latter-year sun was too barely -bright: a crude earth-color and a sombre -green took place of the angelic vague green -and blue and pink of the dewier, earlier -period. The plain was opening with its more -trivial detail. Chloris's mind descended to -its level, and projected itself with a limited -emotion into the circumstances of the approaching -home-coming. She felt prepared -to endure whatever awaited her with grace -and dignity; she felt sure, indeed, that she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[245]</a></span> -should feel very little. "I have learned the -secret of life," she said to herself; "I have -weighed and measured everything."</p> - -<p>At this same moment an elderly gentleman -who had a daughter was thinking how -touchingly young and inexperienced his -fellow-traveller looked; in his old heart he -felt sorry for her, somehow, for being so -young.</p> - -<p>"I have weighed and measured everything," -she said. "God is real, God lasts, -and the love of Him. Human passion -passes away. One might almost say that it -does not exist. It is like a physical pain: -it tortures, you try to locate it, you fix your -mind upon the presumed seat of it—it is not -there, there is no pain; and presently, when -you are well, you cannot call up a remembrance -of the sensation. I feel fitted to -write a book on this subject. I thought I -could never endure my life without Damon—dear, -dear Damon! Yet I live and am -improved in health. And, blinded by I shall -never be able to explain what mist, I was -beginning to adapt my mind to the thought<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[246]</a></span> -of life with Demetrius, whom I pictured out -of all proportion happy and grateful to me. -Why more grateful than another? Thank -God I was delivered from committing such -a blunder! Ah, if I could teach Chloe all -that I have learned! But she does not need -it; she gets what she wants, for beyond a -doubt Demetrius in time goes back to her. -I—I am armed now at every point. I have -a defence against every circumstance. The -secret is: Nothing matters, but God above. -And, knowing this, I mean to be very sweet -to all at home, more thoughtful of every one, -more generous of all myself—"</p> - -<p>She was running between familiar orchards -and fields; the image of reaching home became -very present, and a sweetness pervaded -her rising excitement at the thought of touching -so soon the home-hands. The mountains -were thrown back to the horizon of her mind. -Between the sandy hummocks, beyond the -level salt meadows which she had left green -and found russet, she caught glimpses of a -great sapphire line. She began looking -eagerly for the farm-house that meant she<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[247]</a></span> -was within a minute of her journey's end. -It flashed past. She gathered up her things; -she came out on the platform, and with a -joyous heart looked for her father's gray face -and his hand extended to help her down.</p> - -<p>He was not there, and she got off the train -alone, half-conscious of a dog-cart not far, -with a horse behaving as a horse should not -at the locomotive. The superbly indifferent -iron monster puffed off, dragging after it its -train; the indignant horse quieted down. -She heard her name called; the voice was -the man's in the dog-cart, it was Damon's. -The philosopher hurried towards him with -an insanely beating heart, an uplifted, greeting, -beaming face.</p> - -<p>He helped her in, and his trickle of answers -met her stream of questions, and her stream -of answers his trickle of questions, as they -jogged, tilting along between the dusty roadsides. -The warm flood of her home-coming -sensations subsided a little, and she turned -to look at him, to take a fond inventory of -his face—dear old faithful friend, so kind to -fetch her himself! Her heart tightened.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[248]</a></span> -What was gone wrong with Damon?—Damon, -whom she had been picturing so -happy, and was just rousing her spirit to -question casually concerning Cytherea. -Even at that moment they were approaching -her dwelling, when the question, if she -could make her voice right, not too indifferent, -nor yet too interested, would seem so in -place.</p> - -<p>The grass on the lawn was long and uneven, -constellated with twinkling autumn -dandelions; the windows were shuttered, the -veranda was empty, the chimney smokeless; -a forgotten hammock rope, blackened and -twisted by the rain, swung from a branch in -front of the deserted house, thumping faintly -against the tree-trunk. Chloris turned -her lengthened face towards Damon; he -lifted to hers a pair of very miserable eyes, -and said, in an unresonant voice, "You -should have got back in time for the cattle-fair. -It was better than usual this year. -Cookson's little mare took a prize."</p> - -<p>"You don't mean it!" faltered Chloris, -and looking straight ahead set her lips hard,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[249]</a></span> -to keep down an impetuous flood of hatred -for Cytherea.</p> - -<p>She saw the propriety of continuing to -talk; but she could not keep her mind on it. -Damon's powers of conversation, too, had -failed him. He kept a stolid face to the -horse's head; and they drove in silence to -her door, where, alighting, she was swallowed -in a sea of affectionate fatherly and auntly -embraces.</p> - -<p>"I may stay to tea, mayn't I?" asked -Damon, dully, from his corner, where he -seemed sitting in the cold.</p> - -<p>Chloris gave him a place beside herself, -and treated him like a sick, beloved child; -but so tactfully, he could know only that it -soothed.</p> - -<p>She let him lie on the sofa, afterwards, -while she played, and the others slept in the -upper chambers.</p> - -<p>She played with upturned face, pale and -gentle and full of understanding; her eyebrows -lifted, her eyes very large and kind. -She would have thought that Damon slept, -but that now and again he sighed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[250]</a></span></p> - -<p>When at last she stopped to look for something -among her music, to go on with, he got -up and came to the piano-side. "I am so -glad you have got back," he said, from all his -heart; "you are such a brick. Good Lord, -how I have missed you—"</p> - -<p>He turned away and went aimlessly to the -window, and stood looking out. "I suppose -it is time I went," he said. "But I hate to -go home! I don't know what is come to me, -I can't sleep these nights."</p> - -<p>Chloris had gone to the window, too, and -stood beside him, her indulgent young face, -that wore a world-old expression, turned on -the dimly glimmering white petunia-beds -outside.