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diff --git a/old/63321-0.txt b/old/63321-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index c043e06..0000000 --- a/old/63321-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7434 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Waddy's Return, by Theodore Winthrop - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with -almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or -re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included -with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org/license - - -Title: Mr. Waddy's Return - -Author: Theodore Winthrop - -Editor: Burton Egbert Stevenson - -Release Date: September 27, 2020 [EBook #63321] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. WADDY'S RETURN *** - - - - -Produced by D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - - - - MR. WADDY’S RETURN - - - BY - THEODORE WINTHROP - - Author of “Cecil Dreeme,” etc. - - - EDITED BY - BURTON E. STEVENSON - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - 1904 - - - - - Copyright, 1904 - By - HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY - - _Published October, 1904_ - - - THE MERSHON COMPANY PRESS - RAHWAY, N. J. - - - - -PUBLISHERS’ NOTE - - -The author did not live to revise the original draft of “Mr. Waddy’s -Return,” and therefore, when his other novels were published, shortly -after his death, this one was not included. On looking it over again, -after the lapse of years, it seemed to his sister, Miss Elizabeth -W. Winthrop, too good to let die; and it was placed in the hands of -Mr. Stevenson to give it such revision and condensation as it may be -presumed that the author, had he lived, would have given it himself. - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I. A REMARKABLE EPISODE, HITHERTO UNRECORDED, - IN THE VOYAGE OF THE “MAYFLOWER” 1 - - II. THE WADDYS OF DULLISH COURT, FROM WHITEGIFT - TO OUR HERO 6 - - III. IN WHICH MR. WADDY REACHES HALIFAX AND - MEETS WITH A MISADVENTURE 13 - - IV. A GENTLE LADY OF FORTUNE DECIDES TO FACE - A STORM 24 - - V. A WRECK AND A RESCUE 30 - - VI. IN WHICH MISS SULLIVAN FINDS MANY REASONS - FOR DEPARTURE 40 - - VII. A PEPPERY INVALID WHO DREAMS DREAMS AND - BRINGS BAD NEWS 50 - - VIII. MR. WADDY MUSES UPON FATE AND UNDERTAKES - A COMMISSION 58 - - IX. THE NABOB RE-ENTERS CIVILISATION 65 - - X. OUR HERO RENEWS HIS YOUTH IN THE WARMTH - OF AN OLD FRIENDSHIP 73 - - XI. IN WHICH THE READER IS ALLOWED TO WORSHIP - AT THE SHRINE 88 - - XII. THE PARABLE OF A HUMBLE BEAST OF BURDEN - AND OF LILIES THAT TOIL NOT 97 - - XIII. THE READER IS PRESENTED TO TWO CHARMING - GIRLS, AND SO IS MAJOR GRANBY 107 - - XIV. PROTECTIVE SCANDALS AND OTHER DIVERTING - HUMOURS OF A FASHIONABLE WATERING-PLACE 126 - - XV. MR. WADDY RECEIVES A LETTER AND GETS OUT - HIS PISTOLS 148 - - XVI. IN WHICH MR. HORACE BELDEN PROSPERS CERTAIN - PLANS 163 - - XVII. MR. BELDEN CONTEMPLATES VILLAINIES NEW - AND OLD 177 - - XVIII. THE BRAVE PREPARE FOR A RACE, THE FAIR - FOR A PICNIC 184 - - XIX. MISS CENTER’S BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WHAT - OCCURRED THEREAT 196 - - XX. CHIN CHIN AND PETER SKERRETT SEIZE THE - FORELOCK OF OPPORTUNITY 220 - - XXI. THE STORY OF DIANA AND ENDYMION 233 - - XXII. IN WHICH MR. BELDEN REACHES THE END OF - HIS ROPE 241 - - XXIII. A VOYAGE OF UNKNOWN LENGTH 258 - - XXIV. MR. WADDY ACCOMPLISHES HIS RETURN 266 - - - - -MR. WADDY’S RETURN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -A REMARKABLE EPISODE, HITHERTO UNRECORDED, IN THE VOYAGE OF THE -“MAYFLOWER” - - -Names must act upon character. Every preceding Waddy, save one -short-lived Ira, from the first ancestor, the primal Waddy, cook of -the _Mayflower_, had been a type of placid meekness, of mild, humble -endurance. During all Boston’s material changes, from a petty colony -under Winthrop to a great city under General Jackson, and all its -spiritual changes from Puritanism to Unitarianism, Boston divines -had pointed to the representative Waddy of their epoch as the worthy -successor of Moses upon earth--Moses the meekest man, not Moses the -stalwart smiter of rocks and irate iconoclast of golden calves. - -Why, then, was Ira Waddy, with whom this tale is to concern itself, -other than his race? Why had he revolutionised the family history? -Why was he a captor, not a captive of Fate? Why was the Waddy name no -longer hid from the world in the unfragrant imprisonment and musty -gloom of a blind court in Boston, but known and seen and heard of all -men, wherever tea-chests and clipper-ships are found, or fire-crackers -do pop? Why was Ira Waddy, in all senses, the wholesale man, while -every other Waddy had been retail? Brief questions--to be answered not -so briefly in this history of his Return. - -Yes, the Waddy fortunes had altered. To the small shop, the only -patrimony of the Waddy family, went little vulgar boys in days of Salem -witchcraft, in days of Dorchester sieges, and after when the Fourth of -July began to noise itself abroad as a festival of the largest liberty: -on all great festal days when parents and uncles rattled with candy -money, and coppers were certain, and on all individual festal days when -the unlooked-for copper came, then went brats, Whig and Tory, Federal -and Democrat, to the Waddys’ shop and bullied largely there. Not only -the representative Mr. Waddy did they bully and bargain into pecuniary -bewilderment and total loss of profit, but also the representative Mrs. -Waddy, a feeble, scrawny dame, whose courage died when she put the -fateful question to the representative Mr. Waddy, otherwise never her -spouse. - -But there was no more bullying about the little shop. In fact, the -shop had grown giantly with the fortunes of the name. A row of stately -warehouses covered its site, and many other sites where neighbour -pride had once looked down upon it. The row was built of granite, -without ornament or gaud, enduring as the eternal hills. On its front, -cut in solid letters on a gigantic block, were the words - - +-------------------+ - | WADDY BUILDINGS | - +-------------------+ - -Ginger was sold there in dust-heaps like a Vesuvius, not gingerbread -in the amorphous penny idol; aromatic cinnamon by the ceroons of a -plundered forest, not by the chewing-stick for dull Sabbath afternoons; -tea by the barricade of chests, product of a province, not by the tin -shoeful, as the old-time Waddys had sold it for a century before the -Tea Party. And Ira Waddy owned these buildings, which he had never seen. - -It is not necessary that I should speculate to discover where the -traits that distinguished Ira Waddy from his ancestors had their -origin. Of this I have accurate information. My wonder is at the delay -in a development of character certain to arrive. But late springs bring -scorching summers. Fires battened long below hatches gather strength -for one swift leap to the main-truck. - -Whitegift Waddy, cook of the _Mayflower_, was meek. How he came to be -a Puritan, on the _Mayflower_, in its caboose and a cook,--out of his -element in religion, in space, in place, and in profession,--I cannot -say; these are questions that the Massachusetts Historical Society -will probably investigate, now that the Waddys are rich and can hire -cooks to give society dinners. At all events, there he was, and there -he daily made a porridge for Miles Standish, and there he peppered the -same. Now as to pepper in cream tarts there is question; in porridge -none: I do not, therefore, blame Miles, peppery himself and loving -pepper, for wrath when, one day, a bowl of pepperless insipidity was -placed before him. He sent for the cook and thus addressed him: - -“Milksop! Thou hast the pepper forgot. I will teach thy caitiff life a -lesson. Ho, trencherman! Bring pepper!” - -It was brought. He poured it all into the porridge, and, standing by, -compelled Waddy to swallow spoonful after spoonful. At the screams of -the victim, the Pilgrim Grandfathers, Governor Carver, Father Winslow, -and Elder Brewster, rushed from on deck into the cabin and besought the -infuriated hero to desist as he valued the life of Mrs. Susanna White, -who was soon to add a little Pilgrim to their colony. - -“Enough!” said Standish. “The pepper hath entered into his soul.” - -It had, indeed! Nothing was cooked on the _Mayflower_ for six days. -On the seventh, Whitegift Waddy re-entered the caboose. He had always -been a meek, he was now a crushed man. Yet there seemed to have grown -within him, as we sometimes see in those the world has wronged, a quiet -confidence in a redressing future. - -Pepper, thus implanted in the Waddy nature, seemed to have no effect -for generations. It was, however, slowly leavening their lumpishness. -It was impelling them to momentary tricks of a strange vivacity. At -last, the permeating was accomplished, and our hero, Ira, the first -really alive Waddy, was born. I have said the first, but there was -another Ira Waddy who, at one period in his brief career, showed a -momentary sparkle of the smouldered flame. Of him a word anon, as his -fate had to do with the fates of others, strangely interwoven with the -fate of his great-nephew and namesake. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -THE WADDYS OF DULLISH COURT, FROM WHITEGIFT TO OUR HERO - - -While Governor Winthrop was planning the future city of Boston, he -went, one rainy day, to the heights of those hills that give the spot -the name of Trimountain. A violent June storm had channelled the -hillsides, and strong water-courses filled the valleys. No phenomenon -is idle to the observing mind. - -“These channels,” said the prudent governor, “shall be the streets of -our future city.” - -He then pursued his way downward, slipping along the oozy trails, until -he paused at a small pool where several little, muddy rivulets united -to form a stagnancy. Here, he contemplated for a while his grave but -genial visage, and smiled as his reflected face broadened or lengthened -grotesquely and his pointed beard wagged in the waves of the water. - -“This,” said he at last, “shall be a place for pauses in city life. -Here shall be a no-thoroughfare court, a lurking-place for shy -respectability, for proud poverty; not quite for neediness, but for -those who want and would, but will not.” - -Boston was laid out; the streets named themselves. This court chanced -to be called Dulwich Court, which soon degraded itself to Dullish, and -so it remained in nature and in name. - -Whitegift Waddy, and Mehitabel, his wife, floating purposeless waifs -through the new settlements, drifted into Dullish Court to live -dull lives and then to meekly die. There was always one son in each -generation of their family, an unwholesome lad, fed on remainder -biscuits and stale mince pies. Still, it gradually became aristocratic -to have come in with the Pilgrims. A certain consideration began to -attach itself to the family, and the current Waddy, if such phrase may -be used of so very stagnant a person, was always espoused by someone -of a better class than his social condition could warrant. It was -generally some pale schoolmistress, or invalided housekeeper of a -great mansion, who became the better half of each gentle shopkeeper of -Dullish Court. - -These wives brought refinement and education with them; so that, -at last, could they have sunk the shop, the Waddys would have been -admitted as gentlefolk anywhere. They enjoyed, too, the consciousness -of being better in rank than their neighbours. They never spoke of -Whitegift as the cook, but as the Steward, or sometimes the Purveyor, -of the _Mayflower_. They liked to walk through Beacon Street and smile -placidly at the efforts of new people to win position by great houses, -crowded balls and routs, and promotion marriages. - -By-and-by it chanced that, quite contrary to rule, there were three -sons in one generation playing in the puddles of Dullish Court and -slyly filching dry gingerbread from the showcases of the old shop. It -was a time when there was a flame in the land, and the elder twin of -the three young Waddys, Whitegift by name, who had been early taken -with tin soldiers and penny trumpets, awoke one morning after booziness -to find himself, to his total surprise, with a red coat on his back -and a king’s shilling in his pocket. There was so little real martial -ardour in his soul that he at once withered away, and being sent to the -garrison of New York as a recruit of doubtful loyalty, he was there -soon invalided. He finally dropped into the family trade and became a -sutler. The Boston Waddys, saddened by his desertion of a cause they -had vigour enough to support, soon forgot his existence--which does not -at all imply that such existence terminated. - -The other twin was apparently of the usual Waddy type; but when the -great flame blazed forth at last unquenchable, he also took fire. He -was a volunteer at Lexington and did active service, dropping several -invaders in their bloody tracks. He was at once made sergeant in -Captain Janeway’s company, and gained the respect of his officers by -his quick, ready energy. Ira was his name--Ira Waddy, the First. - -Two months later, when the British were trying that uphill work at -Bunker Hill for the third time, Captain Jane way and Sergeant Waddy -waited rather too long. Three or four of the British rushed at Janeway -with eyes staring for plunder. One of them stared at what he got and -lay there staring, with his head down-hill. To bore this fellow had -occupied Janeway’s sword, and though Sergeant Waddy’s clubbed musket -could brain another assailant, it could not parry two bayonet thrusts. -His breast could and did; so that Janeway felt nothing more than a -scratch, when, with a murderous stamp of the left foot, another soldier -ran the sergeant through. Just then a rush of flying Yankees came by -and cleared the spot of foes. The captain had a moment to kneel by his -preserver and hear him gasp some broken words: - -“Mother! Take care of them, captain. Oh, Mary, Mary!” - -When, after the surrender of Boston, Captain, now Colonel, Janeway -called on that Mary with the news of her lover’s death and his last -words, she knew her life was widowed. There was nothing in the power of -a man of wealth and growing distinction that the colonel did not offer -her. She rejected all with a New England woman’s quiet independence and -mild self-reliance. To become a schoolmistress, as she did, was only -to return to her original destiny. - -Janeway remained her friend. He alone knew her secret. She was one of -those strangely spiritual beings who interfere like dreamy visions in -the inventive, busy business of Yankee life. She had a great, ennobling -sorrow. Her lover had been a martyr of two religions. He had died for -his country and for his friend. It may be said he died instinctively; -but Mary knew that only the noble and the brave have noble and brave -instincts. - -To most people, Mary was only a pale schoolmistress. One person, -however, met her on terms of devoted respect. Governor Janeway, the -pre-eminently practical and successful man, found in her society what -he found not with his gorgeous wife. She became the Cassandra of young -Janeway--who went to the bad, it is true, but long after her death--and -the kindly guide of his infant child. - -Late in life she married Benajah Waddy, the youngest brother of the -three. Janeway had made him bookkeeper, secretary, agent, but he had -finally, after his mother’s death, dwindled into the old shop. Mary, -considering herself his brother’s widow, came to a Hebraical, religious -conclusion as to her duty. With entire simplicity of heart, she told -Benajah that they ought to be married. As a matter of course, they -were. The usual wife found, also, in process of time, their only son, -Benajah, and married him. These both died, leaving their only son, Ira -Waddy, to the charge of his aged and widowed grandmother, Mary, widow -in heart of Ira the First. - -Her grandson was named Ira after his great-uncle, the soldier. -By-and-by it was discovered that a wide river in India bore the same -name, and young Waddy was attracted toward his namesake. The old -influence which, now reviving, made his blood hot as flame, urged him -to know the land not merely of the citron and myrtle, but of spice and -pungent condiments. His grandmother lavished upon him all the beautiful -tenderness of her long-suppressed and desolated love, and then she died. - -Ira Waddy’s hot ardency of nature could not bear coolly any wrong. -Wrong came to him. It would have extinguished an ancestor of the -Whitegift class. Him it only kindled to counter-fire. He had his -great quarrel with life, as many men have; he, in his young life. The -Janeways had always been kind to him; so had their neighbours, the -Beldens. In childish sports and youthful intercourse with the children -of both families, he had often talked with enthusiasm of tropic -splendours and India, his destined abode. When the world of his early -associations became too narrow for him--too narrow because there his -wrong would meet and hurtle him daily--then he thought again of India, -and tropic indolence, and thoughtless people. Being an orphan and -without kin, he could go where he chose. He chose India. - -There, as the years passed, he became rich and powerful, a nabob, a -merchant prince; but with all that this tale has no concern--it is -written merely to chronicle the facts of his Return. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -IN WHICH MR. WADDY REACHES HALIFAX AND MEETS WITH A MISADVENTURE - - -The _Niagara_ was running into Halifax. - -It was early of a bright summer morning, and all the passengers came -on deck, joyous with hopes of _terra firma_. There was our hero, Mr. -Ira Waddy; there were two shipboard friends of his, Harry Dunston and -Gilbert Paulding; there was the Budlong family, to wit: old De Flournoy -Budlong; Mrs. De Flournoy Budlong, his second wife, luxuriantly -handsome, and greatly his junior; Tim De Flournoy Budlong, and Arabella -De Flournoy Budlong; and accompanying them was M. Auguste Henri -Miromenil de Châteaunéant. - -They all looked fresh and well-dressed in shore toggery. The Budlongs, -particularly, were in full bloom. They were always now in full bloom, -and meant the world should fully know they were returning from Europe -with fashion and the fashions, with a gallery of pictures and a -Parisian pronunciation. Old Budlong had once been a brisk young clerk, -lively and lucky. He was called Flirney then. He had traded in most -things and all had yielded him pelf. He was now a capitalist, fat and -uneasy, with a natural jollity which he thought unbecoming his position -and endeavoured to suppress. Budlong in full bloom was as formal as a -ball bouquet. - -It was under the régime of the second wife that the Budlongs had -blossomed. After one season of gorgeous grandeur, but doubtful -triumph, at home, they, or rather the master-she of their social life, -determined to be stamped into undoubted currency by the cachet of -Europe and Paris. They went, were _parisinés_, and were now returning, -wiser and worse. They were now the De Flournoy B.’s, and brought with -them De Châteaunéant, as attaché of mother and step-daughter, either or -both. Old Bud, on marital and paternal grounds, disliked the Gaul. - -Halifax is dull and provincial, but any land ho! is charming after a -voyage. Old Budlong knew all about Mr. Waddy’s wealth and position. -He had lavished much of his style of civility, with much sincere good -will, upon him on board ship and now was urgent that he should join the -ladies and himself in their promenade ashore. - -“Thank you,” said Waddy, “but I have promised to take a tramp with your -boy and these gentlemen,” and he indicated Dunstan and Paulding. - -So De Châteaunéant carried the day. Old Budlong walked in advance, -inquiring the way, while his wife and daughter followed, making a -cheerful glare of ankles through the muddy streets. - -“Isn’t it delightful to be ashore?” remarked Miss Arabella to Auguste -Henri. - -“Yese, mees. I am mose pleese to be out of ze ice-bugs. Ah, -mademoiselle,”--as Arabella made a lofty lift over a puddle,--“vous -avez le pied d’une sylphide.” - -Mr. Waddy and his companions soon exhausted the town. They lunched -substantially on land fare, and having still time, went to drive, -Dunstan and Paulding in one drag, Mr. Waddy and Tim in another. The -first signal-gun recalled them. The two friends, whose steed was a -comparative Bucephalus to the others’ Rosinante, drew rapidly out of -sight. The rear coachman was flogging his beast into a clumsy canter, -when just as they passed a little jetty near some fishing-huts, they -saw a child fall from the end into deep water. - -“We can’t let the child drown,” said Mr. Waddy, stopping the coachman. - -“He’s none of ours. We must catch the ship. Perhaps he can swim,” -rejoined Timothy. - -But it was evident he couldn’t; there was no other help in sight. In an -instant, Mr. Waddy was on the jetty, coat, waistcoat, and hat off; in -another, he was fighting the tide for the drowning life. - -Tim was no more selfish a fellow than is the rule with the sons of such -merchants, and especially such step-mothers. He would, perhaps, have -stayed by Mr. Waddy had that gentleman been in positive danger, but -seeing that he was not only not drowning, but had the child safe by the -hair, Tim whipped up and got on board just in time. - -Cunarders do not wait for passengers who choose to go a-ducking after -top-heavy children. Tim told his story. Mrs. Budlong and most of the -commercial gentry rather laughed at Mr. Waddy. Dunstan and Paulding -said nothing to them. They, however, seemed to have an opinion on the -subject which prevented them from any further interchange of cigars -with Master Timothy. Dunstan looked up Chin Chin, Mr. Waddy’s Chinese -servant, and by dint of pulling his ears and cue and saying Hi yah! a -great many times, made him understand that his master was left, and -he, Chin Chin, must pack up the traps, and for the present obey the -cue-puller. - -It was a very tender and beautiful thing to see how Mr. Waddy raised -the insensible boy up from the boat below to the jetty. He wrapped -the dripping object without scruple in his own very neat and knowing -travelling jacket and carried him toward the mother, who had seen -the accident from a distance and was running wildly toward them. She -clasped the child to her breast, and, at the beating of her heart, life -seemed suddenly to thrill through the saved one. He opened his eyes and -smiled through his gasping agony. - -Then the mother turned, seized Mr. Waddy in an all-round embrace, and -gave him a stout fisherwoman’s smack. It was a first-class salute for -the returning hero. - -He disentangled himself from this codfishy network; then, looking -up, he suddenly fell to swearing violently in a variety of Oriental -languages. The _Niagara_ was just off under full headway. Two men, -probably Dunstan and Paulding, were waving their handkerchiefs from the -quarter-deck. - -Mr. Waddy stopped swearing as suddenly as he had begun and burst into a -roar of laughter; then he looked ruefully at his shirt. - -The fisherwoman was occupied in punching the child’s ribs and standing -it on its head. It was spouting water like the fountain of Trevi, and -gurgling out lusty screams that proved the efficacy of the treatment. - -“Mrs. Hawkins,” said Waddy, becoming conscious that he had observed her -name over her door in his momentary _coup d’œil_ before he sprang into -the water; “Mrs. Hawkins, I am wet; you will have to dry me.” - -“Why, so you are,” said the lady, “wet as a swab. Sammy, you jest git -up an’ go in the shop, an’ don’t you be fallin’ overboard ag’in an’ -botherin’ the gentleman.” - -She accompanied this advice with a box on the ear of the sobbing Sammy, -which started Trevi again. - -Without much ceremony or disappearance into a tiring-room, Mr. Waddy -doffed his wet clothes and donned the toggery of the widow’s eldest -son. His cigar-case, well filled with cheroots, had fortunately escaped -with his coat. He lighted his first, and sat waiting patiently while -Mrs. Hawkins displayed his wet raiment before her cooking stove and -turned the articles judiciously to toast on either side. Let us observe -him as he sits. - -He is rather young for a nabob. Many of the nabobs are lymphatic and -wheezy, as well as old, and that without reference to the place of -their nabobery, whether Canton, Threadneedle, or Wall Street. Mr. -Waddy was none of these--he was alert, athletic, and thirty-seven. It -is a grand thing to have had one’s full experience and having chased -all flying destinies through the bush, to have caught one and hold -it safely in the hand, while the catcher is still young and strong -enough to handle and tame the captive. Mr. Waddy looked strong and -active enough to catch and tame anything. But some things are tamed -only with delicacy and tenderness. Was he destitute of these? At -this moment, there was no exhibition of any trait beyond nonchalant -patience, such as men who have had to deal with Asiatics or Spanish -Americans, necessarily acquire. As the last film of his smoke-puff -exhales from his lips, they close under the yellow-brown moustache into -an expression of firmness, and perhaps of pride. It was easy to see -that firm might become stern, and pride might harshen bitterly, if -treachery should betray generosity and repel candour. - -Tossing his cheroot-end into the stove, he allows an interregnum for -reverie. He leans his head upon his hand; his thick brown hair half -hides the keen sparkle of his grey eyes; the lines of his mouth soften. -He is thinking probably of welcomes from old friends, of pilgrimages -to old shrines. Suddenly he throws down his hand; the proud expression -closes again about his lips, his face hardens, hardens---- - -“Brown man, what makes you look so ugly and black?” says Sammy, -loquitur. “Ma, I know he wants to kill me for wettin’ his clothes,” and -Sammy wept boo! hoo! - -“Don’t cry, my boy,” said Mr. Waddy, and putting his hand into a pocket -he thought his own, he drew out not the expected purse containing the -presentable shilling, but a strip of pigtail tobacco. “Am I brown? I am -the Ancient Mariner. I have been where the sun bakes men as brown as -that loaf of gingerbread. Here are two shillings out of my vest pocket. -Keep one yourself and buy that loaf from your mother with the other. My -mother used to bake gingerbread and my father sold it, years ago, when -I was white, not ginger-coloured.” - -So Ira and Sammy came to terms of peace and good will and munched -together. - -“I kind er guess your things is dry now, capting,” said Mrs. Hawkins. -“I’ll jest put the flatiron to that air shirt and make it as slick as a -slide. Salt water don’t take sterch or them collars would stan’ right -up.” - -While Mr. Waddy was recovering his habiliments, Isaiah Hawkins, the -widow’s eldest son, came in. He owned a small coaster and was to sail -that afternoon for Portland. He came to get his traps. - -“Can you take a passenger?” inquired Mr. Waddy, after the usual -preliminary greetings. - -“Wal, capting,” replied Hawkins, with much deliberation, “I dunno as -I could, an’ I dunno as I couldn’t. What kind a feller is this ere -passenger? Kin he eat pork an’ fish?” - -“I’m the man,” explained Mr. Waddy. “I should think I could eat pork -and fish. I’ve lived in Boston.” - -“Wal, capting, come along if yer like,” said Hawkins heartily, “an’ it -shan’t cost yer a durned cent. ’Tain’t every feller I’d take, but I -feel kinder ’bleeged to yer fer pickin’ up Sam.” - -Mr. Waddy would not consent to be a dead-head, but took pay passage -at once, to start at two. Meanwhile he strolled about the town, and -climbing the steep glacis, admired the glorious bay and the impregnable -fort. He was entering when his way was stopped by the sentinel. - -“No one admitted without special order,” announced that functionary. - -“My old friend Mr. Waddy has special entrée everywhere!” cried a -passing officer, laying his hand on Ira’s shoulder. “My dear fellow, -you wouldn’t let me thank you at Inkerman for dropping that Cossack. -Now I intend to pepper you with gratitude.” - -“Oh, no! we never mention it, Granby,” retorted Ira, warmly grasping -the extended hand, “unless you need reminding how you dropped the -rhinoceros who wouldn’t drop me. By the way, I’ve had a match-box made -of his horn.” - -He pulled out his cigar-case and the match-box. They each took a cigar -and walked off together to Major Granby’s quarters, as coolly as if the -reciprocal life-saving they had recalled was an everyday business. - -“How in the name of Mercury came you here?” asked the major, after they -were seated. - -“Ginger beer--gingerbread, beer,” murmured Waddy abstractedly. “Bass’ -Pale Ale. Yes--ah, well!” - -“What, ho! Patrick!” called the major. “Here’s Mr. Waddy come back and -wants his ale!” - -While Patrick grinned a cheerful recognition and drew the cork, Mr. -Waddy explained his position and the gingerbread allusion. - -“I sail at two for Portland in the _Billy Blue Nose_,” he concluded. -“Why won’t you come and see me in the States?” - -“Why not? I’ll join you when you please,” assented Granby instantly. “I -already have a furlough. I wish I could start to-day.” - -“Come by the next steamer, to-day fortnight,” suggested Ira, “and meet -me in Boston at the Tremont House. I’m really as much a stranger as -you; but they all know me. We’ll see the lions together.” - -“You’ll have to be a ladies’ man, for my sake,” said the major. “I’ve -heard the American women are the loveliest of the world, and I’ve -determined to see for myself. I thought, before I saw you, of dropping -in at Newport this summer. That’s the mart, I hear.” - -“Certainly, we’ll go there and everywhere,” agreed Ira. “What do you -say to a partnership for matrimonial speculation? You put in good -looks, good name, and glory. I contribute money--the prize, of course, -to be mine.” - -“You say nothing about wit,” the major pointed out. “Modest! As to good -looks, these are perhaps degenerate days, but you’ll do very well for -an Antinous with whiskers, and I used constantly in Rome to be mistaken -for the Apollo, in costume of the period.” - -“Well, Apollo, I leave you to study attitudes,” said Waddy, rising. “I -must be off. Good-bye! To-day three weeks.” - -“So long! Here, Pat! pack up a carpet-bag for Mr. Waddy and put in -some of those short shirts. My six-feet-one beats you by three inches.” - -The _Billy Blue Nose_ was quite ready. Mr. Waddy was also ready and -just stepping into the boat when he heard Sammy’s voice: - -“Say, mister! gimme another shilling to buy gingerbread!” - -We leave the reader to judge whether the prayer went unanswered. - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -A GENTLE LADY OF FORTUNE DECIDES TO FACE A STORM - - -The afternoon was hot and sulky. Still, as the party had fixed that day -for leaving The Island, they would not change their plan. Old Dempster -said there would certainly be “considerable of a blow.” - -All the party had longed for a storm; the young ladies had rhapsodised -about billows and breakers and driving spray and heroic encounters -with warring elements. Now that the long roll of premonitory surges -was crashing in sullenly on Black Rock Head and Wrecker’s Point, they -seemed to shrink a little from billows unsunlit. Grandeur was too much -for them. To recline on the rocks under a parasol held by a gentle -cavalier, this was gay and dressy and afforded the recumbent and her -attendant knight indefinite possibilities. But ladies are not lovely in -submarine armour, and muslins limply collapse when salt showers come -whirling in from shattered waves. The great wild terror of the certain -storm made itself felt among the gay party. They were quite willing -to hasten their departure and pass the night quietly at Loggerly. -They would spend also a quiet next day there and take the train on the -second morning for Portland and Boston. - -Miss Sullivan preferred to stay for the promised entertainment. She -seemed already a little excited out of her usual tranquil reserve -by the thought that Nature was to act a wild drama for her benefit. -Besides, apart from the storm, she was willing to pass one solitary -day on the rocks and along the beach. She also longed for one last -master-view from the mountain above Dempster’s house. She was glad -to see all these without the intrusion of gaiety. It may have been -a mood; it may have been character. She would visit, for perpetual -recollection, the best spots undisturbed; a storm would be clear gain. -Mr. Dempster promised to drive her over to Loggerly next evening, rain -or shine. - -_Au revoir!_ and they were off, some walking, some already mounted -into the great farm wagon. They had a very lively time through the -delicate birch woods. Miss Julia Wilkes was quite sure she had seen a -deer. Blooming lips were brighter for the strawberries they crushed; -rosy fingers rosier for plucking the same. When they reached the open -country and were all seated in the wagon, taking the down-hills at a -gallop, and the up-hills at an impetus, Julia turned to her mother, -that excellent, gossipy person. - -“Miss Sullivan has a strange fancy,” said she, “to wander about alone -in wild places. Did you notice how almost handsome she was to-day?” - -“Yes,” put in the _fortis Gyas_ Cutus; “she looked like a cheerful -Banshee, inspired at the thought of a storm.” - -“Mary Sullivan was nobly handsome once,” said Mrs. Wilkes, “and will -be soon again, I hope, now that she is rich and done with all family -troubles.” - -“Is she very rich?” asked Cloanthus Fortisque, friend of Gyas. “I’m -sorry I’m so much afraid of her. She may be sweet as ice-cream, but she -is colder. A feller couldn’t sail in with much chance.” - -Miss Julia pouted a little at this ingenuous remark of Fortisque and -devoted herself to Gyas Cutus for the rest of the journey. - - * * * * * - -It was lonely at Dempster’s when the gay party was gone. The house -looked singularly small and mean. Mrs. Dempster was baking wondrous -bread; bread for which all the visitors had gone away bulkier. Miss -Miranda Dempster was up to her elbows in strawberries. She was a -magnificent lioness of a woman, with a tawny mane of redundant locks. - -The kitchen was close and the hot, heavy atmosphere affected Miss -Sullivan’s views as to the quality of her hostess’s bread. She walked -out upon the little meadow, a bit of tender culture between the forest -and the rude and rocky shore. Old Dempster and Daniel, his son, -were hurrying their hay into the ox-cart. The oxen seemed to stand -unnecessarily knockkneed and feeble in the blasting heat. Yet the sun -was obscured and there came puffs of breeze from seaward. But these -were puffs explosive, sultry, volcanic, depressing. - -As Miss Sullivan approached, Dempster was tossing up an enormous mass -of hay to Daniel. A puff of wind caught it and one half “diffused to -empty air,” making air no longer empty but misty with hay-seed, and -aromatic with mild fragrance. Dempster shook himself and stood leaning -on his pitchfork. He was a grand old yeoman, worthy to be the father -of heroes. The Island, though not a solitary one, had been to him a -Juan Fernandez. He was a contriver of all contrivances, a builder of -all that may be built. He farmed, he milled, he fished, he navigated -in shapely vessels of his own shaping; his roof-tree was a tree of his -own woods, felled and cleft by himself. He had split his own shingles -as easily as other men mend a toothpick; with these he had tented his -roof-tree over. Miss Sullivan and he were great friends, and now, as -she drew near, he looked at her with kindly eyes. - -“See, Miss Sullivan,” said he, “them oxen has stopped chewin’ the -cud--another sure sign of a storm. The wind is sou’west. It’ll be -short, but hot an’ heavy--a kind er horriken.” - -“If the storm is severe, what will all these fishing-vessels do?” she -asked. “I have counted nearly a hundred this afternoon.” - -“Most on ’em will go birds’-nestin’ ’round in the bays an’ coves along -shore. Some on ’em alluz gits caught, an’ that’s what makes me feel -kind er anxious now. You see, my boy Willum has been buyin’ a schooner -up to New Brunswick, with a pardner of his, and he’s jest as like as -not to be takin’ her down to Boston about now.” - -“I hope not!” cried Miss Sullivan, shuddering involuntarily in the hot -chill of another isolated blast. - -“Wal, worryin’ won’t mend nothin’,” said the father, with stoic -calmness. “Come, Dan’l, we must hurry up with this ’ere hay,” and the -two fell to work again; but the face of the elder man was very grave as -he glanced, from time to time, at the grey sky and sullen sea. - -Miss Sullivan strolled on across the meadow to Black Rock Head. There -she had often sat in brilliant days and sent her looks and thoughts -a-dreaming beyond the misty edge of the ocean world. To-day a strange, -dismal heaviness in the air made dreams nightmares. Perpetual calm -seemed destined to dwell upon the ocean, so unruffled was its surface -and unsuggestive of storms to be. Looking down from the Head, Miss -Sullivan would scarcely have discerned the great, slow surges, lifting -and falling monotonously. They made themselves felt, however, when -they met the opponent crag. A vast chasm stood open in its purple -rocks, and as the lazy waves fell upon the unyielding shore, they -flowed in, filling this cavernous gulf almost to the brim with foaming -masses. Then, as the surge deliberately withdrew, these ambitious -waters, abandoned and unsupported, plunged downward in a wild -whirlpooling panic, stream overwhelming stream, all seething together -furiously, hissing, roaring, thundering, until again they met the -incoming breaker, and again essayed as vainly to rise above control and -overcome the enduring land. - -Mists, slowly uprising, had given sunset a dull reception, and the -great southeastern cloud-bank was growing fast heavier and heavier. -Puffs of driving fog began to hide the mountain and lower down upon the -Dempster house. Darkness fell, and at last Miss Sullivan was driven in. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -A WRECK AND A RESCUE - - -All night the storm did its tyrannous work over sea and land; all -night, around old Dempster’s house, it howled its direful menaces. But -the house stood firm, for it had been built to withstand the shock of -any storm; only shivered now and then as the gale smote it with heavier -hand, then tore on its way lamenting. - -More than once Miss Sullivan awoke and lay listening to the storm’s -wild voices--voices which recalled the past--voices whispering, -pleading, sighing, moaning to be heard again and again answered. And -they were answered--answered with bitter moans and tears, and at last -with prayers for patience and peace, and, if need were, for pardon. - -Neither Mrs. Dempster nor Miranda understood the enthusiasm of Miss -Sullivan for storms and breakers. There were several things they would -rather do than venture out next morning: the chief of which was to stay -at home. - -Old Dempster looked uneasily at the cloud-drift. The wind was as -furious as ever, but the rain came only in keen showers. - -“These ’ere sou’-easters,” said he, “never last long at this time o’ -the year. It’ll be clear as moonshine by long about noon. But ef you’ve -got your mind set on goin’ out, I’ll rig you out so you’ll be dry as a -rooster. Dan’l, go down to the mill an’ bring up them short overhauls.” - -Dan’l brought up a great coat of yellow, oiled canvas, and a tarpaulin -with a flap like the tail of a Barbary sheep. Mrs. Dempster supplied -a pair of Dan’l’s fishing boots, outgrown by him in one bare-footed -summer, but still impervious. - -Miss Sullivan, a person very critical in her toilet, hesitated a little -at this unaccustomed attire. However, it was the sensible style. -Miranda aided her in encasing herself. Stiffish were both overhauls and -boots; stiffness itself, at the first interview. - -When they returned to the kitchen to stand inspection, a sound was -heard as if the kettle of dried apples boiling on the stove had -suddenly bubbled and sputtered over. It was Dan’l, utterly unable to -control his laughter. He immediately disappeared, and was heard in the -wood-shed endeavouring to whistle, but constantly breaking down into a -snicker. - -“Poor Dan’l!” said Miss Sullivan; “I must look very droll, indeed.” - -“Wal,” said Mrs. Dempster, “you are kind er like my idee of a Mormon--I -mean one o’ them folks in the pictures with gals’ heads an’ more like -a codfish to the other end. Now if one o’ them gals should make herself -decent with a set of overhauls--an’ massy knows she wants suthin’ to -cover her--she’d look jest as pooty as you do. Wouldn’t she, old man?” - -To avoid other comparisons as complimentary to mermen or maids, Miss -Sullivan ran from her circle of amused admirers and, passing among -the pathless cucumber vines of the little garden, began awkwardly to -climb the fence that kept any amphibious rodent monster of the deep -from predatory excursions among the radishes and hollyhocks. Beyond the -garden, a thicket of wild fruit vines nearly closed the shoreward path. -Drops of rain hung heavy, crushing the bushes with pearly wreaths. A -few raspberries were only waiting one sunny day to take their dull -purple crimson of ripeness. It was wet work to penetrate by the -obliterated path. Miss Sullivan, however, crowded steadily forward. - -When the rustling of her passage through the thicket ceased, she could -hear the neighbour crashing of breakers. Black Rock Head rose to the -north of the rocky cove, home of Dempster’s boat. Southward stood other -headlands, and southern-most, Wrecker’s Point, where all the fury of -surges driven by the southeast gale would be felt. When the mingled -mist, spray, and rain were drifted away for a moment, and shrank to -give space to a great, howling blast, she could see a lofty white -ghostly object, like a ship in full sail, dimly visible, suddenly lift -itself against the dark front of the Head. Then it sank away, dashed to -nothingness of foamy wreck. A hollow roar came, as the cavernous cleft -of the Head was overcrowded with the breaker, and, gushing up, the mass -of uprising waters overwhelmed the promontory and, spreading, mantled -over its smooth surfaces and tore in many cataracts down its chasms to -the sea. The Head, through veils of mist, seemed like a distant dome -mountain of snow. - -Black Rock Head was evidently unapproachable, so Miss Sullivan faced -the blast and its blinding, driving spray, for a sheltered spot farther -on toward Wrecker’s Point. She found that her foreground of vision of -storm-experiences was crowding itself with quite unsatisfactory detail. -There was no sieve of trees by the shore to filter the salt showers. -Sometimes there was but a narrow path between slippery slopes of grass -and rounded rocks glistening with the touch of the more ambitious -breakers. As she passed by these perilous places, an unlooked-for wash -of water would come hungrily up and hasten hungrily back, willing to -sweep away fragile womanhood. The morning was well advanced when, with -slow and difficult progress, the lady who, after her bold vigour of -devotion to her object, merits, at least for the nonce, the title of -our heroine, reached Wrecker’s Point. - -Of seeing much that storms may do she had had her heart’s desire. -All the dread fury of maddened winds had burst upon her till she had -tottered back to some shelter of intervening rock, appalled at tempest -terrors that houselings never know. In tremulous pauses, when the -gale was still, she had heard the coming thunder of the long breaker, -coming awfully because an infinite ocean drove it on; and as this went -bursting like an upward avalanche from crag to crag beyond, in the -silence while the next billow was lifting she had heard those dreadful -ocean voices surrounding her, a wild atmosphere of remorse--of remorse -unpardoned and forever unpardonable for all the murderous wrongs of -ocean to the world. And after these came the bewildering whirl of spray -and rain, the crash, the hissing fall, and then the great blow of the -breaker like a knell. It hammered at the world’s foundations, until -that solid world seemed an unstable thing to tread. - -The rain had ceased when Miss Sullivan reached the Point. It was -clearing, and she could look more widely over the immense agitation -and sway of the lurid sea. She sat for an hour or wandered about over -perils of wave-worn crags, that waves were now striving vainly to -shatter. At last she remembered that she had the beach still to visit -before her return. Her path thither was through a wood, tangled and -bewildering with vines and underbrush. The storm was now almost a -calm, but the thunder of the surges followed her as she hastened along -the dripping trail. Penetrating slowly through the wood by paths of -uneasy footing, she began to distinguish the distant part of the beach. -It formed one end of a parallelogram, whose sides were dark ranges of -low, broken precipice and the farther end the blank of sea. Opposite -her, the precipice continued up into a wooded mountain. The sun was -just breaking forth and scattering a slender, illumined scarf of mist, -that wavered in among the trees of the mountain-side, and melted into -that ever-fresh wonder of beauty, the calm sky of summer. - -There was much rubbish strewn along the beach. Miss Sullivan could -see old waterlogged slabs, logs purple with long drowning, pieces of -spar, a plank or so. As she descended and looked over the nearer sands, -she saw more rubbish; more than usual, perhaps of a recent wreck. -Such a storm could hardly pass without touching the pockets of jolly -underwriters--less jolly over their noon sandwich as the telegraph told -of ships ashore. - -The path began to skirt the edge of the broken cliff, and finally -descended rapidly, by a series of dangerous stepping places, toward the -level. It was quite evident there had been a wreck. The water deepened -very slowly out from the shore, and each swell, as it swept in, drove -along bits or masses of wreckage, and retiring, dragged them back, to -be again heaved farther up. - -Miss Sullivan had never before seen a wreck. She suddenly seemed very -curious to examine this one nearer,--passionately curious, indeed,--and -began to leap down the hillside rather precipitately. However, she was -now used to Dan’l’s boots; otherwise her headlong speed would have -been dangerous. She found it rather deep trudging in the sand, deeper -and more difficult as she ran rapidly down after the returning waves; -and she found it a struggle for her own life in the undertow, as she -resolutely plunged forward and, grasping some wrecked fragments, fought -with so much desperate womanish force as she had to drag them in to -shore and safety. - -These fragments had lashed to them the body of a man. - -The sea had done with this object what it chose; it was weary of its -plaything, and now aided her in her merciful task. For many moments she -was ready to despair and drown; but hope was her ally, and a nervous, -unsuspected strength, and at last she gained a firm footing and dragged -the man away from the waves up on the wet sand. - -She sank exhausted in a dizzy trance, blinded and fainting. It had been -a terrible, heart-rending agony of combat--a very doubtful strife for -two lives with the hungry sea. - -Starting up at last, she seemed to shrink from quieter examination of -the wrecked person. But conquering fear or superstition in a moment’s -struggle, she knelt beside him. His arm was raised, covering his face, -and his clenched hand held something that was attached by a strand of -silk around his neck. As she removed the arm, the hand relaxed in hers -and a small book fell from it; she pulled it from the silk and laid it -hastily by. - -Parting the hair from the sadly bruised and battered face, she looked -vainly into closed eyes for any light of life. She laid her hand where -the heart should be beating; she placed her lips close, nay, almost -touching, livid lips, to catch a faintest breath; she did all those -passionately desperate things that one may do, feeling that another -life may depend on each lapsing moment’s effort. She had nothing -to cut the lashings which bound him to the wreck, and tore at them -furiously, vainly, with her teeth. There was a hard, dry sobbing in her -throat, and her features worked convulsively as she paused, exhausted, -and gazed down at that white, quiet face. She was ready again to -despair. She could not leave him; would no help come? The sun seemed -oppressively hot and cruel--a staring, insulting fullness of daylight. - -Help was coming. She heard a cheerful woman’s voice singing a negro -melody in the wood. Miranda had evidently expected that Miss Sullivan’s -circuit would bring her to the beach and had come to join her. - -Miss Sullivan essayed to scream, but could not. Miranda came to the -bank, and seeing her standing like a ghost, vainly striving to beckon, -divined the whole in an instant and sprang down the steps. - -“Is he dead?” cried Miranda. - -The formalising of a dreaded thought into words makes its terrors -doubly terrible. - -“Dead! I fear so,” said Miss Sullivan, very slowly and with a shiver. - -“He shan’t die if we can help it,” said Miranda resolutely. “Here, Miss -Mary, you run right up to the second field. Up there, Uncle Jake’s out -with the boys, seeing if they can mow after the shower. Bring ’em down -quick--I’ll cut him loose.” - -Suiting act to word, she whipped out a jagged penknife of schoolmarm -days from her pocket, and began to saw at the lashings. - -Miss Sullivan clambered, panting, up the cliff and plunged into the -wood. Presently she appeared at a run, followed by Uncle Jake and the -two boys--biggish boys of six feet two. - -Miranda had cut the lashings of rotten stuff. Uncle Jake supported the -man in his arms. He was perfectly insensible. - -“He’s not dead,” said Uncle Jake. - -“He’ll live; I know he’ll live!” cried Miranda. - -“Hooray!” shouted the two boys tumultuously--a view-halloo for a found -life. - -“Thank God!” said Miss Sullivan, with a quick, irrepressible sob of -thankfulness. - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -IN WHICH MISS SULLIVAN FINDS MANY REASONS FOR DEPARTURE - - -Uncle Jake and his giant progeny made light of their burden, all the -half-mile to old Dempster’s. They were confident, feeling their own -vigorous blood beating healthily from end to end of their great bodies, -that no man, not dead, could die. In their experience as farmers and -fishermen, they had seen much more dangerous hurts recovered from than -any of the stranger’s. - -“He’s pretty well bunged up an’ has swallered an almighty lot o’ -salt water; but that’ll do him good an’ cure the bruises. Why, I -shouldn’t wonder,” continued Uncle Jake, gradually talking himself -into positiveness, “ef he was jumpin’ ’round by day after to-morrer, -as spry as a two-year-old. He ain’t a sailor. I kind er guess he was -a passenger aboard some ’long-shore craft. That wrecked stuff looked -like it belonged to some Down East schooner. I hope it warn’t Bill -Dempster’s. Now, Mirandy, you take good keer o’ this here chap an’ -p’r’aps he’ll be a-buckin’ up to yer, when he’s so’s to be ’round.” - -Miranda and Miss Sullivan smiled. Uncle Jake was evidently a little -more concerned than he pretended, and chatted to keep up their spirits. -Once or twice when the bearers paused to shift hands or rest a moment, -their burden seemed to make a futile attempt toward life. There was a -tremor of eyelid and lip--perhaps a slight unclosing of the eye. Still, -if there was any change, deathliness soon came again. - -Miss Sullivan and Miranda ran on to make preparations. - -“I think,” said the latter, “that we’d better put him in your room, if -you still mean to go, as you decided yesterday.” - -“I must go,” replied the other, with a quick intaking of the breath, -“unless I can be of some service to this gentleman.” Was it her fine -instinct that had recognised the gentleman? - -“I don’t see what you can do more than mother and I will--except that -you have kinder, pleasanter ways,” Miranda assured her. “P’r’aps this -man will turn out to be a sailor ’long shore, after all, and we’ll know -how to nuss him better than you would.” - -“Well,” said Miss Sullivan, “we shall see;” but it was evident that in -her heart she was quite certain he was no sailor. - -Mrs. Dempster flurried about and had everything ready in the invalid’s -room by the time Uncle Jake arrived. The three men carried their burden -into his hospital, while the women waited anxiously for a report. Life -or Death? - -Old Dempster and Dan’l at this moment returned from catching and -feeding White Socks and preparing the buggy for Miss Sullivan’s -journey. While they were hearing the history of the rescue, Uncle Jake -came out with a cheerful look. - -“He ain’t no sailor,” he announced. “Here’s his pocket-book with three -hundred an’ fifty dollars in gold. You just take that, old woman, and -don’t let Dan’l use any on ’em for buttons to his new swaller-tail. -Wal, Miss Sullivan, I guess your man’ll git well. He’s breathin’ -reg’lar, but don’t seem to know nothin’ yit.” - -Miranda went to take her place as nurse by the bedside. By-and-by, her -mother needing her for a few moments, she called Miss Sullivan. - -The wrecked man was beginning to stir about uneasily. He murmured -and muttered names, evidently those uppermost in his waking thought. -Life was struggling to regain voluntary control. He was feverish. -Miss Sullivan gave him from time to time spoonfuls of stimulant; his -weakness and exhaustion needed this. It was a new position for her, -and she managed rather awkwardly,--more awkwardly than one would -have expected who knew her usual deftness. Once, when his eyes again -half opened, she shrank away, and when he again became delirious and -rejected his restorative and went on speaking wildly and incoherently, -mingling names, words of hate and words of love and words of dreary -despair, she burst into a sudden passion of excited tears and called -Miranda to come immediately and relieve her. She evidently was not fit -to be a calm nurse to the stranger: a fact sufficiently curious, since -her temperament was quite the nursely one. But perhaps she was too much -concerned for her protégé. - -The afternoon hastened away. The sufferer seemed momentarily improving. -He had now fallen into a quiet sleep. Mr. Dempster appeared to ask the -plans of his guest--to go or not to go? - -Miss Sullivan said she felt that she could be of no real service; she -was, of course, much interested in the final recovery of her waif, but -she could have news of him from Miranda; she ought not to detain her -friends at Loggerly. - -What she did not say, in spite of a somewhat evident anxiety to find -reasons for departure, was that she did not dare trust herself to -encounter the stranger on his recovery, so shaken was she by certain -inward tremors, so prostrated in strength and spirits--the result, no -doubt, of her efforts in his behalf. An instinct of self-protection -urged to flight. She gave the word, “Go.” - -White Socks and the buggy came to the door. Dan’l