</p> - -<p>"Would you—won't you come out for a -little stroll, Chloris? Run for your shawl, -there is a dear girl, and let us go over to the -beach. It isn't really late, and I am so restless, -and I don't want to go alone, and it is -so stuffy in my room at home."</p> - -<p>Chloris, without a word of demur, took -her wrap and followed him. They walked -side by side in silence; the sense they must<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[251]</a></span> -have in common of the beauty of the night -might at first take lieu of conversation; -when that sense must be outworn, they still -thought their thoughts in silence. Chloris -knew the relief it is not to pretend; Damon -thought only of himself in this hour.</p> - -<p>It was she, after a while, that led—tall, -slender figure a step ahead of him, walking -swiftly, with a sort of intrepidity. With his -head a little bowed, his hands behind him, -he followed.</p> - -<p>She led him to the beach, and without -regard for time or fitness of things, farther -and farther along the smooth sands, away -from home; then, by a long loop, back to -the homeward road, as if with the determination -to tire him out. She herself was conscious -of no fatigue. She felt like a spirit; -her uplifted eyes seemed so expanded that -they could take in all the radiant firmament.</p> - -<p>At last, as if awaking, he stopped and -vaguely looked about, saying, "I am ready -to drop! Good Lord, how far have you -been taking me? Let us sit down a moment -and rest."</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[252]</a></span></p> - -<p>They were not far from home, on the edge -of a familiar pine-grove that ran down to the -lapping inland sea. She sank on the dry -pine-needles; he dropped beside her, and, -tearing off his cap, unquestioningly laid his -head in her lap.</p> - -<p>"Does it ache?" she asked, softly.</p> - -<p>"Yes," he murmured. "Rub it."</p> - -<p>She passed her hand with a measured -motion across his forehead, pushing up the -heavy hair. She felt his face for an instant -press closer to her knees; volumes of gratitude -seemed expressed in the impulsive -movement. She continued her stroking -with a quiet, sisterly hand, her swelling heart -suddenly choking her. She had him back, -that she knew beyond a doubt. Broken, -disillusioned, his heart seared by the image -of another, he was hers, as he lay there -thinking of that other. Hers to help, to -heal, to make love her as much as she loved -him. And a flood of human passion, the -sensation she had decided—God forgive her!—disposed -of forever, surged in her. Her -eyes brimmed over with happy tears. Why<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[253]</a></span> -should there be any feeling of bitterness -mixed in a feeling so sweet? Why should -the hurt to one's vanity be remembered in -such a situation? Why not be finally glad -to give more than one received, offer something -whole for something broken, bless -beyond all desert? No—no—that other -could never have loved him so! Fate had -meant well by him in putting her out of -reach; this sorrow of his should pass away -and be as if it had never been. Chloris felt -in herself such inexhaustible wells of tenderness -and patience, she knew hers was the -good title; she knew she could be sufficient—make -Damon forget. Her heart sang a -song of praise and victory, while her hand -smoothed his forehead with the fancy that -it brushed away the image of Cytherea, fatal -line by line.</p> - -<p>Ineffable fatigue drew her down from high -serene thoughts to thoughts nearer earth. -She ached; waves of unnatural sensation -swept through her, but she would not move. -The weight of his dear head was better than -ease.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[254]</a></span></p> - -<p>While she took patience till he should be -ready to rise and go sensibly home to bed, a -whimsical image formed in her brain: Herself, -and to one side of her, a little higher, -Cytherea, and to the other, a little lower, -Chloe—and beyond Chloe, in the descending -line, some poor woman, not pretty or winning -at all, to whom Chloe must appear a half-divinity; -and above Cytherea, in the ascending -line, another fairer than she, for, when all -was said, there must be in this world women -even fairer than the great Cytherea, of whom -she, perchance, lying awake in her queenly -bed, would think with anguish, confessing -herself helpless to struggle. Poor Cytherea, -then, in her turn! Chloris framed a sincere -wish for her continued happiness, and that -in the event of despised love God should -grant her to become a philosopher. And -her imagination went on feebly, whimsically, -weaving. Still another fairer still creature -above Cytherea's victress—still another at -the other end, to whom the envier of Chloe -should be an object of envy—and so on, till -the chain seemed to extend from the seraphs<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[255]</a></span> -down to the last of the most degraded race, -and take a slightly humorous aspect. "It -pleases the powers to be merry," thought -Chloris, and was conscious of no irreverence -in the conceit.</p> - -<p>"Wake up, Chloris!" came Damon's voice, -sounding more as it had used to sound, before -he was so grown-up, and had untoward -things happen to him in his sentiments.</p> - -<p>"I have not been asleep!" she said, sheepishly, -"except below my knees."</p> - -<p>"I won't contradict you, but when I struck -a light you were nodding and smiling away -to yourself like a little China mandarin. -Have you any idea of the time it is? Well, -I won't enlighten you. What a crazy -thing we have been doing! Come, dear, -let me help you up. I hope to Heaven you -haven't taken cold. Hello, can't you walk -straight? What a brute I am! Take my -arm—"</p> - -<p>And laughing weakly and wearily, they set -out staggering across the dim stubble-field -that separated them from home.</p> - -<p>"Dear old Chloris!" Damon murmured,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[256]</a></span> -pressing her arm to his side. "Best girl in -the universe! You can never think what a -comfort it is to have you home again. I feel -more like myself. I think that to-night I -shall sleep."</p> - - -<p class="p4 center">THE END</p> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Hundred and Other Stories, by -Gertrude Hall Brownell - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE HUNDRED AND OTHER STORIES *** - -***** This file should be named 60469-h.htm or 60469-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/6/0/4/6/60469/ - -Produced by Carlos Colon, the University of California and -the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at -http://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images -generously made available by The Internet Archive/American -Libraries.) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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