stepped forward -with a bunch of hollyhocks, pink, yellow, and purple. He got a very -unexpected kiss--unexpected by giver and receiver. - -“Thank you for your boots, Dan’l. I could not have gone a step without -them.” - -There was a very blushing Dan’l, a very pensive Dan’l, a very manly -Dan’l, a very like-a-first-lover Dan’l, about the premises that -evening. He doubled his fists and said “Durn it!” very often, but -always ended with a pleased smile. Dan’l was having his first glimpses -into fairyland; his world seemed enchanted, as he wandered out through -the ferns to sunset--strawberries his pretence. - -Everyone was sorry to part with Miss Sullivan. With Miranda especially, -her adieux were most affectionate. These two had been engaged in the -romantic duty of saving a life. - -“Write me every day, Miranda,” were Miss Sullivan’s last words, and she -quite blushed as she uttered them. “Write me every day and tell me how -he does.” - -Old Dempster drove her away in the delicious summer evening. White -Socks made good play and brought them into Loggerly at late twilight. - -All the party greeted Miss Sullivan cordially and gaily asked her -experiences of storm life. She did not dwell upon her share in the -rescue--some occult influence seemed to hold her back from speaking of -it--and soon retired. Extreme fatigue saved her from the excitement of -dreams, and she sank into the blessedness of a sleep undisturbed by -storminess either from within or without. Sleep and change of scene -will draw a blank between her and the adventures of to-day: but she -will hardly forget them. Mad storms by the maddened sea are not daily -events in the lives of quiet ladies of fortune; nor does it happen -to every promenader by a beach to be the point of safety whither a -returning wanderer may drift away from his death. - -After Miss Sullivan’s disappearance, her companions all talked of her, -as people always do of the dear departed. - -“Odd idea, that of hers--to go out in the wet,” observed Gyas. “How -would you and I look, old Clo, taking a picturesque ducking?” - -“Did anyone ever see you doing anything picturesque, Mr. Cutus?” -inquired Miss Julia innocently. - -“Pictures are done of him--lots of ’em by Scalper,” said Cloanthus. -“Scalper says his name describes him exactly--he’s the best guy he can -find. There--I wouldn’t have told that, Gyas, if you hadn’t called me -old Clo. You know I don’t like nicknames.” - -“I wonder Miss Sullivan never married,” remarked someone, to end this -controversy. - -“Miss Sullivan has not been rich very long,” said Mrs. Wilkes, in a -tone to indicate that no further explanation was needed; “only since -the death of her step-father. He had some property in Chicago which -suddenly became of enormous value. He left everything to her. You know -her own family were great people once, but lost caste and wealth by a -transaction of her father’s. After that, she was obliged to teach in a -public school for a while. Then she became governess to Clara Waddie -and Diana, Mr. Waddie’s ward. When they went to Europe, she came to us.” - -“Yes!” said Julia, with ardency. “I was an immense little fool, till -then. But, mamma, wasn’t there a story of a love affair of hers, while -she was young?” - -“Horace Belden hinted something of the kind,” replied her mother, “and -that he was the object. But he is very willing to claim conquests. As -soon as the news of her great inheritance came, while she was with us -in Paris, Mr. Belden called upon her. He pretended great surprise that -she was our governess and regret that he had not seen his old friend -before.” - -“He knew it, I’m sure he did!” cried Julia. “Miss Sullivan and I met -him twice in the Louvre, and both times he dodged--palpably. I could -not understand why.” - -“Well,” continued Mrs. Wilkes, serenely picking up her story where she -had been interrupted, “with the news of the fortune came Mr. Belden. -Miss Sullivan was in the salon with me. He went up to her with that -soft manner which he thinks so irresistible. ‘My dear Miss Mary,’ he -said, ‘I had no idea that you were here with my friends. Permit me -to be among the first to congratulate you. It seems that the Fates do -not always err in distributing their good gifts. How long it is since -we have met! Where have you been this age?’ Mary received him rather -icily; and afterwards she would never speak of him, except to say that -they were neighbours in childhood. I suspect that it was merely his -slights during her poverty that displeased her--I don’t believe she was -ever in love with him.” - -“Was not that the time when he was so attentive to Diana?” asked Julia. - -“Yes, my dear,” babbled the good, gossipy Mrs. Wilkes, “and she -liked him, as débutantes are very apt to like men of the world; but -Clara Waddie and Diana and Miss Sullivan were always together, and -whenever Mr. Belden went, he found his ‘old friend’ cool and distant -as possible. I don’t think Mary ever spoke of him to Diana, but there -came a sudden end of sentimental tête-à-têtes such as they had had in -Switzerland, and when he proposed to Diana to go off and look at some -picture, or point of view, she always made it a condition to invite -Miss Sullivan.” - -“Ah, these duennas!” said the brave Gyas, who had frequently found his -bravery of heart and toilet to become naught in their presence. “But -who is this Diana? Is her other name Moonshine? I know everybody and -don’t know her. Where did you pick her up?” - -“Pick her up!” exclaimed Julia, in wrath. “Diana! Why, she would hardly -touch anyone with her parasol, except for friendship’s sake--and she’s -the dearest girl! You’ll see her this summer, but she won’t let you -talk to her, because you are not agreeable enough,” and Miss Julia -blushed a little the next moment and was sorry for her wrath at the -brave Gyas. - -“Is she rich?” asked the prudent Cloanthus. - -“Of course; she is very rich. She owns Texas,” replied Julia -confidently. - -“Texas!” echoed Cloanthus, bewildered by the spacious thought. “Isn’t -that a state or a country, or a part of Mexico, or something?” - -“Perhaps it is,” admitted Julia; “perhaps she only owns half of it. But -I am sure I’ve heard her speak of riding for a day over her own land.” - -Mrs. Wilkes was now asleep in her chair--hence, and hence only, her -silence. She awoke suddenly and reminded her friends of their early -morning start. They separated for the night. - -Next day, when the conductor of the railroad train came to Miss -Sullivan for her fare, she transferred her purse from her bag to the -pocket of her travelling dress. As she did so, she felt an unfamiliar -object. It proved to be the book she had taken from the drowning man’s -hand, and, without thinking, dropped into her pocket. It had been -protected by a covering of oiled silk. The stitches in drying had given -way and the book was slipping out. She thought there could be no harm -in her opening it. - -It was an old, well-worn Testament. On the title-page was the -inscription “M. Janeway to I. Waddy.” It was very touching to think of -this drowning man clinging to the last to this emblem of his religion, -and perhaps token of an early love. No doubt it was in sympathy with -some such thought as this that Miss Sullivan’s hands began suddenly to -tremble, and her eyes to fill with tears as she turned over the sacred -pages. - -The book opened naturally in her hand at a familiar passage; she read a -few lines; then the hot tears blinded her and she put the book hastily -away. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -A PEPPERY INVALID WHO DREAMS DREAMS AND BRINGS BAD NEWS - - -In the morning Mr. Waddy awaked, and, looking feebly around, discovered -Mrs. Dempster. - -“Where is the other?” he asked, half rising and falling back -disappointed. - -Mrs. Dempster called her daughter. - -Miranda came, splendidly fresh from her morning’s duties in full air, -and her tawny locks shaken about in dishevelled luxuriance. - -“Not you,” said Mr. Waddy, shrinking a little from her lioness aspect. -“I want the other. She had a tarpaulin and yellow canvas clothes the -first time, and then I saw her again here--I am sure it was here. Here! -Where am I?” - -He stopped and looked about him wildly. - -“Why, you’re in my house,” responded Mrs. Dempster soothingly, “an’ I -hope you’ll make yerself to hum. You’ve been drownded an’ that was Miss -Sullivan that found you. Ef she hadn’t been kind er cur’us about goin’ -out to see how a storm feels, massy knows where you’d be now.” - -“Miss Sullivan?” repeated Mr. Waddy. “There is no one of that name who -would take any trouble for me.” - -“She did take a sight er trouble, though,” said the old lady, “an’ some -folks’d be more thankful for ’t than you seem to be. ’Tain’t every city -lady that’ll go wadin’ ’round an’ resk drownin’ herself to haul out a -man. Some of them other gals would ’a’ sat down an’ screamed.” - -“Madam,” said Mr. Waddy, with weak testiness, “I am not acquainted with -Miss Sullivan and did not ask her to save me.” - -“Wal, now!” said Mrs. Dempster to herself. “Sakes alive! What an -ongrateful critter! I can’t stan’ it; but I s’pose he’s sick and -onreasonible.” - -So saying she marched out, and clattering pans soon banged a warlike -accompaniment to her murmured wrath. - -Miranda remained, and Mr. Waddy turned to her in a despairing search -for information. - -“You are sure that person in the tarpaulin was Miss Sullivan?” he -questioned. “Sullivan, I think you said?” - -Miranda nodded. - -“Quite certain,” she assured him. - -“Then,” murmured Waddy, “I’ve seen a ghost. I’m insane. I always wished -to know what the feeling was. Now I have it. Bring a strait-jacket, -quick! I’m dangerous! Hold me!” - -And he sank back, looking excessively feeble and quite manageable. - -Presently he seemed to revive a little. - -“Miss Miranda,” he continued, “how do you suppose I know your name?” - -“Perhaps you heard mother call me,” she suggested. - -“No,” said he, “I heard it in a dream, an exquisite dream, such as may -come to us insane men to compensate us for losing our wakeful wits. My -dream was this: I thought that I was lying powerless in the dominion -of a wonderful delight--a delight not strange, but seemingly familiar -as a fulfilled prophecy, whose fulfilment had been forever a lingering -certainty. I was lying, trammelled by a willing motionlessness, -in the loveliest glade of a wood fresh as Paradise. And then my -trance, so content with its own happiness, was visited with happiness -inexpressibly greater. It seemed that a face, well known, as to dreams -of infancy a mother’s sweet watchfulness may be,--that such a face, -perhaps my own life-long dream of pureness personified, bent over me -and seemed searching through my closed eyes, into my very soul, for -the imperishable legends of my better life, written there beneath my -earliest and holiest vows. I heard a voice, such as I may have dreamed -the voice of an angel, and it said, ‘Beautiful world of God! Why are we -not happy?’ Then all the vision faded into dimness and someone like -you, you in fact, came between me and the angel, and the voice called -you by your name, ‘Miranda.’” - -“It is a very pretty dream,” said Miranda, as he stopped, visibly -exhausted, “and truer than most dreams. When we were bringing you up -from the beach, we rested several times in the wood, and Miss Sullivan, -who seems to me like an angel, stooped over you to see whether you were -reviving at all. I remember, too, that she said something like what you -heard.” - -“Miss Sullivan,” repeated Mr. Waddy, rather crossly; “a very -respectable young woman, I’ve no doubt. But I don’t know her--well, I -must have been in a trance and seen old visions.” - -He remained silent for some time, buried in thought--not pleasant -thought, to judge by his countenance. - -“Princess Miranda,” he resumed, at last, “what may be the name of your -realm? Where am I? Is Duke Prospero without?” - -“You’re in father’s house on The Island in Maine,” answered Miranda -simply. “There’s father, now, just come back from taking Miss Sullivan -to Loggerly.” - -“So she’s gone without stopping to see whether I lived or died!” -muttered Mr. Waddy. “I’m glad of it. Infernal bore! to have to thank -her and pay compliments to some namby-pamby plough-girl. Let’s see -what I can give her--a six-inch cameo--a copy of Tennyson’s poems--an -annuity of ten bushels of tracts? She won’t like money--I know these -Yankee girls. This Miranda is another style. By curry!” asseverated he -rapturously, “she is as grand as a lioness. Singularly like Hawkins’s -partner in the schooner. Ah, those poor fellows! Not one of them left, -I’m afraid.” - -His reverie was interrupted by the entry of old Dempster, accompanied -by his wife and Dan’l. - -“Wal, sir,” began the former, with brisk heartiness, “I’m glad to -see you doin’ better. Here’s some money we found in your belt--three -hundred an’ fifty dollars. Count it, if you please.” - -“Never mind the money,” said Waddy. “I would give that and much more to -have news of the vessel I was wrecked in. Have you heard anything about -her? She was a Down East schooner named the _Billy Blue Nose_.” - -“What might the name of her owner be?” asked Mr. Dempster. “One of my -boys has been buyin’ a schooner up to Halifax.” - -“Hawkins was the name; but he had a partner, a very fine young fellow, -who told me he lived on this coast. He lashed me to the spar and stayed -by me till she struck. His name was Dempster--William Dempster.” - -“Mother,” said the old man, very solemnly, after a moment, “it’s our -boy Willum. He is lost.” - -For another moment they were silent, as men are when fatal words have -been spoken; then the women’s sobs burst forth. - -“There’s no time to cry--not fer us men, at least,” added the father. -“I’ve said my prayers, mother, an’ you kin pray while we’re gone. -Dan’l, you go down to Brother Jake’s an’ tell him it was Willum’s -schooner that this man was in. He’d better take the boys an’ go -along the rocks west o’ the beach. You come after me down to our -P’int--no--you go with Brother Jake--I want t’ be alone.” - -He walked away heavily, as one carrying a great burden. He could have -no hope, but that worst assurance of death--the sight of death, of his -son lying crushed and drowned on the rocks. - -Mrs. Dempster went to the bed and, stooping over, kissed Mr. Waddy -softly. The poor fellow, weakened by his hurts, struck to the heart -by the sorrow he had brought to this family, burst into tears. And to -mother and sister, also, came the agonising relief of bitter tears. - -Mr. Waddy was left alone and, overwearied, he slept. And while he -slept, life was busy with his frame, renewing it again, rebuilding all -its shrines of saintly images, and all its cells where lonely thoughts -dwelt sadly. When he awakes, his manfulness will avail that he may -again take up the old burdens, which he had, in his dream, laid down. - -All that day the father searched along the shore, seeking what he -feared to find. He did not speak, but all the while his heart was -calling upon one name; and there was no reply. He wandered along -the jagged rocks of the harsh, iron coast, little coves and clefts -interrupting his progress. Into every one of these he must peer -shrinkingly, seeing in each, in a hasty vision of the mind, a form he -knew, caught in the sheltered shallows and swaying heavily as the tide -poured in over dyke of rock or strip of shining sand. He swung himself -from crag to dangerous crag, recklessly--yet not recklessly, even in -spots of desperate peril, but saving strength and untremulous vigour -of hand and limb; for at any moment there might be for him a burden to -bear, tenderly, lovingly, bitterly. - -At times he would pause and look long and earnestly out upon the sea. -The glitter of summer sunshine overspread its surface. Multitudes -of brilliant sails, crowded by distance, came and went, and as they -passed, he might imagine the cheery hail of whence and whither, and -the wish from each to each of fortunate voyage. But his look did not -rest on them; he was studying each hither surge, as it mounted and sank -away--looking for something that was never heaved up by any sunlit -billow, and that to see among the quick swoopings of seagulls would -have been to him a horror and a shuddering despair. - -Father and brother and kinsmen sought the lost in vain; while in vain -the mother and the sister prayed as they waited tearfully. But there -was no answer to their prayers, save that universal cruel one, “Be -patient! Yes, be patient!” - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -MR. WADDY MUSES UPON FATE AND UNDERTAKES A COMMISSION - - -The family were all tenderly kind to Mr. Waddy, but he needed only -repose. It was very sad within the house next day. Mrs. Dempster and -Miranda made one or two attempts to talk with their patient, but his -connection with the wreck was too close and too saddening. He brought -their loss too clearly before them. They took refuge, cheerlessly, in -household duties. - -As the day advanced, Mr. Waddy was able to move about, and finally, -dressed in Dan’l’s clothes, to walk slowly with many halts down towards -the rocks. Here he could sit with the breeze fresh upon him and basking -in the bright sun. It was a very different heat to that dull, blasting -one which had for years been trying to bake out all the lively juices -of his system. - -Cheroots were Mr. Waddy’s favourite smoking. Of course he had none -at present, after his wreck. Was it for the want of these that, even -through his feebleness of a half-drowned man, his old impatience began -to manifest itself? He had fancied, perhaps, that years of absence -would have changed him from the hot, ardent, passionate, confident, and -confiding youth of three lustra before. Were not fifteen years enough -to stoicise and epicureanise him? Could he not keep cool and take his -luxurious opportunities of a wealthy idler with passive content? Why -must the native air awaken again the old thoughts and the old forgotten -hopes? Forgotten! Ah, Mr. Waddy! hopes touched with disappointment may -blacken into despairs, and pass into the background of shadow, away -from foregrounds of sunshine in the heart, but there they must abide -unfading. - -Mr. Waddy, sitting by the seaside on The Island, was not merely -impatient--an invalid may naturally be so when convalescence has made -farther advance with his mind than his body--he was also very sad. He -could not avoid connecting himself with the terrible disaster which had -marked his coming. - -“Just my luck!” said he to himself. “Why must I come home without any -object? As soon as I arrive on this wretched continent, my passing at -a hundred yards is enough to knock one boy into the water. Then I get -myself left by the steamer, and to shorten my delay, I take the _Billy -Blue Nose_ and I become its Jonah. My vessel goes to wreck; my men are -drowned: I am put under obligations to some romantic old maid, and then -I have to make a whole family miserable with fatal news. And I am -saved--for some good purpose I am willing to believe. But for what? -Have I any duties besides to be a jolly bachelor and tell a boy or -two, like that young Dunstan and his friend, how to behave? I believe -I have not a relative in the world--save possibly that Mr. Waddie of -New York--descendant, perhaps, of my Tory ancestor--who wrote me from -Paris. It is rather pleasant to think of one relative, and then Dunstan -told me that the old boy had an only child, a lovely daughter. Possibly -she may be a cousin within the kissing removes. Ah, pleasanter still!” - -Mr. Waddy was growing steadily more cheerful; then he fell a long time -drowsily silent--dreaming undefined dreams--gazing out across the sea -to the horizon, where wavering warmth of air mingled with quivering -waves. But at last a chill in the air reminded him that he was still an -invalid, and that evening was at hand. - -“I must go in,” he said, “and get ready for my start to-morrow. Dan’l -must be persuaded to cede his clothes to me.” - -He went slowly back along the bushy path, pausing now and then to pluck -a raspberry, until he came to the kitchen. He hesitated a moment, -then went in. Everything was as before--the old clock ticking hours -of a bitter day just as regularly to their end as it had marked hours -of happy holidays, or of careful common days; the kettle of dried -apples sputtering on the stove; the hot loaf ready for supper; Dan’l -depositing the evening’s milk on the dresser. But by the stove sat old -Dempster, now doubly aged, stooping forward, his face covered with both -his hands. Waddy hesitated about intruding his questions of business -into the old man’s grief. However, he looked up more cheerily than Ira -expected, and giving him a broad gripe of the hand, asked of his health -very cordially. - -“I am so well,” said Mr. Waddy, “that I hope to save you the trouble of -keeping me longer than to-night.” - -“Make yourself to home,” said Dempster. “You’re welcome to stay as long -as you like. ’Tain’t in one day a man gits over bein’ wrecked. Besides, -I kind er like to have someone ’round; it keeps the women folks from -thinkin’ of their troubles. But if you’d oughter go, Jake ’ll drive you -over to-morrow, over to Loggerly.” - -“Yes,” said Ira, “I think I must go. Is there anything I can do for you -in Portland or Boston?” - -“Wal, I guess I’ll ask one thing; ’tain’t much, an’ you said my boy -looked arter you a little, ’fore the schooner struck. There’s a spot -down on the sheltered side of Black Rock Head, jest to the end o’ my -meader, where I allers calkerlated to be buried, some day or other, -along with the old woman. I can’t find my boy to bury him there,” he -added simply, “but I’d like to put up somethin’ of a moniment t’ make -us think of him. These gravestone pedlars don’t come very often to -The Island; they tried it fer several years, but folks seemed t’ give -up dyin’ and they didn’t git no orders. Wal, I wish when you git to -Boston, you’d look ’round an’ buy me a handsome pair o’ stones, a big -one with a round top fer the head, an’ a small one fer the feet, an’ -have Willum’s name an’ age put on--I’ll write it down an’ Mirandy ’ll -look up a text. Have ’em leave room enough below Willum’s for another -name. When dyin’ once gits into a family, there’s no knowing where it -’ll stop. I feel as if there’d be some more on us goin’ afore long. -They kin ship the stones in some of these coasters an’ I’ll pay fer ’em -down to the custom house. ’Tain’t askin’ too much, I hope, mister?” - -“Certainly not,” said Ira, much affected and resolving that there -should be no bill at the custom house. “I’ll see that it is done just -as you wish.” - -“Thanky kindly,” said the old man. “When the stones come along, I’ll -set ’em under the cedars. It’ll do mother an’ me a sight o’ good to see -’em an’ kind er make our boy seem near.” - -“There’s one thing I wish to speak to you about,” said Mr. Waddy, after -a considerable silence. “This Miss Sullivan--I have money enough and to -spare. Do you know of anything I could do for her?” - -The question was put rather awkwardly; Mr. Waddy knew as well as -anyone that money is not the current coin to repay an act of devotion. - -“Wal,” said Dempster, seeing the good feeling that suggested and -checked the inquiry, “I don’t believe she wants fer money. She offered -me a thousand dollars fer our P’int. I told her perhaps I’d sell out -the whole farm for two thousand. I’ve been talkin’ some, along back, -with Willum, of goin’ out west an’ settlin’ by some o’ them big lakes. -When folks has been used to water, they don’t like to live away from -it. Willum’s gone, but Dan’l’s a handy boy, an’ Mirandy’s as good as -a whole drawin’ of some men. I guess we’ll go. It don’t look quite so -bright ’round here as it did,” and he passed his hand across his eyes. - -“If Miss Sullivan doesn’t buy it, I will,” said Ira quickly. “Can you -tell me where she is to be found, so that I can have inquiry made what -her decision is? This is just the spot I should like to buy--it is a -good lonely place, where I can escape from my friends,--if I ever make -any,” he added, in a half-voice and rather bitterly. - -“She came with a grist o’ folks from York,” said Dempster; “pretty good -folks, but different kind to her. Mirandy had their names on a paper, -but it got lost. But she said she’d write about the farm an’ I kin let -you know. Wal, if you want to go in the mornin’ I must go over an’ tell -Jake. I’ll be gone to the other field when you start; so good-bye.” - -He gave Waddy a crushing grasp of the hand and looked at him wistfully, -as if he were recalling his son through this one who had seen him last. -Then, feeling that tears--tears of that better manhood which men call -unmanly--were falling over his brown cheeks, now hollow with fatigue -and sleepless grief, he unclosed his hand with grave gentleness and -walked slowly away. - -Looking after him, something brought back to Waddy’s mind that sentence -the old man had uttered a little while before: - -“When dying once gets into a family, there’s no knowing where it will -stop.” - -He felt dimly that he had listened to a prophecy. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE NABOB RE-ENTERS CIVILISATION - - -It was a lovely afternoon, two days after the events narrated in the -last chapter, when a shabby stranger might have been seen slowly pacing -the pavement that leads from one of those gates where a stream of -ardent pilgrims disembogues into the purlieus of the Athens of America; -pacing with reverent sloth up toward the Acropolis where, like fanes of -gods still alive and kicking, tower the Boston State House, the Boston -Anthenæum, and nobler than all, behind granite propylæa, the Boston -Tremont House. - -I said a shabby stranger might have been seen; he might, had anyone -looked. But no one looks at shabby strangers, a fact for which this one -was deeply grateful, for his name was Ira Waddy, and he was encased -in a suit of Dan’l’s clothes. He was still gloomy after his wreck, -indisposed for the hospitalities of his commercial correspondents, not -unwilling to visit his old haunts, himself unknown. - -His first point was of course Dullish Court, his childhood’s home; but -it had changed beyond his recognition. Here, in place of the little -shop, were the great Waddy Buildings, erected by his order and already -trebled in value. The income of this unmortgaged property was of itself -town house, country house, horses, dinners, balls, fashion and respect, -the kingdoms of this world and another. Dullish Court had enlarged its -borders for better perspective of these stupendous granite structures. -Boston thought them more important than Mont Blanc, the Temple of -Solomon, Karnac, or the Coliseum, and ciceroned the unsuspecting -stranger thither. - -“There, sir; what do you think of that, sir? We are plain, sir; but -we are solid, sir--solid, sir, as the godlike Daniel said of us. All -belong to one man. Boston boy, sir--went away with nothing; now worth -millions!” and the liquid l’s of that luxurious word dwelt upon the -cicerone’s tongue most Spanishly. - -Mr. Waddy looked at his buildings with satisfaction. They were worth -looking at. In them, everything that may be hoisted was hoisted; -whatever may be stored was stored. Any man, from any continent or any -island, would find there his country’s products. - -In front of the buildings were still to be seen sights familiar to Mr. -Waddy’s childhood, in other parts of the city. Here were girls pulling -furtive pillage from the cotton bale; others making free with samples -of everything from leaky boxes; others sounding molasses barrels with -a pine taster and fattening on the contents. Mr. Waddy remembered his -own childish days when a dripping molasses barrel was to him riches -beyond the dreams of avarice; his days of growth, when as clerk, he -became himself a Cerberus of barrels; his days of higher dignity when, -Ira still, he, from his tall stool, was short with suppliants; and one -more period of promotion when the inner counting-house acknowledged -his services essential, and when Horace Belden, the ornamental junior -partner, became his constant companion and most intimate friend, -trusted with unnumbered confidences by the true and trustful Waddy. -After that, came India and exile. - -The shabby stranger moved on at last, rather content with his granite -block, but regretting the old shop of his humbler days. The city was -wholly changed. He recognised no building anywhere, but a vista of -green trees appearing up a narrow street, he made for this. He came -out upon the Common, and a very pretty place he found it, warm with -rich shadows and all beflowered with gay little children. Fifteen -years before, Mr. Waddy had sometimes done what may still, perhaps, -be done by Boston swains and maids. He remembered circuits of the -Common, transits of the Common, lingerings in the Common, by bright -sunsets of summer, in electric evenings of frosty winters, when Boston -eyes grow to keener sparkles, and Boston cheeks gain ruddy bloom; -walks twilighted, moonlighted, starlighted--lighted beautifully with -all-beaming lights of nature and youth and hope. - -As Mr. Waddy, forgetting dinner, was gazing charmedly across the -green slopes of this rus-in-urbal scene, remembering--pleasantly, -doubtless, though his face did not look pleasant--his youthful strolls -there-along, he saw sitting near one of the gates a miserable crouching -figure, almost rolled into a ball. By its side was a box of withered -cigars, and a placard, “Please buy something of this Chinaman.” As Mr. -Waddy looked abstractedly at him, quite certain not to buy, he saw -a man of dark complexion approach the cringing figure, stare at him -for a moment, jerk him violently by the tail, and then, with howls of -joy chiming in melodiously with the other’s howls of anguish, fall to -embracing him ecstatically. - -Mr. Waddy was much amused to recognise his servant Chin Chin in the -embracer. - -“What the devil are you doing with that chap?” he demanded, walking up -and employing the toe of one of Dan’l’s boots gently to interfere with -this affecting scene. - -“Hi yah! All same! Boston fashion!” shouted the delighted Chin Chin, -recognising his master in spite of his disguise. “S’pose ’em drown. -No! All same. Dis my cussem--murder’s brudder’s sum. Hi yah!” and he -gave the cigar merchant another tug of the cue, another embrace, and a -quantity of guttural gibberish. After this spasm of kinsmanly regard, -he explained to Mr. Waddy that Dunstan had taken care of his effects -and deposited them with a letter at the Tremont House, intrusting also -him, Chin Chin, to the landlord’s care. - -Chin Chin, dressed in his neat uniform--Mr. Waddy would not call it a -livery--seemed a Nepaulese ambassador, some Bung Jackadawr, on a visit -of state, and Mr. Waddy his rough interpreter on savage shores. Some -drygoods buyers at the Tremont House door were disposed to grin as the -apparent Down East Yankee came up the steps, and to hee-haw when the -landlord, recognising Chin Chin and the signature, asked the signer if -he would like a private parlour. They grinned and hee-hawed no more -when they caught sight of that name of power. - -Meantime, Ira had been provided with his apartment. Chin Chin had -arrayed him in a summer costume, easy and elegant, and he was dining -vigorously, rejoiced to have someone near him again on whom his -impatient oaths in Loo Choo and kindred dialects were not thrown away. - -Of a large number of letters, he first opened Dunstan’s. It was brief, -merely informing him what had been done with the luggage. Mr. Waddy -paused, however, over the closing sentences: - -“I have a short hiatus in my life before the political campaign -fairly commences, and shall yawn through it at Newport with Paulding. -Why won’t you drop in and see something of our world after your long -absence? You will be amused and perhaps instructed in the new social -discoveries. Your relatives, the Waddies, have a house there, a capital -lounging place, and are expected back from Europe soon to occupy it. - -“We made little Budlong rather unhappy for leaving you. Chin Chin shut -off his cheroots. Miss Arabella wouldn’t forgive him for abandoning -‘that charming Mr. Waddy.’ However, she consoled herself with -Miromenil, that sprig of the _haute noblesse_. You will find them all -at Newport.” - -“Fine lad, Dunstan,” said Waddy, “but somewhat melancholy--probably -spent too much money in Europe. Perhaps he’s lost his heart to Miss -Waddie; but he didn’t talk like a disappointed lover; only sad, not -bitter. Well, when I’ve finished my business here and Granby comes, I -may as well begin my home experience with Newport--as well there as -anywhere.” - -When the cobbler, being shaken, responded with only a death-rattle of -dry ice, Mr. Waddy lighted his cheroot and strolled into the Common. -It was loveliest moonlight. He sat on a bench reclined against an elm. -The policeman coming by, stopped, willing to chat of crime. It was too -pure a night for any thought save reveries of pensive peace; so Waddy -gagged him with a cigar. An hour afterward, at midnight, the same, -re-passing, found the smoker still posted on his bench. - -So for hours of that delicious night of summer he sat beneath the -flickering elm shadows. Sweet breezes from overland, where roses were, -came and played among the branches. There was no sorrow nor sighing in -the voices of this summer wind--only love, love! Did Mr. Waddy hear -them? Had some hopeful Cupid peered into his face, he would have fled -affrighted at its stern misery. - -Across the ripples and beyond the silver islands of the bay, at -Nahant, where one of the first hops of the season was now careering, -the Wilkes party were spending a day or two. They were all hopping -merrily to-night, Gyas the brave and the brave Cloanthus alternating -with Miss Julia. Miss Milly Center had also been brought down to -join the Wilkeses, by her Boston friends; and Mr. Billy Dulger, moth -to her flame, had followed, disregarding the claims of his papa’s -counting-house in New York. They all danced and flirted and were well -pleased, though not very susceptible truly to the exalting influences -of the moonlit sea. - -Miss Sullivan’s dancing days were over, except when she was kind enough -to practice with a débutante, or teach some awkward youth the graces in -a turn or two. The music, however, was fine, and the girls, at first, -fresh and not all crumpled. So she, too, was pleased with the pretty -sight. But it grew no prettier, and presently she walked away from the -hotel out upon the rocks. The music mingled softly with the plashing -sea. The fall of waves was like the trembling of many leaves; each dot -of water on the dark rocks was a diamond, filled with a diminished -moon. Here, too, was the breeze that told of love; the lulling beat of -waves said softly love, and the great, dreamy, mysterious sea, over -all its brilliant and shimmering calm, seemed permeated by an infinite -spirit of eternal love. Looking out upon it, Miss Sullivan’s face -softened and saddened, and her eyes filled again with tears. - -About this time, Mr. Waddy, on his bench in Boston Common, feeling -that the end of his third cheroot was about to frizzle the tips of his -moustache, was taking a last, long puff, when a mosquito, suddenly -sailing in, nipped his nose. The sufferer immediately discovered -that his life was a burden. He threw away his stump with great -violence, walked back to his hotel, and laid down his burden under a -mosquito-bar. - - - - -CHAPTER X - -OUR HERO RENEWS HIS YOUTH IN THE WARMTH OF AN OLD FRIENDSHIP - - -As Mr. Waddy was glancing over his paper at breakfast next morning, he -caught sight of a name once familiar. - -“Perhaps I did wrong,” thought he, not for the first time, “to close -all intercourse with people here when I went away. ‘Perkins & Tootler’ -advertising everywhere. There can’t be two men named Tootler. It must -be my old schoolfellow. I’ll go down and see if he remembers me.” - -Large letters in the directory informed him of the firm’s -address--Perkins & Tootler, wool merchants, Throgmorton Perkins, -Thomas Tootler. Ira easily found the store. Everything looked busy and -prosperous. The air around was filled with a fine flocculent haze which -caused Mr. Waddy to rub his nose. - -“Tommy doesn’t need to advertise that he’s in wool,” thought he. “In -clover, too, I should think.” - -All within the store of P. & T. was bustle. Wool-gathering there meant -quite the opposite of witlessness. In reply to Mr. Waddy’s inquiry for -Mr. Tootler, a busy clerk pointed to the inner office. The door was -shut, and as Mr. Waddy knocked, he heard a queer, suppressed sound, -half musical, half melancholy, like the wheeze of a country church -organ when Bellows, immersed in his apple, has forgotten his duty of -blast. - -“Come in,” said a voice. - -As Ira entered, the person within was engaged in hurrying something -into the pocket of his grey morning coat. The person was a short, bald, -jolly fatling, all abloom with pink freshness. He looked a compound -of _père de famille_ and jolly dog. His abiding rosiness was rosier -now with a blush as of one detected; it grew ruddier as the stranger -addressed him. - -“Mr. Tootler, I believe?” - -“Yes, sir; will you take a seat?” returned Tootler politely; then, as -he saw his visitor in clearer light, he sprang to his feet, with hands -outstretched. “Is it possible? Why, Waddy, is it you? _Folly ol tolly -ol tilly ol ta!_” and he grasped Ira’s hands and hopped before him in a -polka step. As he hopped, his coat flew about and a hard object in the -pocket struck Mr. Waddy’s leg. - -“Yes, it’s I, Tommy, my boy,” said Waddy, almost ready to dance himself -and feeling, suddenly, quite a boy again. “I would bet cash that I can -tell what you have in your right-hand pocket.” - -“Well, you’re right,” admitted Tootler, smiling blandly; and diving -into his pocket, he produced the joints of a flute. He put it rapidly -together and after one howl, such as Ira had heard from without, he -played in a masterly way a few bars of a sweet Spanish air. - -“Our last serenade--eh, Ira? I don’t forget, you see.” - -The two friends shook hands again on this souvenir--but more gravely. -Mr. Waddy’s face, indeed, was again very grave. - -“Fifteen years ago this very month,” continued Tootler, a little -rapidly, perhaps noticing the change. “But, Ira, you’ve not altered a -hair, except your moustache, and you’re as brown as a chowder party. -Splendid! All right! Welcome home! as the boy said to the bumble-bee. -If I could see your lips, I don’t know but I would----” A chirping -smack went off in the air, and Tommy, the gay, spun about his office, -and as he spun he flirted no less than three tears to lay the dust; -then, giving himself a little thwack in the eyes, he fronted Waddy -again. - -“Well, Tommy,” said his friend, “you are the same--only younger. I see -the hair hasn’t grown yet on your infantile poll.” - -“Never will, sir,” replied the merry man, who had plenty of pleasant -light hair below his tonsure; “never would. I’m taken for a priest, -a nunshow. Sometimes for the Pope. Isn’t that worth being bald for? -‘The Pope that Pagan full of pride’--I’d like to be him for one day to -excommunicate the Irish nation. But come! tell me about yourself. I -obeyed orders and didn’t write. I heard, of course, through your house -here that you were alive and making money, but nothing more. We’ve -talked very often of you--Cissy and I.” - -“Oh!” said Waddy, “of course there’s a Cissy. No man ever looked so -young and happy without.” - -“Of course,” assented Tootler positively, “there’s more than one. -There’s Mrs. Cecilia Tootler, who knows you very well by hearsay, and -Miss Cecilia Tootler, who will know you this afternoon, if my brown -mare Cecilia doesn’t break our necks.” - -“Where are we going so fast?” asked Waddy, “with these gay young men -who drive brown mares?” - -“We are going to my house in the country,” explained Tootler. “We are -going to drive and drive and talk over old times, and have some iced -punch after the old fashion, and a pipe after punch. For your part, you -are going to be made love to by Mrs. Tootler; she shall sing to you, -with her divinest voice, everything that you have loved in old times, -and a thousand new things that you will love when you hear them; she -shall play to you on the dulcinea, sackbut, psaltery, spinnet, harp, -lute, and every kind of instrument, including a piano. Her name was a -prophecy--there’s something in a name. Now yours--I don’t believe you -would have been bolting off to India as you did, forgetting all your -friends, if your name had not been Ira.” - -“No more o’ that, Tommy,” protested Ira, “now that one of my friends -has proved that he has not forgotten me. But tell me, is it usual for -merchants of Boston, in wool or out of it, to carry pocket flutes or -bassoons, and while away the noontide hour with dulcet strains, such as -you gave me? Do they all play solos in solitude?” - -“They might do worse, and some of ’em do. The fact is, Ira, I meet such -a set of inharmonious knaves that I must soothe me with a little blow -now and then. I have had the doors felted. Not much sound goes through. -Generally, I can wait till I get to the Shrine--so I call my box--St. -Cecilia’s Shrine--for my music, but sometimes these confounded beggars -rasp me so with their mean tricks and tempting swindles that I have to -pipe up. The clerks wait till I’ve done and then ask for half-holidays. -I have to deal with a pretty shabby crew. These manufacturers are -always hard up and keep sending a lot of daggered scallawags here -to get contributions to put little bills through Congress about the -tariff. They don’t get much out of Tommy Tootler--nor much ahead of -him--the loafers!” and Tommy, to tranquillise his soul, took his flute -and gave “Il segreto” with thrilling trills. - -As he closed, a small knock smote the door and the youngest clerk, -aged fifteen, peered in. His pantaloons were hitched up by his hasty -descent from a high stool. - -“Mr. Tootler,” he began timidly, but gathering courage at every word, -“my sisters are going to have a raspberry party this evening and--and -my mother’s not very well. Can I go home at three?” - -“Go along, my boy!” said the merchant, “and don’t take too many -raspberries or you may be more ill than your mother.” - -Clerkling disappeared and a suppressed cheer came through the felted -door. - -Mr. Waddy laughed heartily. Tootler also smiled in length and breadth; -in breadth over his rosy cheeks of indigenous cheerfulness, and in -greater length from where his chin showed the cloven dimple up to the -apex of his tonsure. It was doing Mr. Waddy vast good--this intercourse -with his old comrade. It seems to me quite possible that if he had -found his friend transmuted from the old nimble sixpence to a slow -shilling--corrupted into a man of the two-and-sixpenny type, slim, -prim, close, pious to the point of usury--that the returning man would -have been disgusted away from all his possibilities of content and -hopes of home; would have scampered back to the lounges of Europe and -there withered away. Then, certes, never would this tale of his Return -have been written. - -But Mr. Waddy found his old friend now even more a friend. The meeting -carried each back to the dear days of youth, jolly and joyous, ardent, -generous, unsuspecting. How many were left who could call either -by prenomen? These were two who, together, had done all the boyish -mischiefs--all for which boyhood is walloped and riper years remember -with delight. Had they not together lugged away the furtive watermelon? -What Boston bell-pulls were not familiar with their runaway rings? Who, -as time went on, were the best skaters but they? Who went farthest for -water lilies for boyish sweethearts; who, into stickiest mud for the -second joints of that amphibious kangaroo, the frog? To enumerate their -joint adventures and triumphs demands a folio. Were this written, the -old types of friendship would be forgotten, and even now, as I think of -Waddy and Tootler, those other duos of history, Orestes and Pythias, -Damon and Jonathan, Pylades and David, mingle themselves like uncoupled -hounds--their conjunctions seem only casual and temporary. - -There must have been good reason for their reciprocal silence during -so many years, for their meeting was not as of two who have wished to -forget each other, and such a meeting, with so unchanged a comrade, -was, as I have said, to Mr. Waddy a wondrous good. It seems impossible -that a man of his many noble traits should not have had other friends, -all in their way as sincere as this one. But whether this prove to be -so or not, here we have the first fact a favourable fact. The first -hand he grasps returns the pressure warmly, and not with traitorous -warmth. The first face he recognises even precedes his in recognition. -Pleasant omens these! If not ominous, pleasant enough as facts. - -The two friends parted for their morning business. At three, to a tick, -Mr. Tootler was at the Tremont House, in a knowing buggy with hickory -wheels, fresh-varnished. Mr. Waddy, also to a tick, ready with his -carpet-bag, squinted at Cecilia and saw that she was a “good un.” Mr. -Tootler, with his tonsure covered by a straw hat, was a very young, -almost boyish-looking man, as vivacious and sparkling as a lively boy. -Mr. Waddy was browner and graver, and his long moustache gave a stern -character to his face, even when he smiled. - -Cecilia lounged along over the stones down Beacon Street, with that -easy fling which reminds one of the indolence of an able man. The air -was cool and fragrant, and parasol clouds hung overhead, suggesting -future need of umbrellas. The same need was foreshadowed by gleaming -fires in horizontal blackness--they were evidently heating up those -dark reservoirs that later a diluvial boiling-over might come. - -Cecilia probably snuffed the approaching shower, or was a little wild -with thoughts of her oats, for while Tootler was still pointing out to -his friend the new houses of new men, the railroad causeways and the -extension of the Common, the mare was imperceptibly and still lazily -stretching into her speed. She was not one of those great awkward -brutes that require a crowbar between the teeth and a capstan with its -crew at either rein. This refined, ladylike animal had nothing of the -wrong-headed vixen about her. Her lively ears showed caution without -timidity. She was indeed a “good un,” with a pedigree brought down by -the Ark from Paradise. - -Mr. Tootler hardly felt the reins, the mare was minding herself. They -were descending an easy slope, when a man driving fast, alone in a -buggy, appeared over the opposite rise of ground. Just as he came -within recognisable distance, he struck his horse violently with the -whip; the horse winced and bolted and then turned toward his own side a -little, but not enough to save the collision. - -“We’re in,” said Tootler calmly, as the crash came. - -He had the advantage of down-hill impetus and a large fore-wheel of the -new style. His wheel struck the other’s hinder wheel just in front of -the box. It swept the axle and both wheels clear. Cecilia pulled up in -an instant--no damage. They left her standing and both sprang to the -rescue of the stranger. He had been thrown out behind and was picking -himself up from a spot where there was just mud enough for general -defilement. Ira made after the horse, who only ran a hundred yards, -and brought him back with the wreck of the wagon at his heels. Tootler -was talking rather angrily to the stranger, who stood sulkily beating -off the mud. - -“Hang it, Belden, you know it was your own fault,” said Tommy. “Why -the deuce did you hit that bolter of yours just at the wrong time? You -might have broken all our necks.” - -“Well!” said Belden, and the word expressed many things. - -He was, or rather had been, dressed in white, with blue cravat, and -wore a straw hat covered with fresh white muslin in the Oriental style. -He was now bedaubed like Salius in the Virgilian foot-race. It was -quite certain that his afternoon projects were at an end. He was an -“object.” - -“After all,” continued the good-natured Tootler, “you have the worst of -it and I won’t abuse you. Here comes Waddy with your horse--he seems -all right. Don’t you remember Waddy? Ira, this is Horace Belden. He -used to be one of us--old friends.” - -Waddy was holding the horse with his right hand; he held out the other -with an apology. - -“I’m glad to see you again and very sorry that we were the -unintentional cause of your accident,” he said. - -Belden took the hand with a bad grace, and stooping down to wipe off -some of his stains, was muttering something that may have been a reply, -when Cecilia made a little start. Tootler jumped to her head. - -“Come, Waddy,” he called; “we shall be caught in the shower. Sorry to -leave you, Belden, but don’t see that we can do anything. A little -rain-water won’t do you any harm.” - -Belden’s manner was so very ungracious that Waddy’s cordiality, if he -felt any, was repressed. It was a case for indulgence, however, and he -paused an instant as he was mounting into the buggy. - -“I’m at the Tremont House, Mr. Belden,” he said, “and shall be glad to -see you.” - -“Tremont House--ah,” replied the other. “Hold your head up, you damn -beast!” - -As the pair drove off, Belden looked after them with a black expression -and a curse. - -“What the hell has that damned Waddy come back for?” he asked of the -ambient air. “He’d better keep away from me. I knew him as soon as I -saw him from the top of the hill. You infernal brute, why didn’t you -go by?” and picking up his whip, Mr. Horace Belden beat his horse -villainously. - -Meantime Cecilia was tossing herself gracefully along, covering ground -to make up for delay. - -“Does Belden owe you any money?” asked Tommy. “I thought there seemed -something to pay between you.” - -“He certainly didn’t seem inclined to pay even common civility,” -replied Ira, “but I suppose he was savage at being spilt. It _was_ -rather hard, particularly with that gay and gorgeous raiment. He should -learn how to drive.” - -“I think he knew us and meant to go by without notice,” said Tommy -shrewdly. “Did you ever quarrel with him before you went away?” - -“Never any positive quarrel. I had begun to distrust him somewhat; but -he aided me so readily in my efforts to be off that I forgot my doubts. -We parted good friends. Why do you ask?” - -“I can hardly say,--something in his look, and manner of speaking of -you, as of course we did often. I noticed the same look to-day, when -he used the whip, and when you came back with the horse. Depend on it, -he wishes you no good. I don’t like to speak ill of any man, but I -believe him to be a scamp. My wife would never know him. I ask her why, -and she says she has an instinctive aversion to him. I am sure she has -had something to verify her intuitions. She is not a person for idle -fancies, except in my personal case, and then I had trouble enough to -change fancy into fact.” - -“What has Belden been doing all these years?” asked Waddy. “The only -time I ever heard of him personally was a year or so after I went, when -a youth who came to China to forget some jilting miss, told me that he -was to marry a lady at whose house we used to meet--you know,” and he -turned away so that his companion might not see his face. - -“There was nothing in that,” said Tommy. “Soon after you went, he -ceased to be received there--reasons unknown. He was a pretty hard -customer then, and played high. Then he got some reputation of a -certain kind in an amatory way. By-and-by the house failed--total -smash--not a dollar to be found; still his connections and power of -making himself agreeable, particularly to women of the class who -haven’t intuitions, or don’t consult them, kept him up. He’s rather -accomplished--sings, you know, and writes what half-educated people -call clever things.” - -“He must have a large audience,” observed Ira, a little bitterly, even -for him. - -“He has,” agreed Tootler; “among knaves as well as fools. It’s my -belief the fellow would steal. In fact, where he got his money to go -and live in Europe, as he did for several years, no one knows, unless -he hid it from the firm’s creditors. Then he went to California and -pretended to have made his fortune. He has lately been to Europe again. -I believe he is now on the matrimonial lay, the beggar! But you don’t -ask me about the other friends with whom we used to be so intimate.” - -“No,” said Mr. Waddy, with the tone of one definitely putting aside -the subject. “I do not. How that mare of yours travels! Can you put me -in the way of getting a horse?” - -“For what work? My next neighbour has a five-year-old, Cecilia’s -half-brother, for sale. He’s a beauty, black as the devil. The only -thing against him is, he’s not broke to harness. They ask a loud price, -too. It will make you stare.” - -“Not very easy to make me stare,” said Waddy easily. “A saddle horse is -just my affair. We’ll look at him in the morning, and if he suits, ‘Ho -for cavaliers!’” - -During all this talk, Mr. Waddy had not failed to observe the exquisite -beauty of the country they were whizzing through. There is nothing so -charming, suburbanly, as the region about Boston, and to him all was -garden, for these were spots where his rosy-houred youth had taken its -truant pleasures. Fifteen years had built fences of exclusion round -many lovely groves, where he had chestnutted; the old orchards were cut -down or neglected; many things had changed, for the city was steadily -growing countrywards. He had only time to make hasty observations as -they passed. Tootler would have been glad to pull up for larger view -of fine house or finished grounds or lovely rural landscape, but that -imperious shower said no. Presently they turned off the highroad into -a sylvan lane, between tall hedges. A desultory avenue of elms shaded -it. On one side was a gravel walk, along which a little girl was -driving a hoop towards them. - -“Jump in, Cissy,” called Tootler, pulling in the mare. - -A charming bright-eyed damsel clambered in and began to fondle her -father. Her smile had the same bright, cheerful, magical charm as his. - -“This is my friend, Mr. Waddy,” said he. “Give him a kiss--or, better -still, one for every year he has been away from his friends.” - -And again Mr. Waddy felt his heart glow with a warmth almost youthful -as the fresh red lips touched his. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -IN WHICH THE READER IS ALLOWED TO WORSHIP AT THE SHRINE - - -If this were a three-volumed novel, here would expand a wondrous chance -for a luxuriant, George Robbinsy description of that delightful rural -retreat, the villa of Thomas Tootler, Esq. But though we enjoy the -bliss and comfort of that worthy, we must leave his accessories to be -imagined from the man. Of course he had a house, not too large, not too -small for the pleasant actual trio of his family, and extensible to -include future possibilities. Of course grounds were worthy of house, -garden of grounds, fruits of garden. - -The equine Cecilia walked slowly up the hill and lounged into the gate, -no longer caring to hasten her certainty of oaten banquet, or spoil her -appetite by trepidation. A fine-looking darkey stepped forward and took -her head, while the gentlemen descended. - -“Fugitive slave,” whispered Mr. Tootler. “Jefferson Lee Compton -Davis--first families of Virginia on the father’s side and on the -maternal grandfather’s.” - -Little Cecilia had scampered away at once, and now reappeared, bright -as a cherub in a sunbeam, leading her mother by the hand. At sight -of the stranger, this lady checked herself at the threshold. But she -had evidently, as Mr. Tootler said, heard already of Mr. Waddy, and -when her husband presented him by name, she stepped forward with a shy -tremble of diffident friendliness lovely to behold. - -If Mr. Tootler had fittingly represented the masculine side of -friendship, Mrs. Tootler as sincerely acted the feminine part. It was -not merely the few cordial words, expressing her pleasure at meeting -her husband’s old friend, to whom he owed so much in so many ways, but -the frank grasp of the hand, the bright look of genuine welcome in the -clear brown eyes, the blush of warm interest, the winning smile as she -introduced the friend into a home, as he must henceforth feel it--all -this was more and more on the side of happiness. Mr. Waddy was again -conscious of that unaccustomed feeling overcoming him, like a summer -cloud full of summer’s joyful tears. - -Mrs. Tootler left them to give orders about the fatted calf and icing -the champagne. Tommy conducted his friend to his room, and both, with -their coats off, were commencing their toilet, chatting through an -open door of communication, when there came a sudden alarm from little -Cecilia. - -“Papa!” she cried, running up the stair, “come quick! Some men are -fighting Jefferson.” - -The host and guest were down the stair and in the barnyard in an -instant. Four men were endeavouring to put the Fugitive Slave Bill in -operation. Jefferson believed in the Declaration of Independence, and -was making wondrous play for freedom, but four were too many for him. -They had him down and were producing handcuffs. Two of the men were in -the Virginia uniform of black dress-coat and shiny satin waistcoat. The -other two were Deputy Marshals Hookey and Tucker. - -It was beautiful as forked lightning to see Mr. Tootler count himself -in and make free with the fight. He alighted like a bomb, unexpected, -on one Virginian who had his knee on the negro’s head. This man, for -reasons, appeared no more in the fray. Ira, of course, followed his -friend and occupied himself with raising bumps on the countenance of -Marshal Tucker. Jefferson Davis, once released, soon floored the second -Virginian. - -“Cut, Jeff, and go to Sammy’s,” cried Tommy, amidst his attentions to -Hookey. “I’ll send your clothes in the morning,” and Jeff was off in an -instant. - -The prey escaped, the two marshals preferred not to be bruised further -and called a truce. Virginian No. 2 was quite groggy and _hors de -combat_. Crackers, the dog, had pounced upon his fellow-huntsman as -he lay, and was smiling at him with very white teeth. At this moment, -with a neighbour flash, bang went the big thunder-gun and down came the -deluge. The two gentlemen took refuge within, leaving the vanquished to -scamper for their carriage with such speed as they were capable of. As -the heroes re-entered the house, they met Mrs. Tootler rushing forward -with a double-barrelled gun and silver fish-knife. The black cook, with -a distinct cuisiney odor of fatted calf, was in the van, armed with -a gridiron and pitcher of steaming water. This reserve was, however, -needless as the Prussians at Waterloo, and there was no pursuit. - -“Well, Waddy,” said the host, “how are you? Knuckles lame?” - -“No,” replied the guest, “my man was rather cushiony about the chops. -Neither of us was much hurt.” - -“Capital little shindy!” said Tommy, glowing with satisfaction. “I -think I shall take a station of the Underground for the chances of such -an appetiser now and then. I haven’t felt such a meritorious hunger for -ages. Very likely we’ll be arrested in the morning.” - -Battles in a worthy cause win favour with the fair. Mrs. Cecilia looked -a little anxiously for wounds, but there were none save what a stitch -might repair. She plucked a rose for each, as a palm of victory. - -At dinner, after the asphodel cauliflower, the lotus celery, the -_pommes d’amour_ tomatoes, and the amaranthine flower-adorned fruits, -the friends talked over this mêlée, sipping meanwhile their nectar -coffee, and wielding the nephelegeret sceptre of tobacco. Mrs. Tootler -was not to be weeded out. They could not spare her presence, blithe and -débonnaire, nor in the discussion her unembarrassed womanly rectitude. - -“You must be indignant, Tommy,” said Ira, “at the intrusion of those -kidnappers.” - -“Unfortunately our moral sense on these subjects is too much degraded,” -answered Tommy. “I am angry, of course, but I do not think half enough -of the infernal shame to that poor darkey. He must go to Canada, just -as much an exile as any of the foreigners we make such disturbance -about.” - -“I may seem rather ignorant,” said Waddy, “after my long absence, but -tell me, do men with the social position of gentlemen here accept -office from a government that is willing to make and execute such laws -as this Fugitive Slave Bill?” - -“Why not? Mere social position does not make men gentlemen. They call -themselves conservatives.” - -“It seems to me,” said Ira, “that in the present condition of things, -a conservative must be either an ignoramus, a coward, or a knave. But, -madam,” he added, turning to Mrs. Tootler, “we are boring you with -politics. _Parlons chiffons._” - -“_Chiffons!_” cried Cecilia. “I am really indignant, Mr. Waddy. I do -not believe that the gentleman so quietly smoking by your side would -ever have been really roused if I were not always buzzing in his ears.” - -“She is right,” admitted Mr. Tootler, sipping the last drops of his -now cold coffee. “Women are vigorous antidotes to moral or mental -sleepiness. But, Waddy, our little adventure is bringing the present -too near us; to-night must be devoted to recalling our dear old -days together. To-morrow we’ll talk politics and be sad for the -uncertainties of our cause--‘ma quest oggi n’ é dato goder,’” he sang. - -“‘Non contiamo l’ incerto domani,’” responded Cecilia, with spirit, -from the same air, “which I freely translate that we do not count the -future of our cause uncertain at all, either to-morrow or after.” - -It is a fascinating thing to see a lovely woman in wrath, and probably -Mr. Waddy thought for the moment more of how startlingly bright were -the eyes of the lady, and how quick her heart’s blood leaped to her -vivid cheek, than of the cause that made the eyes electric and the -cheek burning. - -“My wife knows all the old songs, Ira,” said Tommy, also gazing -admiringly, but deeming it discreet to change the subject, “and I’ve -not forgotten my stock. We’ll have the old first, as old wine should -come, and then, if satiety does not interfere, you shall have new -music till you cry _basta_.” - -“Yes,” agreed Cecilia, the little storm over in an instant, “I’ve -learnt all your old favourites, Mr. Waddy. We have always expected you -and determined to make you forget your sad absence,” and then, as if -she had been too frank and had betrayed some confidence of husband and -wife, she shrank a little and folded into herself like a mimosa leaf. - -“Thank you,” said Mr. Waddy simply. - -So they had music. Mrs. Tootler’s voice was a pearly soprano of more -marked tenderness and sentiment than you would have expected from her -blithesomeness of manner. Tommy’s was a barytone, strong and rich; -it rolled out of the happy little man in a careless way, perpetually -making musical ten-strikes. Mr. Waddy sometimes contributed a bass -note, deep as an oubliette. - -But it was his part to assist passively rather than actively at -the concert. He would have listened quite forever, but at last the -husband detected huskiness and said punch. Thereupon he brewed a -browst--tumblers for the men, a wineglass for the lady. They partook by -the rising moonlight. - -“What are your plans?” asked Tommy. “You will stay with us a week, or a -month, or five years?” - -“I have no plans except to buy the black colt to-morrow. I expect -pretty soon an English friend, and have promised to look up the lions -with him. Apropos, perhaps you can put him in the way of seeing your -Boston dons. He is an accomplished fellow, naturalist, man of science, -charming companion, and brave soldier.” - -“He will find the Boston dons rather slow,” said Tommy; “there is -nothing soldierly about them. A respectably studious and rather -dyspeptic set. Quite conventional and conscious of European influence. -But here’s to the midnight moon!” he added, as that gibbous deity cleft -the clouds and seemed sailing upward through their stationary masses. -“One can see almost heaven and the angels!” - -“But why do you look up yonder for them?” queried Waddy, when the toast -was drunk. “Your life seems to me a revelation of earthly heaven, with -one abiding angelic presence. You think my rhapsodies mere Oriental -absurdities, perhaps, Mrs. Cecilia--but it seems to me that my friend, -with you, has attained to happiness. You were always a hopeful man, -Tommy; now you seem by hopes achieved to have learnt what they call -Faith. Well, you deserve it. For me, whatever I have deserved, there -is only a poor refuge of such careless stoicism as I affect,” and he -uttered in some strange tongue an expression savage and stern as the -growl of a lion. - -“No!” said he again, after a silence, during which his friends had -been, perhaps, seeking vainly for the right word; “my dear Mrs. -Cecilia, my first evening at your lovely house shall not end sulkily -on my part. Tommy, unsheathe your jocund flute and draw thenceforth -soul-animating strains.” - -Tommy was not one of those non-performing humbugs, noticed by Socrates -as existing in his time, who are uniformly out of practice or have -left their notes at home, so he got out his flute immediately, and -accompanied Cecilia in a delicious echo song, the silver sounds -threading themselves among the fine moonbeams that floated through the -network of vines over the piazza where they sat. With the last fading -echo, drifted away every thought of bitterness, and the calm midnight -silence fell around them peacefully. So they separated. - -Mr. Waddy stood at the window of his bedroom, looking out upon the -night. Was it to the spirit of the night that he stretched forth his -arms and murmured words of yearning tenderness? His hand was feeling, -as if unconsciously, in his bosom. He missed something. - -“My Testament!” he exclaimed. “Ah, now I remember--the wreck.” - -He lighted a cigar, but after a puff or two, threw it away and turned -in. His health was excellent, despite the memories which troubled him -from time to time, and after the long day diversified with incidents of -collision and shindy, he slept solidly, not far from the scenes of old -happiness, lost long ago. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -THE PARABLE OF A HUMBLE BEAST OF BURDEN AND OF LILIES THAT TOIL NOT - - -Breakfast, with Cecilia to preside, was bright as summer sunrise. -Little Cecilia had her bouquet of dewy roses for father and friend. The -whiff of coffee perfume was like a gale of Araby the blest. Just as the -meal was ended, a servant announced that Mr. Bishop was outside with a -horse. They sallied forth to inspect it. - -Mr. Bishop was a flashy man, not quite jockey, not quite farmer, rather -of the squireen type. He had associated enough with gentlemen to know -how they permit themselves to slang and swear. He was, however, better -than a gentleman jockey, who, like a gentleman stool-pigeon, is doubly -dangerous. But no jockey could say more for the black horse than was -evident in every bend of his body, in every tense muscle and chord of -the delicate limbs. - -“He is high-couraged, sir,” said Bishop, “and has played the devil with -some folks. You seem to know how to handle a horse.” - -Waddy ran his hand over the legs, as free from knots as a Malacca -joint; then standing at his head, he let the colt nibble at a bit of -moist biscuit and took the opportunity quietly to look at his mouth. - -“He seems all right,” he said, at last. “Move him a little, if you -please.” - -Bishop started him off. The stride and spring were smooth as a raw -oyster; both told of speed and power. - -“There’s no mistake about him,” said Bishop, bringing him back. “I -meant to have kept him to ride myself, but times is gittin’ hard -[_i. e._, brandy has gone up]. Besides, my daughter, Sally, is gittin’ -sicker an’ I’ll have to go south with her next winter and shan’t need -no horse, an’ ’ll want the rocks. Mr. Tootler knows the horse an’ kin -tell you what he did when we tried him on the course. If you buy him -an’ ’ll keep dark, you’ll be mighty apt to take ’em down that tries to -run with you.” - -“I’ll take him,” said Ira, without more parley. “Tootler, will you give -Mr. Bishop your check?” - -While Tootler was drawing the check, Cecilia came out with a small -basket. She offered it to Bishop. - -“I’ve been putting up some jelly for Miss Sally,” she said. “It may -tempt her. How is she to-day?” - -“The best to be said,” replied Bishop, “is she ain’t gittin’ no wus. -The doctor says she ain’t so much sick as down in the mouth. She’s -off her feed an’ seems to have got suthin’ on her mind. P’r’aps it’s -religion. She wants me to stop swearin’; but I’ll be durned if I kin. I -wish you’d come over an’ see her ag’in, ma’am. You’re the only one as -does her any good.” - -He spoke with evident feeling and sincerity, and Mrs. Tootler promised -to go. - -A moment later, Mr. Tootler emerged from the house and handed Bishop -the check. The black was transferred to Mr. Waddy. - -“I’m sorry to part with him,” said Bishop, real regret in his voice; -“but you look like you’d treat him well, sir. He ain’t used to the -whip. He’s never been struck but once, when that damn Belden talked -of buyin’ him. Belden handled him kind er careless an’ then give him -a crack. I guess he got dropped easy--the fool! He’s had a spite agin -the horse ever since, an’ I’m kind er glad to git him out o’ the way -of any mean trick. Belden’s a kind o’ feller not to fergit it when any -critter’s been too much fer him--horse or man or woman, either.” - -He looked at the horse for a moment, and then walked away, turning -to look back once or twice regretfully, but consoling himself by the -expensive check, subscribed by a man well known in State Street. - -“Don’t you remember Sally Bishop?” asked Tootler of his friend. “A very -handsome girl she was--poor thing!--dying now. Seems to me you used to -go with Belden to see her.” - -“I knew her slightly,” replied Waddy, in a tone the reverse of -encouraging. “It’s a bad thing to have intimacies with second-rate -women. If you have a saddle,” he continued, “that will fit my horse, -I’ll ride him in to town now. By the way, what shall I name him? He’s -as black as death--‘mors, pallida mors’--that’s it--Pallid! I’ll call -him by rule of contraries. Pal, for short; we shall be pals, eh, old -boy?” and he caressed the horse, who responded in kind, instinctively -knowing a friend. - -Pallid was larger than Cecilia, but her saddle was well enough for -the short ride. Tootler was obliged to be in the wool again early. -Jefferson Davis not being present to preside over the cavalry, the -gardener laid down the shovel and the hoe and took up the curry-comb. -Pallid was, of course, resplendent for the sale, as a bride is when her -bargain is ratified. - -Waddy was proud of his acquisition. Every fine fellow has something of -the caballero in his nature. My friend, Misogynist, says a horse is the -most beautiful animal. - -“Woman! glorious woman!” I suggest enthusiastically. - -“Good to look at,” M. admits, “but bad to go. Be kind to the horse, -and he is grateful and will not try to harm you. But woman--the more -you let her have her head, the more she will try to throw you. Bah! my -kingdom for a horse; he shall be king; no bedizened woman sovereign -for me! Look at his smooth, brilliant coat--no pomade there! See that -easy motion; _incedat rex_. Think of his simple toilet! two blankets, -thick and thin. Yes, noble comrade! I will be no carpet knight, nor -dwindle away with ridiculous sighs before shrines of plastic dough -images, or of models of brassiness, but with thee will I away over -boundlessness. Plains vast as the sea await our gallop. Charge!” - -So far Misogynist--I will add that of the two classes of animals, -horses are cheaper to keep, and when you have them, are yours, and not -the property of the first admirer. - -The gardener brought Cecilia to the door, shining from her morning -toilet. Lady Cecilia, with the lesser lady, came to bid the guest -adieu. Lady and child bore flowers of midsummer to be _rus in urbe_ for -the gentlemen. Cecilia was charming in her morning dress. As she said -good-bye, the sparkle of her brown eyes was brighter, the blush warmer, -the voice more musical, the shy tremor of friendliness more graceful. -“Happy Tootler!” thought Waddy; “one of the rare few who are appointed -to be illustrations to others of happiness.” - -“You will come again soon,” said Cecilia. “A room in our house has -become yours. You must inhabit it to keep ghosts from colonising. You -too, perhaps, are in some danger of companionship of glooms, which are -certainly as bad as ghosts. Come here always and we will sing them -away. I have a dozen plans for you already for summer and winter--and -then I intend you for a husband for little Cissy here. What do you -think of it, Cissy?” - -“I hardly know, mamma,” said Cissy seriously. “I should wish to ask -papa.” - -“Quite precociously right, my dear,” commended Mr. Waddy; “a lesson to -your imprudent mother.” - -“Not imprudent, Cissy,” corrected Tootler. “You are wise to get the -first refusal of our nabob. There will be hordes of matrons after him, -like wolves after a buffalo, and they’ll run him down unless he accepts -his fate and consents to be shot beforehand. But come, Ira, I must -voyage Boston-ward for the golden fleece.” - -“I go to New York this evening for a few days on business,” added -Waddy. “Good-bye, till I return. A kiss, little Cissy!” - -Tommy said good-bye to his wife, and her bright smile went with him, as -ever, and her glad voice sang about him in every silent moment of his -busy day. - -Mr. Waddy rode slowly along, trying Pallid through his paces. The -beautiful head, unchecked by any martingale, shook and tossed in the -freedom of a masculine coquetry. To control him was like managing the -moods of a wild woman--charming distraction. Ira did not wish to trot -him,--he was not to be a roadster,--but he gave Cecilia a little brush -on a level. She was somewhere after the race, but it was lengths in the -rear. - -At the Tremont, Chin Chin was in waiting. The friends parted, and Mr. -Waddy turned his face New Yorkward, in kindlier mood than he had known -for many years. - -That town, however, was not calculated to encourage moods of -cheerfulness. He had seen others larger, several cleaner, many -handsomer. It was hot, and mosquitoes were about. - -Mr. Waddy’s arrival was announced in the papers among “distinguished -strangers.” Old De Flournoy Budlong saw the name and called upon its -owner in the evening. About matters personal to himself, Mr. Waddy -talked little. He had not mentioned even to Tootler the incident of his -wreck. But Mr. Budlong was too much occupied with his private affairs -to question the mode of Mr. Waddy’s arrival. The red silk pocket -handkerchief of other days abode with him still, in flaunting defiance -of the modern elegance of his family. In his talk, he used it freely on -a forehead whose heated, anxious colouring might pale the cochineal of -its polisher. He had much to say. - -“Where are the ladies?” was naturally Mr. Waddy’s first question. - -“They are at Newport, sir,” answered Bud, with a queer mixture of pride -and apprehension. “They’re at the Millard House. De Flournoy, Jr., is -with them. It’s very expensive, sir. Why, it’s remarkable how that boy -has to subscribe--five hundred dollars the first week! Subscriptions -he says to the club and balls and picnics--I should judge he is very -popular.” - -“No doubt,” commented Ira. - -“That Frenchman is with them, too,” continued Bud. “What do you think -of him?” - -“Damned low beggar!” said Ira tersely. - -Bud visibly brightened and polished himself in vigorous approval. - -“Quite right,” he agreed; “I respect your judgment, sir. I want Mrs. B. -to drop his acquaintance; but she says he belongs to the hot nubbless, -whatever that is. Why, sir, that Frenchman haunts me like a flea. -Everything I eat tastes of frogs! And then Tim’s subscriptions--five -hundred dollars in one week! Why, sir, that would make him a life -member and director of the Bible Society and the Tract Society and the -Foreign Missions!” and the poor man fell to polishing himself again -with his piratical handkerchief. - -“I can’t go to look after them before next week,” he continued, -“if then. You see, I’ve got a little operation in flour. It’ll pay -subscriptions, get him on the corn exchange, and Budlong is himself -again. But it’s dull music staying in town. I’m at the Astor. -Everybody’s away and there’s no peaches,” and old Bud, who had been -working hard all his days, and now was more than willing to lead a -life of jolly quiet, went off excessively disquieted. - -“It’s the old story,” thought Ira, as he closed the door behind his -friend. “I’m sorry for him. This is a case to put in the scale against -Tootler. But it demands a whole cityful of Budlongs to over-balance one -righteous man like Tommy and his family. Mrs. Tootler almost revives -my faith in women, and I had thought that gone forever after that -experience which nearly made my life a ruin. - -“Rather a well-built ruin, though,” he thought, glancing at the mirror, -“and especially sound in the treasure-vaults. I would not quarrel with -my experience for making me the man I have become, were it not that my -isolation of bitter distrust in the one I most trusted has secluded -me from all the chances of common happiness. And yet there are others -sharing the same exile, bearing a heavier burden, who present a brave -face to the world, even a cheerful one--for instance, Granby--married -in a freak of boyish generosity to a vulgar, drunken termagant! Suppose -I had fallen into the same mistake? Suppose I had married Sally Bishop; -is it likely that I should have learnt to control the old Ira of my -nature? - -“All my voyage from Europe homeward, there was droning in my ears -the monotonous refrain of a sad Spanish song, ‘Se acabò para mi -l’esperanza.’ I heard it in the gale, the moment our schooner struck, -and I thought ‘now the old earthly hopes are dead with my death, and -new hopes of other lives shall be.’ As I lay in my trance, all the old -bitterness passed away, and the old hopes grew fresh and confident -again as in happy days before disappointment; and then the presence -that was the joy of those days came near, and I seemed to have attained -to dearest death and to a moment of heaven that should interpret all -the cruel mysteries of existence. And I seemed to hear again the voice -that flowed so deliciously through my youth and made my heart first -know what heart-beats mean. But it was not death I had attained, only -a vision, such as my waking life could never have, and when I really -woke again in Dempster’s house, it was to the melancholy of the same -refrain, ‘Se acabò para mi l’esperanza.’” - -For a moment more he sat and stared down into the street with heavy -eyes that saw not--what was it brought before him the face of Sally -Bishop and beside it another face, her face---- - -He shook himself impatiently and cast his dark thoughts from him. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -THE READER IS PRESENTED TO TWO CHARMING GIRLS, AND SO IS MAJOR GRANBY - - -And now while a certain Peter Skerrett, stupendous wag, who is in town -for a day or two and has been presented to Mr. Waddy by old Budlong, -is showing the returned nabob through streets of deserted houses and -telling him the necessary protective scandals about their owners:---- - -And while at Newport, in the society of De Châteaunéant, Tim Budlong is -subscribing more freely than ever, and the Budlong ladies are quivering -through the _ter-diurnal_ shift of toilets resplendent:---- - -And while Sally Bishop, who has heard from her father how he had sold -the black to a Mr. Ira Waddy, just returned from India, is dying with -something on her mind which she dare not yet reveal:---- - -And while Horace Belden is beating his bolting horse and training -another, to which he naturally gives the name of Knockknees, to run, -and no doubt to win purses, and is nursing his finances for an August -at Newport with its possible heiress:---- - -And while Miss Sullivan, at her lovely cottage opposite Belden’s, is -singing duets with Mrs. Cecilia Tootler, to whom, though that lady has -often spoken of the delightful visit of Mr. Waddy, her friend, she -has never yet mentioned her share in the rescue of a person of that -name:---- - -While all our acquaintances are busied thus, Major Granby, at Halifax, -boards a Cunarder, embarked for Boston. As he mounted the plank, a -young excessively English man defended the gangway with open fist. The -major won his entrance by grasping the fist in amicable guise. - -“Why, how d’ye do, Ambient?” he said to his compatriot, a -pleasant-faced pinkling. “So you have really started on your travels.” - -“Aw! Gwanby, I’m vewy glad to see you,” replied Sir Comeguys Ambient, -generally called briefly Sir Com. “Yes, I’ve begun my jowney wound the -wowuld. It’s lownger than I thought.” - -“You’ve had some pleasant company, anyway,” said the major, examining -discreetly two young ladies who stood near the rail, and who, -seemingly, found much to interest them in the shoreward view. - -“Yes; doosed handsome gerwuls,” agreed Sir Com, “and vewy agweeable, -but know too much.” - -“Not exactly in your line then, eh?” - -“I’m weelly a little afwaid of them,” admitted the valiant youth. -“But the dark one is a wegular stunner for eyes and hair. The fair -one is Miss Clara Waddie. The bwunette is her friend, Diana,” and the -pinkling’s cheeks became all suffused with his ingenuous heart’s blood. - -“Ah,” said Granby, observing the suffusion, “so that goddess--and she -is a goddess--has transfixed you! Beware how you trifle with her; -these American ladies do not hesitate to call a man out. Your Diana is -divine, but your Clara is angelic. Waddy? I have a friend of that name. -I’m going now to meet him in Boston.” - -In the course of the day, Major Granby, who had a soldier-like -impetuosity in assaulting new opportunities, was presented to Waddie -_père_ and by him to the ladies. - -Mr. Waddie of New York was a tall, slender gentleman, clean-shaven -and high-cravatted. A bit of white collar on each side narrowed his -range of chin movement. Dignity required that his head should not -gyrate, hence sidelong glances were only effected by a painful twist -of his eyes. He wore a blue frock, buttoned, and remarkably perfect -boots. His manner was a little stiff, but entirely well-bred, and had -a certain careful courtesy very attractive. Altogether, you would say, -a man of limited, but not narrow mind, gentle and amiable. His passion -was genealogy, and if he was ever querulous, it was when inevitable -antiquaries connected him with the first Waddy, well known to all -American pedigrees, cook of the _Mayflower_ and victim of Miles -Standish. - -“Do I look,” he would say, “like the son of a sea-cook, even in the -sixth generation?” - -And, indeed, he did not resemble a descendant of the caboose, but -rather a marquis of the Émigration, such as we behold him at the -Théâtre Français. This somewhat faded _élégant_ had another passion: it -was for his lovely daughter; nor was he the only man thus affected. - -Mrs. Waddie was wifely, motherly, and a little over-energetic, as -became the spouse of so mild and unpractical a gentleman. It was she -who devised and carried out that purchase of real estate by which -their comfortable property became a handsome fortune. It was she who -officered the campaign which ended in giving him the civic crown of -Member of Congress, and when the bad cookery of the American snob’s -paradise had impaired his health and compelled his resignation, it -was again his energetic wife who suggested to General Taylor that she -wished the embassy to Florence. It was obtained, of course, and was -one of the most creditable acts of that President’s brief career. -His successor did not venture to recall Mr. Waddie, although he knew -the scorn with which that gentleman, usually so amiable, regarded -those ridiculously unsuccessful makeshifts and cowardly compromises -of 1850. Mr. Waddie’s fortune, high social position, formidable -wife, his serene worth and merited popularity, made him a person whom -an accidental President could not presume to offend; and if he were -already an enemy, at least it were wiser to keep him in a foreign land. - -So his wife and the ambassador remained at Florence, where her balls -crushed the Grand Duke’s. She instituted a subscription for fronting -the Duomo and introduced into Florentine life Buckwheat Cakes, -Veracity, and Sewing Machines--of which only the first-named are still -popular in that beautiful city. - -It was the last year of the embassy when they thought proper to send -for Miss Clara, who, with Diana, Mr. Waddie’s ward, had been in charge -of Miss Sullivan at home. This was the first year of Mr. Pierce’s -administration, and while he was hesitating whom to appoint in Mr. -Waddie’s place. He did appoint, in time, a tobacconist from the -South-west, who viewed the world only as a spittoon. - -Everybody has been in Florence or will go. It is not necessary, -therefore, here to describe what Clara and Diana saw under the -superintendence of Miss Sullivan, instinctive discoverer of the best. -They were devout beneath the dome of Brunelleschi, rapt beside the -tower of Giotto, critical in the galleries, gay in the Cascine. The -Florentines adored Clara, the fair. Strangers worshipped Diana, the -dark. This was not Diana, pale queen of night, but the huntress deity, -bold and clear of eye, of colours rich and warm, with vigorous, fiery -blood, hastening, almost fevering, a living life of passionateness. -An Amazonian queen was Diana, who could do the dashing deeds of an -Amazon with fanciful freedom. The Actæons dreaded her. No man of feeble -manhood was permitted in her presence. Soldierly men and travellers -she liked, and deep-sea fishermen, and blacksmiths and architects -and heroes and lyric poets. And when any of these told her of his -ambitions, large as life, or the dangers he had passed, and while he -told, looked in her unblenching eyes and saw through them a soul that -could comprehend any great ambition, or dare any danger; he, the strong -man, always loved her madly. But she, the strong woman, the master-hero -of her own soul, could not find her hero. There were ideal men in -history for her to adore--at least, they seemed so, as history painted -them--and as she read of them, she felt that strange thrill of despair -for their absence that later she knew to be the passion of love--the -passion of the woman longing for the fit, appointed mate. - -The friendship of Clara and Diana was fore-ordained. Its historic -beginning dates back to the college intimacy between young Waddie, -refined, timid, studious, and Diana’s father, a bold and ardent youth -of southern blood and foreign race. This gentleman, being afterward -unhappy in his home, wandered away into Texas. There he acquired -immense estates by the purchase of old Spanish grants, and dying -early, bequeathed his only child to his friend, Mr. Waddie, for care -and nurture. The two girls grew up as sisters, and it was not until -Diana’s womanhood that the serious consideration of her orphanage was -forced upon her. Mrs. Waddie, the kindest of mothers, was immersed in -business, speculating for her husband, urging him forward to posts of -responsibility he shrank from. She was therefore ready to yield her two -daughters entirely into the hands of Miss Sullivan. - -It was to Miss Sullivan that the task fell of telling Diana the sad -history of her father and her mother, and how the mother, after a -life worse than death, was now in a madhouse. It was a terrible -revelation for this pure and brave young girl. In an agony of tears, -she threw herself into Miss Sullivan’s arms and prayed her to be -a mother to the orphan. Miss Sullivan must have been of a nature -singularly sympathetic, or herself have felt the loneliness of bitter -grief, so deeply did she know the only consolations--endurance, and -long-suffering faith, and hope in other lives, eternal ones. - -Clara was present at this interview, and, after this, the relations -between the elder and the younger women were closely sisterly. The -elder sister, hardly older in appearance, except of paler and more -thoughtful beauty, formed the younger minds. - -Clara Waddie had inherited all her father’s grace and refinement of -face, form, mien, manner, and thought, and withal had gained from her -mother judgment and strength of character, which underlay without -diminishing her delicate sweetness. You might have known this fair -young person for months and have given only a mental assent to her -reputation of exquisite beauty; but one day, when some changing charm -of emotion cast an evanescent flush upon her cheek and your sudden -inspiration of eloquence had roused a look of interest in her lambent -listening eyes, you would become conscious of more than mental assent -to her unclaimed claim of perfect loveliness; your soul itself would -thenceforth be cognisant of her beauty. - -At the end of that delightful year in Florence, now rich with memories -of the art and poetry of Italy, Diana was suddenly summoned to America. -A most favourable change had come over her mother’s malady, and with -sanity returning, she was praying for kindly companionship and love. -Her life, at best, was to be but brief, but it was thought that a -residence in the dry, elevated regions of the interior might prolong it -and allay the pangs of her desperate disease. Diana did not hesitate; -she saw her duty clearly and accepted it, rejoicing. - -Mr. Waddie went over with Diana. She found a mother with the saddened -relics of a feeble beauty. Married hastily, out of silly school, she -had been ignorantly, in her husband’s absence, bewildered in the -toils of a great villainy, which death to the villain and madness to -the victim had sufficiently avenged. Rejecting Mr. Waddie’s kind offer -of escort, Diana took her mother to their estates in the up-country -of Texas. In that most beautiful region, the Amazon could carry out -her huntress fancies. She could gallop with her Mexican master of the -horse over vast reaches of prairie, all her own. She could encamp in -those belts of timber that sweep like rivers across boundless plains -of Western wildness. At noon, when the deer she chased were hid in -forest court, she, too, could seek such sylvan shelter, and lying -there beneath an oak, all grey with mossy drapery, could take delight -of dreamy contrast, and, with closed eyes, narrow her horizon with -remembered palaces and rebuild under broad blue heavens the wonderful -domes of Italy. Then she would study in some shady pool of the forest -her face nut-browned to warm and healthy hues and fancy Clara, more -palely beautiful, suddenly appearing, like Una from the ancient grove, -and standing beside her at this softening mirror, as they had often -stood in loving sisterhood before. In this existence, free and fresh, -she learnt what so few women ever know, the pure physical joy of living. - -The Texas postmaster was puzzled with strange stamps on Diana’s -constant letters from Europe; she was as constant in her replies. -At last, she had sadly to tell her friend how her mother, after a -sudden and fearful access of madness, had died. If there were any -circumstances accompanying this death that made it doubly painful, and -if, far away from the civilisation of towns, she had made other friends -from whom this death was the cause of bitter parting, of this she said -nothing to Clara. There are some secrets which honourable women do -not impart to anyone more distant from their hearts than God. As to -Endymion, it was certainly not probable that she had found him among -Santa Fé traders, or Dutch emigrants, or rude cattle drovers whose best -hope was a week of debauch in San Antonio. - -She rejoined the Waddies and they did Europe. Mankind stared, and -jealous women scoffed wherever Clara and Diana, charming pair, were -seen. Diana was in mourning and very sad--sadder than seemed wholly -natural for her mother’s relieving death. The only gentleman to whom -she allowed any intimacy was Belden. She told Miss Sullivan that she -distrusted him and was displeased with the little she heard of his -deeds, but that he was a bad imitation of an old friend of hers and -she liked to be reminded of a favourite, even by a poor copy. I think -upon this there must have been some very close confidence between these -ladies; there certainly was a long interview, with tearfulness. - -Are the Waddies of New York sufficiently introduced? We certainly know -them better historically than Major Granby could, when, presented by -Ambient, he had passed his first afternoon in their society. Not so -well personally; one look of a practised eye discovers more than all -description or all history can reveal. - -Granby was a wide-worldling of the best type, and the ladies and Mr. -Waddie found him charming. Sir Com Ambient, that pleasant pinkling -of hesitant utterance, was also a favourite; indeed, Diana had quite -petted him on the voyage, for she liked travellers, even verdant ones. -Freshmen, when they are honest and ardent, are pleasant to meet. So -she had petted him--poor Sir Com! He was not at all blasé, a fresh and -susceptible youth; and of course he lost his heart utterly. - -Granby spoke of his friend Ira. Mr. Ambassador Waddie had heard of this -gentleman; in fact, who had not? - -“We suppose Mr. Ira Waddy to belong to a younger branch of our somewhat -ancient family,” he explained. “Indeed, I have already written him to -inquire our relationship. We shall be happy to meet him as a kinsman -and as a friend of Major Granby.” - -The young ladies were interested in the major’s account of his friend. -He was not, Granby said, a misogynist, though he always avoided women -if he could. He was a cynic of the kindest heart. Utterly careless of -money, but possessed of a Pactolian genius for making it, he dashed -at a speculation as a desperate man rides through a front of opposing -battle. It seemed that he valued success so little that the Fates were -willing to give it him. - -“Perhaps,” said Diana, “the Fates took an antecedent revenge. Perhaps -they are lavishly compensating him with what he does not value for the -fatal loss of what he did.” - -Granby looked hard at her, studying the hieroglyphs of her expressive -face. What experience had this young person had, enabling her to divine -such secrets of his own life and what he had divined in his friend’s -history? A sham Champollion would have given his interpretation that -she was generalising from some disappointment of the wrong man and not -the right one having offered her a bouquet. Granby, looking deeper, -perceived that to this maiden, whom the gods loved, they had given some -early sorrow, which she was endeavouring to explain to herself. - -Granby went on with the character of Mr. Waddy. He was a man who -concerned himself not much with books. Having his own thoughts, he did -not hungrily need those of other men. He could exhaust the books by a -question or two from those who took the trouble to read them. But if -generally not a believer in the works of men or the words of women, he -was a child of nature. - -“During the long and excursive pilgrimage from India to London,” -explained Granby, “which we have made together, there is hardly one -oddity, one beauty, one fact or phenomenon in nature, not human, that -we have not investigated. We’ve shot and bagged everything; we’ve -fished and fished up everything.” - -And then, the major, who liked to talk--and who does not?--to beautiful -women, told them snake stories and tales of crocodiles, and how, in -the primary sense, he and his friend had seen the elephant and fought -the tiger. Then he passed to the Crimean campaign, where Mr. Waddy had -joined him and gone about recklessly to see the fun of fighting and -relieve its after agony. On the side of fun, there was a story how Mr. -Waddy and Chin Chin had surrounded a picket-guard of a Russian officer -and four men and brought them in prisoners at the point of their own -bayonets--a pardonable violation of the neutrality laws. On the other -side, was the account of Major Granby’s own rescue by his friend. -Granby told this last with an enthusiasm that showed the earnestness of -his friendship. - -The two girls, who would have given up life or a lover, one for the -other, felt a romantic interest in the alliance of these men, both -apparently isolated, and erratic for some good cause from tranquil -happiness. Diana’s interest was that of a comrade in these adventures; -Clara’s was an almost timorous sympathy. Ambient listened and blushed -pinker with excitement. He was a little cut out by a man who had done -what he only hoped to do; but Sir Com was a good fellow, and while -the first fiddle played, he put up his pipe of tender wild oat in its -verdant case and applauded the solo heartily. - -By Mr. Waddie’s invitation, Granby and Ambient joined his party at the -Tremont House. The ladies also suggested Newport, whither they were -all going. Granby mentioned his half-engagement with Mr. Waddy to drop -in at that watering-place on their tour, and said that the pleasure of -their society, etc., etc. In short, if he could persuade his friend, -they would drop in, and “we’ll give you a plunge, too, Ambient,” he -promised. - -This conversation took place at the breakfast table, the morning -after they landed. The ladies presently disappeared and, when they -reappeared, were resplendent with results of unpacking. The proud and -brilliant Diana was still in half-mourning. I think this Amazon must -have beheld Clara’s loveliness with almost masculine admiration and -have expressed it with manly compliments, for Clara seemed a little -conscious as they stepped into a carriage, not quick enough to avoid -the two gentlemen. These knightly squires were eager for a glimpse at -brightened beauty. Granby assumed the privilege of handing them into -their go-cart, while the humbler Ambient defended skirt from wheel. - -“We are going,” said Diana, “to pass the morning with our friend, Miss -Sullivan, in the country.” - -“Adieu the eagle and the swan!” cried Granby, as they drove off. “By -Imperial Jove! Ambient, she is worthy to be the consort of a god. If -I was ambitious, as you are, I should aspire as you do and as much in -vain. I suppose this is your first love, eh? You’re luckier than most -men. A man’s first is generally either a grandmotherly old flirt become -_dévote_, or some bread-and-butter, sweet simplicity,--oh, bah!” - -“Lucky!” echoed Ambient. “I’m confoundedly unlucky and unhappy. She’ll -never have anything to say to me--except in that infernal condescending -_de haut en bas_ style, as if I was a boy. I’d like to pwove it on -somebody that I’m not!” and Sir Com looked around with a quite fierce -expression upon his pleasant countenance. - -“Well, I’m not at all sorry for you,” said Granby cheerfully. “It never -does anyone any harm to be desperately in love with a woman who is -worthy. You may be sure that Diana will never flirt with you.” - -“She fluriot!--she would never care enough for anyone’s admiration to -twy to gain it. I only wish she would fluriot with me; then I could be -angwy--now I’m only wetched.” - -“It will not help you to know that everybody must go through it,” said -Granby, his face grave again--even a little bitter. “I have, my dear -fellow--and worse. For my part, I admire the goddess immensely; but -I think I could love her friend more--that heavenly mildness gently -soothes my soul. The nose,” continued the major, waxing eloquent, “is -man’s most available feature--it may be tweaked. The mouth in woman -is delicately expressive and available when we are allowed to”--and -he raised his fingers with courteous reverence to his lips. “But the -mouth is external merely. Who wishes to look down it, even though heart -may be in throat and panting at the parted lips? It is the eyes--eyes -like Clara’s, where there is soul beneath the surface and down in the -deep profound of those wells of lightsome lustre is truth--these we may -dreamily gaze in for life-long peacefulness.” - -Ambient stared at this rhapsody, not quite certain whether his -companion was in earnest. But before he could decide, a carriage drove -up, and Granby gave a distant view-halloo as Mr. Waddy stepped out. - -“Punctual to a tick,” said Ira, holding up his watch and producing the -rhinoceros-horn match-box and his case of cheroots. - -Granby took one, presented Sir Com, and they entered the hotel together. - - * * * * * - -Horace Belden was out that morning exercising his race-horse -Knockknees. As he descended the same slope where he had fouled with -Tootler’s buggy, he saw approaching a carriage with two ladies. -He recognised them instantly, with a leap of the heart. He drew -up by their side with polite commonplaces of welcome, dashed with -more meaning when he addressed Diana. They told him whence and -whither--to-day to Miss Sullivan, to-morrow to Newport. - -“How can you like that man?” asked Clara, as they drove on. “He seems -to me a Sansfoy.” - -“I do not like or trust him,” replied Diana. “I tolerate him because -he rides well and is agreeable, and because he reminds me of an old -friend.” - -She stooped to pick up a broken-winged butterfly that had fluttered -feebly into the carriage. Stooping sent the blood into her face. While -they cherished the poor insect, she grew of a sudden deadly pale, and -putting her hand to her side, shuddered slightly. Clara did not observe -the motion, which was not repeated. - -There is no need to describe the meeting between pupils and -preceptress; but in the late twilight Clara returned without Diana, -who had consented to stay a day or two with Miss Sullivan. She wished -to keep both the friends, but Mrs. Waddie would need her daughter in -arranging their house. - -Mr. Ira Waddy lionised Boston with Granby and Ambient. They looked in -for a moment on Mr. Tootler. He was composing an air to a Frémont song -which he had just written, and which Mrs. Tootler would revise--and -perhaps infuse with even sharper ginger. He played it for them on the -flute. Sir Com listened with astonishment. Mr. Tootler figures in the -chapter entitled, “An Hour with a Musical Wool-Merchant,” in that young -gentleman’s book, “Pork and Beans; or, Tracks in the Trail of the Bear -and the Buffalo.” - -In the evening, Waddy and Waddie became acquainted. The ambassador -accepted the relationship, which was now fully established by relics -and traditions. The Great Tradition, however, of the _Mayflower_, -the caboose, Miles Standish, the pepper-pot--this he laughed at as -legendary. Ira clung to it vigorously; he liked to have come in with -the Pilgrims, even at the expense of humble ancestry and an inherited -curse. - -The serene Waddie, whose life was happy gentleness, whose toil had been -done for him by fortune and by feminine energy, had no occasion to -look to the past for causes of present exasperating characteristics. -He had inherited the family mildness, and though he decorated his -social station, he was not one to have assumed it. He acknowledged his -obligations to his wife. He had thus ignorantly fulfilled the destiny -of his race. - -Clara gave the legend her full adhesion; but nothing was said in this -conclave of the Tory sutler, or the Revolutionary sergeant. - -Diana was missed, but the name of her hostess was not mentioned. There -was no reason why Miss Sullivan should be talked of among strangers; no -one knew of that incident of Mr. Waddy’s Return where she had appeared -and played so important a part, nor that he would be pleased to see and -thank his preserver. - -In the morning, the whole party went to Newport. Thither all the actors -of our drama are centering. It is strange by what delicate links of -influence life is bound to life--what chances of seemingly casual -meetings and partings determine history! - -Pallid went with his master; also a fast pair that Tootler had -purchased for Mr. Waddy, who meant to be both charioteer and cavalier. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -PROTECTIVE SCANDALS AND OTHER DIVERTING HUMOURS OF A FASHIONABLE -WATERING-PLACE - - -Once upon a time, by a chance of history, a small man was thrust into -greatness of place. - -Moulded in putty for a niche, he tottered and crumbled on a pedestal. - -This pedestalled weakling, small in his great place, prayed for -support. He got it on conditions--rather shabby ones. He was to -acknowledge himself frightened, his niche in life a mistake. He was to -deny his old views of right, and compromise away right for a novel view -of ancient wrong. - -When time came that he should remove, he was willing to stay and be -a dough image in a high place; but a grateful people of a grateful -republic did not invite him. - -At another time, a grateful people rather scornfully declined him a -re-invitation to the old place, though he prayed it in suppliant guise. - -But a grateful people did as much as could be expected; they built a -great hotel at Newport and named it by his name. It still lives, and -its name is “The Millard.” - -What they call the odour of respectability that hangs about an old -institution is not always fragrance when that institution is a hotel. -There, most people prefer the odour of new paint. So it was with our -dramatis personæ. They chose the Millard, not from sympathy with its -name, but with its newness. - -Mr. Waddy preferred going with Granby and Ambient, whom they had -adopted, to abandoning these friends and accepting the invitation of -his ambassador kinsman. So these three gentlemen inscribed themselves -upon the books of the Millard. - -Miss Arabella Budlong had just returned from her bath. She was in the -hair and costume of La Sonnambula in the bridge scene, and it was a -little dangerous, her rush to the window to inspect the companions of -Mr. Waddy. She might have been seen--in fact, she was seen, but not -recognised, by Peter Skerrett, who had arrived that morning. He called -Gyas Cutus and told him to look at Venus Anadyomene, drying herself in -the sun. - -“Anna who?” asked Gyas. “That’s Belle Bud. She’s always drying at this -hour, and I believe doesn’t care who knows it. I say, Peter, who are -those chaps just come in? You know everybody before he is born. A very -neat lot they are.” - -“That brown one with the cheroot is Ira Waddy,” replied Peter, “the -partner of the great East Indian banker, Jimsitchy Jibbybohoy. The big -man is the Grand Duke Constantine, come over to study our institutions, -republican and peculiar, with a view to the emancipation of serfs. -Number three is the eldest hope of the Pope.” - -“Gaaz!” said Gyas, with indescribable intonation. “The Pope don’t have -eldest sons.” - -“I would be willing to have him the old gentleman’s youngest to please -you,” replied Peter, “but historic truth is a grave thing. Apropos of -boots and kicking, I significantly advise you not to call that young -lady Belle Bud any more.” - -Misses Julia Wilkes and Milly Center were in the Millard parlour with -Cloanthus Fortisque and Billy Dulger. They saw the stranger gentlemen -arrive, and Milly felt her _volage_ little heart expand toward Ambient, -that rosebud of Albion. She had a lively imagination for flirtations -and immediately built an ideal vista with a finale of a kneeling scene, -Ambient, in tears, offering his heart and a dukedom. She was not quite -decided whether to raise him from his entrancement by a tap of fan, as -wand, or to leave him in that comical position and call in a friend to -witness her disdained triumph. - -“Go, Mr. Dulger,” said Milly, with the despotism of a miss in her -position, “and find out who they are--particularly that handsome young -man in the curious coat, lovely complexion, and mutton-chops. He looks -so sweet.” - -Poor Dulger, compelled to prepare the way for a possible rival, went -off savagely. - -“I’ll make her pay for all this sometime,” he murmured, with clenched -fists. - -Dulger was fast getting desperate. He had been with this young fair -one a centripetal dangler or gyroscope for years. Milly had taken -his bouquets all her winters, without regard to expense. But other -bouquets she had likewise taken, to the dismay of his faithful heart. -When cleverer men, or bigger men, or men with more regular features -or less sporadic moustache, came, yielding to Miss Milly’s seducing -attentions,--and she was not chary of them,--poor Dulger sat in the -background, looking at his tightish new boots, and bit his thumb -at these cleverer, bigger, handsomer. He could not understand the -world-wide discursiveness of the clever men, nor in truth, did Milly, -but she had tact enough to see when her locutor thought he had said a -witty thing, and then she could give a pretty laugh; or when it was a -poetical, sentimental thing, she could look down and softly sigh. A man -must have flattery for his vanity as much as sugar for his coffee, and -Milly was very liberal of that sweet condiment. Her charm lasted with -the clever men days, weeks, months, according to their necessities for -unintelligent flattering sympathy and the frequency of their interviews. - -Billy Dulger had seen so many generations of such lovers come and -go, more or less voluntarily, that he began to feel a pre-emptive, -prescriptive, or squatter sovereign right to the premises; for there -were premises, as well as a person--a house where one might willingly -hang his hat. Miss Milly was an orphan and had a house--nay, many -houses--of her own. Her lover was proceeding in the established manner -of courtship by regular approaches and steady siege. It generally -succeeds, this method, and is, after all, easier to the dangling -man of no genius and safer than the bold assault of a hardy forlorn -hope. So many campaigns--such constant cannonade of bouquets with -great occasional bombardment of flower-baskets--missives proposing -truce--shams of raising the siege--showers of Congreve rockets in -the form of cornucopias of bonbons--parleys of no actual consequence -effected by sympathising allies--cautious spying with lorgnette, -followed by assault upon opera box--watchful pouncings when the -garrison sallies forth for stores--patience, pertinacity, and final -success: this was Mr. Dulger’s game. It was, however, no sport to -him. It cannot be sweet for a man to be forever in the presence of -a woman he loves or wants, he playing the triangle while a _gran’ -maestro_ is leading at the apex of the orchestra. He cannot enjoy -hearing her applaud another man for saying things he cannot possibly -think of and does not quite understand. Billy, therefore, was not -happy in his courtship. He knew his love was a flirt, and not -particularly charming, except that she made a business of being so. -But it had become with him a vice to love her, if such is love. Should -he ever succeed, after his ages of suspensory dangling, he will not -be brilliantly happy. This is experience which he will remember, and -though a well-enough intentioned man, he will necessarily avenge with -marital severities his ante-nuptial pains. - -Have we dallied too long with Miss Milly and Master William? They are -essentials in this history, and, though casually as it would seem, yet -on them depends its event. - -As Mr. Waddy turned after booking himself at the Millard, he found his -hand suddenly seized by Mr. De Flournoy Budlong. The bloom on this -gentleman’s cheeks had jaundiced to autumnal hues. His smooth, round, -jolly face had shrunken and was veined with dry wrinkles like a frozen -apple. Poor Bud, flowering no longer, seediness was overcoming him, -to no one’s special wonder who saw the principal female of his family -conducting herself very much indeed, and watched young Tim subscribing -every night. - -“Glad you’ve come,” said Budlong, with unhappy cordiality. “I got here -this morning. Peter Skerrett said it was time for me to be on hand and -gave me half his stateroom. Seasick all night; yes, sir, every minute. -Peter says juicy men always are. Deuced rough off P’int Judith. Peter -said it was the story in the Apocalypse, Judith, and whole infernos. -Found Tim with his head very much swelled. Bad cold, he said. I told -him he’d better stay in bed. He said he would till evening--had a small -subscription party at nine. Asked him to take me--he said strangers had -to be balloted for once a week for three weeks. I’m afraid it’s all -poppycock. Mrs. B. has gone out to walk with that blasted Frenchman. -Ah, here she comes now.” - -Mrs. Budlong entered with Auguste Henri. She dismissed her escort -with a whisper and walked up to her husband, very handsome, very well -dressed, perfectly at her ease, and gave him two fingers of the hand -which held her parasol. - -“How d’ye do, pa?” said she. “You’ve left us to take care of ourselves -so long that we thought you’d forgotten us. I’m sorry you didn’t let me -know you were coming; you could have brought up another horse instead -of Drummer.” - -“What’s happened to him? He’s my best horse,” said the husband thus -tenderly received as master of the cavalry. - -“De Châteaunéant was riding him, and that rude young Dunstan, driving -the Wellabouts, ran into him. Drummer was badly cut and Aug--De -Châteaunéant had his--his clothes torn. He intends to punish Dunstan, -who was very insolent.” - -“I hope he will,” said De Flournoy, rubbing his hands and brightening -up. “I should like to see the beggar well thrashed”--of course it was -Dunstan he meant. - -Mrs. De Flournoy had been quite conscious of Waddy’s presence during -this colloquy. Waddy was a man whom she was willing to propitiate. She -had even tried her fascinations on him early in the voyage--merely -in the way of a flirtation, of course. But Ira was loyal, though not -pretending to be a saint, and remained impervious to the darts which -Mrs. B. shot at him from her expressive eyes. To Ira, therefore, Mrs. -B. now turned, bowed gracefully and smiled pleasantly. She had the -spoiling of a very fine woman in her. - -“We were sorry to be deprived of your society on board,” said she, with -easy suavity, “even for so heroic a reason. We were hardly willing -to speak to Mr. Tim Budlong after his abandoning you. But he is so -aristocratic. He said he thought the little beggar might as well drown. -We, of course, did not think so. I hope to see you often while you are -here. We will study American society together. One of the charms of -hotel life is that we can see our friends so constantly and familiarly -and form agreeable intimacies.” - -All this was said in Mrs. De Flournoy’s most gracious manner to Mr. -Waddy, and at him and his friends. She was determined to make a good -impression--excessively determined, unfortunately. She wished to -signalise her first summer after Europe by great social triumphs and -courted everybody, except those whom she could venture to contemn. -Still, men at a watering-place are not disposed to reject the advances -of pretty women, and Waddy would have been placable, but that he did -not care for intimacy with a person who could accept De Châteaunéant -as _cicisbeo_, or even acquaintance. He could not forget signs of -a complete understanding he had detected between him and the lady. -However, Waddy said the civil nothings and Mrs. Budlong went upstairs, -followed humbly by poor old Bud. - -Peter Skerrett calls the stair at the Millard “Jacob’s Ladder,” -because, says he, “the angels who have good tops to their ankles are -continually ascending and descending.” Up Jacob’s Ladder, then, Mr. -Waddy and his friends presently marched to their rooms. - -When the trio, after their toilet, descended, they found the hall lined -with people awaiting dinner. Peter Skerrett stepped up to greet Mr. -Waddy. - -“Come, Peter,” said the young nabob, introducing his friends, “sit down -and tell us what you call the protective scandals. We are all green at -Newport.” - -“That is a new expwession to me,” said Sir Com, gaspingly as usual. -“Pwotective scandals--what does it mean?” - -“Strangers,” explained Peter oracularly, “before they are up to trap, -are apt to put their foot in it. They need someone to inform them who -are the people they must know, whom they may know, whom they may know -under penalties, and whom they must not know. They need also a general -guide to conversation--to know to whom they shall say, ‘Man is the -architect of his own fortunes,’ and to whom, ‘It is a noble thing to be -descended from a long line of proud and noble ancestors.’” - -“Must we learn the pedigwee of evewybody here?” demanded Ambient, in -consternation. “I shall have to cwam like a fellow going up for his -gweat go.” - -“Ah, there you’ve hit it,” replied Peter. “The actual pedigrees are -almost none, thanks to republican institutions. Except a very few -families, who have managed to hold together and keep pelf to their -names, there are no pedigrees to remember. As a Nation, we have buried -our grandfather. Parentage only of everyone is what you must know. -We are a religious people,” and he turned his eyes upward whither -the ceiling was between him and heaven, and motioned as if to cross -himself. “Yes, fervently religious, and have read in Holy Writ that -labour was a curse. We have agreed that it ought to be expunged. But -as it is almost impossible in general powwow to avoid alluding to -some trade or business, the great protective scandal is to know the -individual one not to mention to each of these people. They do not -wish to be reminded by what especial class of curse their papas were -made miserable and millionaire. - -“For example,” continued Peter, delighted to have the floor and so -select an audience, “that rather long girl, walking with a race-horse -stride, is Miss Peytona Fashion. Her parent began his fortune by -betting against his own horse. It would be deemed uncivil if you, -Sir Comeguys, should stand before her, and with a whiff at her -circumambient atmosphere of odours, should ask her if her favourite -perfume was Jockey Club. - -“So there is hardly one subject that is not taboo with someone. Mrs. De -Flournoy Budlong loves not to hear of flowery meads or breakfast called -a meal--it seems to let the cat out the bag. Old Flirney, you know, -began as a deck-hand on a barrel-barge, and has, turned to the wall in -a lock-up in his garret, a portrait of himself shouldering a cask of -flour; that portrait is her closet skeleton. - -“Ah, I see you have spotted the Southern belle,” added he to Ambient, -who was gazing at a dark, luxurious beauty opposite him. - -“Spotted her!” echoed the youth, blushing pinkly. “I wouldn’t do it for -the wowuld.” - -“Oh, I mean remarked her. You’ll learn the language by-and-by. You’re -looking at her foot--that’s the pretty one; the other’s enlarged in the -joint by dancing. Well, that is Miss Saccharissa Mellasys, the creole -belle from Louisiana. You’re an abolitionist, I suppose?” - -“Yes,” said the Englishman: “isn’t evewyone who has no pecuniawy -intewest in slavewy?” - -“Of course,” replied Peter, “more or less so. But beware of talking -anti-slavery to Miss Mellasys. You’ll bring an unhandsome look -into those tranquil eyes. She’s here on the proceeds of one of her -half-sisters. Success of abolitionism would knock off her summer trips -to civilisation, and she knows that her amiable papa wouldn’t hesitate -to sell her, as he does the scions of his dusky brood, without too much -inquiry as to the purpose.” - -“You call this a democratic republic, I believe,” said Granby. - -“’Tis the land of the free and the home of the brave!” cried Peter, -waving his hat. “Pardon this ebullition of national pride. I’m getting -up my enthusiasm for a presidential stumping tour this fall. Well, -Saccharissa is very pretty. I’m told they cultivate that startled -expression of the eyes at the South by placing the girls, when they’re -infants, on the edge of a bayou; the alligators come and snap at them, -but the nurse runs them off just in time.” - -“Will you allow me to make a note of that custom?” asked Ambient, who -had listened open-mouthed. - -“Certainly,” assented Peter graciously, “and I can tell you more of the -same sort, if you wish,” but the sound of the dinner-gong prevented -further recitals. - -Tim Budlong appeared at dinner, all beauteous with raiment, but looking -desperately roué. He had, too, the peculiarly anxious look of an -amateur subscriber, so different from the cautious carelessness of the -professional receiver of subscriptions. - -Tim was disposed to dodge Mr. Waddy; but Ira had no quarrel with the -hopeful youth, who had in the Halifax affair only done as most men do. -It is not worth while, as Mr. Waddy knew, to be permanently disgusted -with human beings for acting according to their natures; he knew that -character is a compound of blood, breeding, and experience. So he gave -Tim a glass of claret and said “_Pax vobiscum_, my lad!” very kindly. - -Tim, pleased with the patronage of the distinguished stranger, who, -with his two friends, and Chin Chin behind his chair, was an object -of gaze at the Millard--Tim, elated by such good society, for twenty -minutes resolved to reform. At the twenty-first minute, he caught a -wink from Gyas Cutus, and with a knowing crook of the elbow, turned off -his glass of what Millard called champagne and became a reprobate again. - -After dinner, Peter Skerrett was besieged by speculators for -information. “Who are your friends?” was the cry of many a hopeful -mother. Peter forgot his previous story and now asserted that they -were Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar, the Three Kings of Cologne. Peter -was fond of mystification. But the hotel books and the Budlongs gave -more authentic accounts. Henceforth patrols of marriageable daughters -were about Ira’s path; but we shall regard them no more than did he. - -De Châteaunéant, swaggering up the hall before dinner, had seen Sir -Comeguys. He seemed to recognise and desire to avoid him, and had kept -out of the way carefully. Miss Arabella was therefore solitary, as old -Bud adhered to his wife, which, perhaps, accounted for the fact that -she was not blossoming so luxuriantly as usual. - -“Miss Arabella is not a bad girl,” remarked Peter Skerrett to Waddy at -dinner. “The mother--such a mother!--is ruining her, as she has already -spoiled poor Tim. I abhor that woman.” Peter was usually very cool and -non-committal, but he grew quite excited at this moment. “Look now at -her _étalage_,” he continued, referring to her low-neck. “What fun it -is--a watering-place! I’m so romantic that I have to come here every -year for a week to be taken down. I should positively be falling in -love with women if I didn’t see them here occasionally.” - -“Why not stay away and be romantic near cottages rose-embowered?” -suggested Waddy. “The damsels who trim the roses are fresh as they are -pure--what these others are doesn’t in the least matter.” - -“Gammon! Pardon me,” said Peter quickly. “That observation was -addressed to the waiter--ham, I meant. Can a man like myself seek his -love among hollyhocks and marigolds? Really, whatever I may say, I’m -not quite spoony enough for female society, except when the band is -playing melting strains of passionate despair from some Italian opera, -and I am far enough distant therefrom not to observe false notes and -brassiness.” - -“You seem to be sentimental now,” said Waddy, smiling. “Who is it? Can -it be Miss Arabella? I am interested there, too, in a godfatherly way. -I will help you to lynch hot nubbless, as Mr. Budlong calls him. What -do you say?” - -“No, thanks,” said Peter, his cheeks somewhat unnaturally bright. -“He’ll take himself off when he’s won all he can from Tim and the -other boys, unless he can marry some of the girls--and then, as Squire -Western says, one would hate like the deuce to be hanged for such a -rascal. I don’t believe Miss Arabella would allow him so much about -her, if it were not for her step-mother. I think the infernal blackleg -has the mother in his power and she intends to sacrifice the daughter -to save herself!” and Peter took a draught of ice-water, against his -better judgment, for he was growing quite unnaturally heated. - -“Peter! Peter!” protested Waddy, “I’d be afraid your imagination had -become perverted by dealing so much with the protective scandals--but -I’d come nearly to the same conclusion myself. I saw too much on board -the steamer. I said all I could to old Bud.” - -It was on account of this conversation that Mr. Waddy, seeing Miss -Arabella alone after dinner, joined her and chatted a while. Mr. Waddy, -though he allows himself to swear in several distant languages, and is -altogether perfectly independent in his conduct, will, I hope, already -have shown himself a man of refinement in feeling and manner. Women -have tact enough to adapt themselves to such men and often humbug -them for a time. Miss De Flournoy’s altered manner, as she promenaded -with Ira, was not humbug, but the unconscious effect of gentlemanly -influence. - -Long absence from Society, so called, had given Mr. Waddy a large -appetite to taste whatever it might have to offer of nutriment or -tidbit. He was not a gourmand for scandals, nor a gourmet for gossip. -Food is food. Yet grub may not be ambrosia, and, _certes_, nectar -is not swipes. On the whole, he remained a-hungered. Ecstasy he was -not expecting; he had outgrown such hope by fifteen years. Amusement -he found. He had banquets sometimes and sometimes feasts infestive; -people dined him for various reasons; he was made rather a lion. Peter -Skerrett was inexhaustibly amusing. Under his auspices, Mr. Waddy and -his friends came judiciously to know all the delectable people and -all the desirables not so delectable. When the autocratic gentlemen -at the Nilvedere Hotel expended fifteen dollars in pink buckram -for decorations and gave a ball, Ira was invited, of course. When -soon after Mr. Belden’s arrival, that gentleman, after an unusually -successful subscription night, persuaded Mrs. Aquiline to matronise -a picnic, Mr. Waddy and his friends were of the party. Mr. Belden -gave out publicly that this picnic was for Diana. To Mrs. De Flournoy -Budlong he whispered that it was in honour of their acquaintance and -rapid intimacy. - -Mr. Belden would hardly have been willing that Diana should know how -great this intimacy had become. She was not likely to hear the scandals -of the Millard; and it is not to be denied that the intimacy soon -became one of the most delectable of the said scandals. Julia Wilkes -and Milly Center talked it over and knew quite too much about it. Mrs. -Aquiline remembered that she was _née_ Retroussée, and with a subdued -delight kept the rector of St. Gingulphus fully informed. Rev. Theo. -Logge, who was by this time well into the Lee Scuppernong, smacked -his lips over the flirtation and hoped to Mrs. Grognon that there was -nothing wrong. - -“A foo paw,” he said, “would bring terrible disgrace upon the -congregation of St. Aspasia.” - -And then Logge indited two letters to the _Preserver_. The religious -letter bewailed the immorality of the fashionable world, in the pious -style of generalisation, and referred to the “dreadful developments in -the communication of our secular correspondent, Phylac Terry.” Phylac -did not develop anything; he confined himself to liquorish innuendos. - -Whenever Mrs. Budlong was out with her _étalage_ in the parlours, Mr. -Belden might have been seen hanging over and inspecting it. There -was no hour when they were not together. Belden’s bolter came into -play for buggy drives at solitary hours, and though he was willing -to conceal the qualities of that singed cat, Knockknees, he rode him -cautiously by her side on the beach. The sun went down, dimmer grew -the horizon where it met the sea, dusk and dim and far-away, falling -upon the boundlessness of sea. With the glow and the glory of sunset, -gay files of carriages had left the beach, struggled over the stones, -and climbed the dusty hill. But Mr. Belden and his companion lingered. -She was saying little and sometimes hardly listening, thinking perhaps -of girlish escapades on horseback, stampedes upon a bareback pony -over meadow or among the pumpkin piles of her father’s orchard long -ago,--ah! how long it seemed!--when she was simpler and possibly purer -than now. Purer? Ah! this seemed a thought she was willing to dismiss, -and Drummer suffered for her wish to fly from it. He tore madly on -through the dim twilight, she looking back almost fearfully. When that -gallop was over, she was again ready to devote herself to her cavalier, -letting him bend over the saddle and rearrange her dress. - -Peter Skerrett did not like this at all and spoke to Mr. Budlong, who -came and went every week. Old Bud told him that since his wife had -frankly given up the Frenchman, she should have her own way. He trusted -her fully, he said--good soul! - -Peter had no right to interfere. Mr. Waddy had no right. No one had. -No one ever has. Women and men go on ruining themselves, and the world -winks and lets them. - -Nor had Peter any right to interfere in Miss Arabella’s flirtation with -De Châteaunéant. He therefore kept away and the flirtation intensified. -Mrs. Budlong patronised it. - -Peter could not interfere in Master Tim’s subscriptions. Tim was of -age, his father’s partner. What if he chose to subscribe? Peter used to -drop in at the subscription rooms and watch the young rake’s progress. -The principal subscriptions were in private--it was then that De -Châteaunéant made his heaviest collections. He was a most accomplished -and successful collector. It may have been that he occasionally allowed -Tim to get somewhat in arrears; it was well enough to have Miss -Arabella’s brother under obligations. - -Peter Skerrett inquired of Rev. Logge whether all his tract societies -were supplied with agents. - -“I could recommend you,” says Peter, “a most surprising beggar who gets -money out of everyone, as Agent for the Society for Making Tracks.” - -In fact, to both Peter and Mr. Waddy, the colour of the nobleman’s -legs became daily more offensive. They were usually clad in violet -cassimere, with a flowered stripe, as is the manner of noblemen of his -particular rank. But to the two gentlemen they seemed dyed of darkest -Stygian hues. - -Peter Skerrett, to distract himself from these anxieties, though he -denied that he felt any or was concerned for the Budlongs, otherwise -than as an amateur of scandals, took Sir Comeguys under his protection. -Like a European courier, he would allow no one to cheat that ingenuous -youth but himself. Thus there is a Skerretty congruity in the wild -legends of American life which luridly light the pages of “Tracks in -the Trail of the Bear and the Buffalo.” Gyas Cutus and Cloanthus, when -they were off duty with Miss Julia Wilkes, were constantly on the watch -for Sir Com. They liked to be seen with the baronet, and were ardent to -“sell” him, as they called it. But these mercantile transactions, more -satisfactory to the seller than to the sold, Peter Skerrett interfered -with. - -“You’d better take care, Guy, you and old Clo,” he said, to the pair of -pleasant knaves. “This son of perfidious Albion may be green, but he is -plucky and you may get your heads punched. That wouldn’t do, because -they are soft and the indentures caused by such punching would remain -and make it hard to fit you with hats. Abstain and be wise!” - -“Do let us have a shy at him, Peter,” pleaded Gyas. “His ancestors and -mine fought at Bunker Hill--I wish to revenge the death of General -Warren.” - -“Your ancestors?” replied Peter. “Who told you that you ever had any? -They may have been tadpoles or worse at that heroic period. Certainly, -your grandfather, the first human Gyas Cutus I ever heard of, was only -a grade above the tadpole when he kept the Frog Huddle Pond House, -near what was then the village of Newark in Jersey. We allow you to -associate with us because you’re not such a very bad fellow when you’re -properly bullied; but don’t try to come the ancestor dodge--except in -that neat and evidently inherited way you have of mixing drinks.” - -“Well, don’t be too hard on a feller,” said Guy. “Come and make it -seven bells--_tomar las once_, as the Dagoes say--I learned that from a -sailor yesterday aboard of Blinders’ yacht.” - -“You’re learning to mar all hours with tipple. I shall have to whisper -to the fair Julia, unless you swear off,” threatened Peter. - -“I swear enough, off and on, don’t I, Clo? But the tipple tap won’t -stop. I believe I’ll knock off everything but bourbon, as you told me -to do before.” - -“Do,” said Peter encouragingly. “The deterioration in our race is -completely checked since native wines and bourbon came in. Take plenty -of bourbon, and if you ever have a son, possibly he may have a beard. -Think of that!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -MR. WADDY RECEIVES A LETTER AND GETS OUT HIS PISTOLS - - -It was about this time that Mr. Waddy received the following letter -from Mr. Tootler: - - “THE SHRINE, August, 1855. - - “DEAR IRA: - - “I have leased your store, No. 26 Waddy Buildings, to Godfrey Bullion - & Co., for five years at $5000 a year. - - “Wool is up and fleecing prospers. I am glad, for Mrs. T. asked me - the other day what I thought had better be the name of our boy. How - would you like to be N. or M. to him--Ira if it’s he, Irene if it’s - a girl? Ira and Irene--Wrath and Peace--that’s just the difference - between boy and girl. - - “But this is not what I am writing about. You know, my dear old boy, - that I was never inquisitive about your affairs. Still, you can’t - suppose that I have not divined something with regard to you and a - certain old friend of ours. I don’t ask information now, because I - believe if you had the right, you would have given it long ago. - - “Of course you remember Sally Bishop. The day after you bought - Pallid, Cecilia went over to see her. (The dear girl is always - going to see people that have diseases. I wonder she don’t take the - smallpox and yellow fever twice a month the year round.) It seems old - Bishop had spoken of you, and when my wife arrived, Sally, who is - dying fast, was very curious to hear more. Cecilia was surprised to - find that Sally knew you, but would have supposed her inquiries only - the ordinary interest of a neighbour in the return of a neighbour, - except for something very singular in her manner. Sally asked if you - were as fine-looking as ever. Mrs. T., of course, gave the proper - reply. Were you married? Did you look happy? Cecilia thought it a - strange question--but said that though you were cheerful and very - amusing, she found you sometimes very sad--she had observed, in fact, - as I had, that there seemed to be some unhappiness at the bottom of - your indifferent manner. Sally Bishop burst into tears, in such a - distressed and almost agonised manner that my wife feared she would - kill herself with weeping. Cecilia prayed her to say what this meant, - and she answered in a frightened voice, ‘Remorse!’--she would not or - could not say anything more, and has always refused to see Cecilia - since. - - “I have good reason to suppose that Sally had at one time the most - intimate relations with Belden. She may have been his mistress. I - only much suspect, without being able to fully prove. There was a - child, a _filius nullius_, who died, and it was the feeling of shame - at this, though I believe that not five people knew it, that drove - her father to hard drinking. - - “Ira--what cause can she have to feel remorse at the mention of your - name? Is it possible that she may have been drawn by Belden into some - devilish plot against you? And against someone else? - - “I can make no conjectures, as I do not know facts enough. Cecilia, - who seems to have her own theory, which she will not impart, will - endeavour to learn more from Sally. - - “Meantime, do you watch Belden! I know that he went several times to - see Sally, and each time she was more ill. He is capable of anything, - the rotten villain!--as two of my family know, Cecilia and myself. - Is he disposed to be friendly with you now? Something may appear in - conversation, if you have a clew. Watch him! - - “Yours, - - “THOMAS TOOTLER.” - -Mr. Waddy read this letter very carefully twice. He folded and filed it -with a bundle of old yellow letters, written in a hand like his own, -with so much difference only as there may be between writing of man -and boy-man. He then, with the same extreme deliberation, took from a -portmanteau a mahogany box. In it were two eight-inch six-shooters, -apparently fired only once or twice for trial. Both were loaded in -every barrel of the cylinder with conical ball. The caps were perfectly -fresh, but Mr. Waddy changed them all. - -While he was thus engaged, Major Granby came in. - -“At your armory, eh?” he asked. “You were always a great amateur in -shooting-irons. What’s in the wind now? You look like an executioner. -What do you intend to slay--beast, man, or devil?” - -“If I shoot, it will be to slay all three in one,” said Waddy gravely. - -He had a manner of intense and concentrated wrath, quite terrible to -see. The Ira of the man’s nature was dominant. - -Granby understood that this meant mischief. - -“Do you want me?” he asked, quick but quiet. - -“Not yet,” replied his friend; “perhaps not at all. I don’t like -to talk of shooting until the time comes to do it. Aiming too long -makes the hand tremble. You can understand, Granby, that the world -becomes a small and narrow place to walk in when we meet an enemy -deadly and damnable. Now, without nourishing any ill-feeling, I begin -to half perceive that there may be a person whose life and mine are -inconsistent. You said I looked like an executioner--it may be that I -shall be appointed executioner of such a person.” - -“I know you too well,” said Granby, “to suppose you capable of any -petty revenge--this is grave, of course.” - -“It is grave. Personal revenge is necessary for the protection -of society. There is crime that laws take no notice of. Public -opinion--public scorn--is never quite reliable. Nor does public opinion -protect the innocent ignorant. There may be such an absolutely dastard -villain that, for the safety and decency and habitableness of the -globe, he must die--and it is fortunate for society when he outrages -anyone to the point of deadly vengeance.” - -“Do you begin to see any light on the part of your life that we have -talked over by so many campfires? Fifteen years is long to wait.” - -“No years are lost while a man is learning patience. I remember that -it took thirty years of my life to teach me to regard my moral and -mental tremors and stumbles and falls with the same unconcern that in -my fifteenth year I did my childish physical weaknesses. I suppose that -one hour of actual happiness now, which I am certainly not likely to -have, would explain my dark fifteen years. Patience!” - -“You expect to win happiness by killing your man, eh?” questioned -Granby. - -“No; if I kill him, it will merely be from a quickened sense of duty. -Don’t think I’m going to lie in ambush like a Thug. I wait information -and entertain a purpose.” - -Here, Sir Comeguys knocked at the door. They had an appointment for a -sailing party. - -As they passed the parlour, Belden was sitting with Mrs. Budlong. It -was as much contact as was possible in public, and some women allow -liberal possibilities. - -“How much that Belden looks like your friend Dunstan,” said Granby. -“No compliment to Dunstan, who is just the type American, chivalrous, -half-alligator, not without a touch of the non-snapping but tenderly -billing and cooing turtle. A graceful union of Valentine and Orson. -He is the finest fellow I have seen and his giant friend, Paulding, -is made of the same porcelain in bigger mold. They seem to have been -everywhere and seen and done everything, except what gentlemen should -not do. You’ll do well, Ambient, to model after them for your Yankee -life.” - -“Doosed fine fellows,” said Ambient, “and Dunstan has told me lots -about buffalo hunting. This fellow may look a little like Harwy -Dunstan--but he is older, seedier, and hawder. Harwy looks as fresh -as Adam before the fall. If he was not such an out-and-outer and my -fwiend, I should be savage at him for cutting me out with Diana. She -seemed to like him, by George!--fwom the start.” - -“I thought it was Miss Clara,” said Ira, “and that Granby would be -gouging the young hero. Paulding seems to me more devoted to Diana.” - -“Do you know,” said Granby, “to pass from bipeds to quadrupeds--that -Mr. Belden is trying to make up a race with that wide-travelling horse -of his? I heard him phrase it the other day that he could ‘wipe out’ -Pallid.” - -“If he should offer a bet on that, I wish you would take it--for me, -you understand--to any amount,” said Ira. “His horse is a singed cat, -but Pallid don’t need any fire singeing him to make him go. I didn’t -think he could go as he does, but he is working into it every day.” - -“Belden won’t stand a very large bet. He has been subscribing, as they -call it, to the Frenchman lately. Are both those men lovers of your -fat friend’s wife? What villains some women are! Bless them!” said -Granby. “Didn’t you tell me, Ambient, that you had seen that Frenchman -somewhere?” - -“I’m looking at him every day,” replied Sir Com. “I lost a thousand -pounds to some fellows in Pawis two years ago. I was gween then--a -pwecious sight gweener than I am now. Those fellows showed me about -Pawis, and all I know of the money is that I lost the thousand one -night at what they call a pwivate hell. I was vewy dwunk at the time, -I’m ashamed to say, and have no doubt they plucked me. I’m almost suah -that this Fwenchman is one of the same chaps. He’s diffewently got -up, but if I can spot him (as Skewwett says) I shall pound him more or -less--more, I think.” - -“Do so, O six-feet Nemesis! and you will take the house down. If -you will mill the Gaul and Waddy beat that contemptible fellow in -the race--_Io triumphe!_ which means I not only owe but will pay a -triumphal supper.” - -With talk like this, the gentlemen arrived at the wharf. Why the boat -they embarked in should be called a “cat,” they could not discover. A -cat is fond of fish, as the poet hath it---- - - “What female heart can gold despise? - What cat’s averse to fish?” - -Newport female hearts of the summer population despise not, but, -several of them at least, do fitly esteem the yellow boys, and Newport -cats and those who sail in them are not averse to fishing for fish and -taking them. So Waddy smiled with his friends and thought too much of -Tootler’s letter. He would watch Belden. - -Meantime, Mr. Waddy saw the world continuously,--and continuously was -lionised. This has its pleasures and its pains. It does not build up -lofty structures of respect towards the lioniser. Mr. Waddy, however, -always had the charm of sweet refuge with his cousin, as he called her, -Clara, fairest of the fair, and her friend, the divine Diana. Mrs. -Waddy made immense dinner parties for the Returned Kinsman, where he -met the people one meets in that best world, of which his hostess is so -distinguished an ornament, etc. - -The particularly distinguished guest of that summer was the Hon. and -Rev. Gorgias Pithwitch, the epideiktic sophist of the nadir Orient. -Mr. Pithwitch was sometimes called “The Wizard of the North.” He -drew immense houses to his pleasant jugglery. He had, that summer, -as always, excellent man! some amiable charity to assist--such as -to relieve Mahomet’s coffin from the painful uncertainties of its -position--or to purchase ashes of roses to fill the cenotaph of -Mausolus. Anything elegiac or pensively sepulchral gave him a cue for -epideiktics or showing off. - -Mr. Pithwitch spoke on the character of Mahomet at Newport at the -request of the Ladies’ Coffin Down Society. All the people who figure -in this history went. People always go to hear things. The boys and -girls thought the oration “thweet,” and so it was--just about. Mr. -Belden went with Mrs. Budlong and whispered her safely through, playing -meanwhile familiarly with the fringe of her flounces. How they began to -eye each other now, those two! Tim Budlong escorted Miss Saccharissa -Mellasys. A young poet, Edmund Waller by name, had fallen desperately -in love with the soft, startled eyes of Saccharissa. She cast upon him -sugar-melting glances, and he loved. Girls like poets and poets like -girls. But Edmund, in the intervals of his sonnetteering Miss Mellasys, -had been so unfortunate as to beat Tim Budlong regularly at billiards. -Tim was in a porcupine state of mind and resolved to be revenged. He -devoted himself to Saccharissa and she, well-knowing the cipher of the -poet’s fortunes and the _chiffre_ of Tim’s, reciprocated the devotions. -They first began to appear together in public at Pithwitch’s oration. -People began to whisper. It was at this period of his life that Waller -wrote his spasmodic poem, “The Beldame, or Blasted Hope.” - -Mrs. Waddie, as has been said, made a dinner for Mr. Pithwitch. It was -part of her active business in society to have all the lions properly -treated, and this was not the first whom Mr. Waddy had met at her -house. Mr. Pithwitch was, of course, an accomplished, gentlemanly -person and very much liked. - -“So that is your type orator,” Mr. Waddy murmured through his cheroot -to Dunstan, as they walked home together; “the best among a myriad -talkers from a platform. I suppose he’s not able to balance himself on -a stump, and therefore is not out doing his duty to what you call the -Cause of Freedom in this campaign. Is he ardent for that Cause? Is he -ardent for any cause? Is he a strong fiery spirit? I trow not. Tell me -of him.” - -Whereupon Dunstan gave Ira that sketch of the character and genius of -Mr. Pithwitch which has just been read. Dunstan was quite familiar with -the men of this country who had done aught to distinguish themselves, -either positively or negatively. The active life he had led had given -him an independence of thought not common among scholars. He had -already been through some tough political experience in California in -the Free State struggle and was now, on his re-establishment at home, -nominated for Congress in his North River district to replace a person -who had voted for the Nebraska bill. Dunstan was wanted at this very -time in the county of his nomination, and on the stump everywhere; he -was a young man of fervid and passionate nature, quite untrammelled by -any law of life other than his own sense of right. If he was needed -elsewhere, why did he stay at Newport? Men will often stay where -they should not, longer than they should, for several reasons, but -principally for female ones. - -Ira and Dunstan were much together. They talked over society and -socialisms at much greater length than can be here repeated. The -younger man represented the party of confident hope--the elder did not -see life, living, and livers in such brilliant colours. Perhaps his -sight was jaundiced. - -In fact, for all his friends of the best, and for all his lionising, -Mr. Waddy did not cease to be often lonely and often forlorn. Was he -growing bilious again, or bored, that he found himself uneasy and -unhappy, and became again often filled with bitter longing, and was -forced to harden his heart with study of a certain old yellow letter? -He knew also that it would be well if he looked less at his pistols. -It seemed an unworthy thing to be a spy upon Mr. Belden’s movements. -He saw that that gentleman avoided him and he indulged himself in -interferences with this artful dodger--not spitefully, but because he -wished to observe him, and because he did not love that a man he so -thoroughly distrusted should have power anywhere with anyone who might -confide. - -All this was unhappy, unhealthy business. Why return for such life as -this? He began to talk with Granby of their journeys and their hunts -proposed; but Granby, who, perforce, had become a Stoic, hopeless of -any return to his happy happiness, satisfied himself very well where he -was. There were snipe and plover to be bagged; the bay still yielded as -good fish as had ever been taken. All the ladies who rode were ready to -be companioned by so distinguished a cavalier. All who drove thought -him an agreeable and decorative object on the front seats of the -drivers’ drags. He knew all the catsmen of the docks. At every yachting -party he, as well as Waddy, was an indispensable. He bathed; he danced; -he astonished people at late, sleepy breakfasts by coming in with vast -appetite from seven-league walks and presenting this pallid danseuse -of the last night’s hop with a wild rosebud from a hill a dozen miles -away, or that weary, nightless, ballful dowager with a creamy, new-laid -egg. He held his own at the club, at billiards with the three ponies -of the summer: with Mr. Skibbereen, the cool, cautious man and dashing -player: with Blinders, the dashing man and accurate, mathematical -player: with Bob O’Link, the sentimental man and nonchalant player. -Poor Bob O’Link used to hum lugubrious airs, such as the serenade from -“Trovatore,” and sigh to Granby, particularly when he made a scratch, -that a man whose destiny it was to be a poet could only attain to -billiard-marker results. - -“I’m too lucky,” said Bob O’, “to lose money. Then I might grow poor -and work. But I’m like Cæsar--wasn’t it _Cæsar aut nullus_?--everything -I touch turns to gold.” And then he would make a lunging stroke that -the tyros talked of all summer. - -“Poor fellow!” said Granby. “You have reason to be a disappointed man. -I’ve known whole families in the same condition. You’ll have to marry a -strong-minded woman and learn to run a sewing machine.” - -“I don’t see any strong-minded women,” replied Link, looking into an -empty chalk-cup for chalk. - -“There’s Miss Anthrope,” suggested Granby. “Besides, Peter Skerrett -says it’s one of the oldest and most respectable families. They came -in, did the Anthropes, with the creation. Marry her.” - -“Now you mention it, I believe I will,” cried Bob; and he did. And -Miss Anthrope, now Mrs. O’Link, is one of the lights of the woman’s -question, while Bob O’ is really happy at home in a cradle Elysium, and -would not give an obolus to be ferried back to the mundane joys of his -former life. - -Major Granby was thus, in truth, useful as well as agreeable, and -with the feelings of a man who is doing his duty towards himself -and incidentally towards others, including his protégé, Ambient, he -determined to keep Mr. Waddy at Newport. - -I should be doing great injustice to Granby did I fail to say that, -with all his pretence of personal enjoyment, it was mainly on -Ira’s account that he stayed. Granby had not found his friend any -less malcontent out of the world than in it. He had seen the same -dreariness and utter dissatisfaction overcome him in camps, in desert -or forest; under the special and immediate influence of Nature, kindly -restorer, he had seen him unrestored. Not that his friend was morbid, -inactive, sulky, dull, selfish--never these. Such traits terminate -companionship, if not friendly regard. Ira was always, when the time -came for exertion, alert, bold, a trapper of the most up-to-trap kind. -But when the moment’s fleeting purpose was o’ertook, he seemed to care -not for changing purpose into result. When need for vivacity ceased, -he returned into gloom. His mental hermitage was always ready, where -he could become a Trappist of the Carthusian variety. Voyaging over -the wild regions of the earth had done him no good. Granby saw that -his friend had not been happy out of society. The old wrong, whatever -it was, rankled--but it was old. Might it not become out of date, -obsolete? No man can ever forget, no man wishes to forget; but he can -console himself. Why could not Mr. Waddy love, or like in the range -of loving, someone who might be made a wife of? That would distract -him--in one or other sense. - -“There is the beautiful Clara, his cousin. How happy might a man be in -loving her,” thought Granby, with a sigh for himself. “That fancy of -hers which I have detected for Dunstan, will pass away when she sees he -is Diana’s. Of course Waddy is charmed with Clara. I believe the dog -actually presumes upon his kinsmanship and youthful antiquity to the -point of a kiss--confound him!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -IN WHICH MR. HORACE BELDEN PROSPERS CERTAIN PLANS - - -Diana had been left a few days with Miss Sullivan. It was pleasant -after the wide, rolling sea, dreary sometimes and lonely in its -grandeur, to look quietly across the tranquil lawn upon a cultivated -landscape, full of life and homes of seeming happy lives. Summer was -ripening all along the gentle slopes--a pleasant, quiet summer for -Diana and her hostess, and they spent the few days of Diana’s stay in -closest confidence. - -Mr. Belden did not call upon Diana at Miss Sullivan’s, but he -discovered the day of her departure. A carefully considered chance -made him a passenger on the same train. He did not appear until Miss -Sullivan had taken leave of her former pupil. Diana had no fear of -travelling alone. Railroad conductors are among the errant knights of -modern chivalry; but I never heard that Diana needed protection. She -could wither impertinence with a look. But though she did not need an -escort, she did not hate one, and when Belden came up with the manner -of his better self, she made place and accepted him as companion of -dustyish hours. - -Diana was happy that day. Her talks with Miss Sullivan had cleared away -much darkness from her mind. She was younger by many years than a week -before. All the beautiful sights and scenes of her past fleeted before -her in bright and changing pictures. She was thinking much of her free -and huntress life in Texas. She could even forget the terrible death of -her mother. The whole story of that dreadful event was no longer a dark -secret with her and one other, and that other she no longer dreaded to -meet--that other she need no longer exclude from her presence and her -thoughts. - -A few hours with Miss Sullivan had changed the current of her life. She -was no longer drifting hopelessly toward maddening terrors, forever -in dread of herself lest she should yield to a hope that she must -deem sacrilege. She had called Miss Sullivan mother, and when that -lady, studying her, perhaps by the light of some bitter experience of -her own, had said, like a mother firm and wise, “My child! you are -hiding something from me,” Diana flung herself into this mother’s -arms, and with such agonised tears as you had not looked for in her -clear and fearless eyes, told the secret that had been with her like a -death--between her and God and hope and life and love. - -And now that this, her mother, had shown her how her guiltless and -natural terrors were only superstitions, and how she might blamelessly -accept an offered happiness, should it ever offer, there was no more -vision of death between Diana and the beloved hopes of her soul. - -Yet she did not wish to think of the future; therefore she was glad -to be diverted in her journey by an agreeable companion. And to him, -also, it was good to be with her. This radiant nature shone upon him, -and if there was anywhere in his being a dwarfed and colourless germ -of better emotion among the thickets of his daily thoughts, this now -sprang up and seemed ready to flourish and blossom. Belden, the petted -and successful man, did not with Diana promise himself his usual easy -triumph. He was willing to win her by pains. But sometimes in this day, -her manner was so transparently full of happiness, and to him was so -frank and gracious, that he began to draw inferences rapidly favourable -to himself. - -You have, perhaps, my young gentleman reader of more or less purity -of mind and ardent temperament, sat apart in a poisoned mental ambush -watching the woman you loved, while some quite unworthy personage, -quite vulpine or quite viperine, was pouring into her ears talk that -made you feel like a fox-hound or a snake exterminator. It was not -that the talk itself was poison--it was, perhaps, no more than easy -clap-trap, shining and shallow, cleverish things, such as may suit a -weekly newspaper, philosophy of a man-about-town, gossip from all the -courts from the Grand Lama to Brigham Young--the very subjects yourself -would, like the cosmopolite you are, have descanted on, were it not -that here you could only breathe phrases deep and devoted. It is not -the talk that troubles you; it is that the talker, a man you know to be -false and foul, should bring his presence so near your shrine of vestal -purity. But pardon him, the viper, that he eloquently orates, and -pardon her, the Loved One, that she answers gaily. Viper, under that -good influence, has perhaps ceased to be venomous; and the Loved One -is perhaps gay for remembering those meaning words uttered by you so -tenderly before the serpent trailed in and you retired to discontented -ambuscade under the fiery shelter of crimson curtains. - -Belden, whether he deceived himself or not, was quite willing to think -he had made a conquest of Diana. He was one of those who have been -encouraged by vulgarish women, tending toward demirepdom, to think -that, when he entered, “all fair, all rich--all won, all conquered -stand.” Diana was guiltless of any willing coquetry. She was thinking -of herself and did not concern herself as to what impression she made -upon others. But unwittingly, by the gift of nature, she had all those -slight fascinations and winning charms that self-made coquettes study -for in laborious hours, and persuade themselves they have attained. - -Mr. Belden was, no doubt, properly solicitous for Diana’s baggage. -This goddess was mundane enough to have made purchases beyond belief -of Parisian dresses. “I dare do all that may become a man,” but to -enter her boxes and describe their contents I dare not. Thinking of -Diana, one thought not of the robes, but of the Mistress of the Robes. -Belden was experienced in the small cares of society. It was part of -his profession as a ladies’ man to recognise all properties of his -escorted. She therefore arrived unimpaired at Newport. Clara Waddie, -who met her at the boat, would hardly have given the escort so cordial -a reception. Mr. Belden, probably, did not resemble any friend of hers. - -Diana’s presence completed the charm of the Waddies’ house at Newport, -and the house was a worthy temple for its two deities, for Clara had -always been the mistress of its decorations, and her cultivation and -intuitive judgment were everywhere apparent. - -Clara and Diana! the A and B of this C, D, were Dunstan and Paulding, a -pair of the best men. A noble thing is the friendship of two brothers -in love. California began just as they left college together. They -dashed off immediately. Being fellows who were up to anything, they -got on wonderfully. They mined, drove coaches, were judges or counsel -at the plentiful hangings of the day. Each of them shot a pillager or -two and rescued a few Mexicans and Chinamen from pillage by escaped -Australians. In the starvation winter, they headed the party that -relieved the involuntary cannibals of the Sierra Nevada. They bought a -ranch, and finding on its edge among the hills a ready-money boulder -of gold, quite an Ajax cast in fact, they opened dry diggings there -and took out neat piles before the outsiders came in. Then they took -a little run to San Francisco. Everyone who has had California--and -what one brave and bold of those days is there that could have it and -did not?--every Californian of the early times knows what two men -drawing together, not indulging in hebdomadal big drunks or diurnal -little drunks, and not beguiled in any sense by the sirens of the Bella -Union or other halls, what such a whole team could achieve. These two -friends, living together, acting together, having common purse, common -purposes for the future, when they had seen the lights and shadows of -this phase of life, had gained each the other’s good qualities. When -they were together in presence, you saw their marked difference of -nature, marked as their differences of physique. When they were apart, -each seemed the other’s counterpart. One sometimes sees this singular -likeness in man and wife of some marriage of happy augury. - -At San Francisco, they chanced to pick up one of the Mexicans whom they -had protected and befriended in the mines. Through him they became -interested in a land claim, which the poor fellow had by inheritance. -They carried it on in his behalf, and when he died they found -themselves by his will owners of the claim. It was made good. They -were selling it at the fabulous prices of that day when Paulding was -recalled by his mother’s death. Dunstan remained to close the business. -He was able to remit to his friend wealth for them both. - -Dunstan returned home across the plains by New Mexico and Texas. In the -up-country of Texas, he was detained some time by an accident. After -some delay, he joined his friend in New York. Several years of toil -and danger entitled them to brief repose. When action again became -necessary to them, they essayed to revive at home the interest they had -felt in constructive politics in California, but the ripeness of times -had not yet come. The line was not yet drawn upon the great national -question of America, which has since made the position of man and man -inevitable according to character and education. Politics were not -interesting. - -Paulding observed his friend falling into melancholy. Since the trip -across the plains and the accident in Texas, Dunstan had lost that -ardent vigour and careless hopefulness which had made him the leader -in their California adventures. Perhaps he had achieved success too -early and was blasé. Paulding took his friend to Europe, where they -remained knocking about and occasionally amusing themselves with making -the aborigines stare with some stupendous California extravagance, -until they heard of Frémont’s nomination. They knew the man. They had -shared with him, and others good and true, the labours of constituting -the State of California. He was one after their own hearts--a gentleman -pioneer--a scholar forester--a man of untrammelled vigour and truth of -character--a Californian, which is a type of man alike incomprehensible -to the salon and the saloon. It was the man they wanted; it was also -the cause they wanted. They made for home as friends, Californians, and -lovers of right, to take part in the campaign. Dunstan was nominated -for Congress at home, up the North River. They went to Newport for days -a few--they were staying for many days. - -Why? - -Paulding and Dunstan had known the Waddies and Clara in Europe. The two -friends were presented to Diana. - -It was all over with Paulding at once--over head and ears. So it -happened with too many men who met Diana. - -Diana was very happy in these few weeks, brilliantly happy. All their -friends came constantly to the Waddies’. At Newport, everyone is at -leisure; pleasure is the object. Where it dwells, all go. So the young -ladies held perpetual levées without tête-à-têtes. - -At these levées Mr. Belden appeared frequently. He was in most -amicable and laudatory mood. He pleased both the ladies by speaking -in terms almost affectionate of Miss Sullivan. He had known her, he -said, from his boyhood. They had been playmates in the fresh days -of childhood. Many a morning he had gone proud to school with her -rosebud in his buttonhole. They had grown up together, like brother and -sister--no, more like cousins. He spoke of it with some sentiment. She -was very lovely then. - -“She seems to me still very lovely,” said Diana. “The loveliest woman -I have ever seen. There is a serene sweetness and tranquillity in her -beauty. No one else has that look of tender resignation. She is my idea -of Faith.” - -Belden uttered a strange sound like a sigh. - -“Yes,” he said, “she is what you describe. She has had need -of resignation after so much domestic trouble--her father’s -disgrace--their poverty. And then her life of teaching--ah! that can -hardly have been miserable, with pupils like you, young ladies! We -can hardly regret that she was compelled temporarily to leave her own -sphere for the purpose of educating you to fill yours so charmingly.” - -“You are flattering Miss Sullivan through us,” retorted Diana. “We -thank you in her name. You cannot praise her too highly. She is wise -and good and noble. Only I could wish that she were not so sad.” - -“Let us hope that her spirits will improve, now that she is rich in the -means to do good,” Belden said. - -In the same laudatory strain he spoke of Mr. Waddy. - -“He, also, was one of my playmates. We have been separated for several -years, but I hope to revive our old intimacy here.” - -“Was he always the same odd, hasty, irascible, placable person?” asked -Clara. - -“Yes,” replied Belden; “we called him at school Ira the Irate. It was -always a tropical climate wherever he was. I do not wonder he found our -boreal Boston too chilly for his nature.” - -“He does not resemble at all the typical nabob,” observed Diana. “He is -not fat and curry-coloured. He does not wear yellow slippers and Madras -cravats and queer white clothes of the last cycle. He sits a morning -with us and does not ask for ale. He doesn’t call lunch tiffin. In -fact, if he did not have a Chinese servant and smoke an immense number -of cheroots, one could scarcely observe anything in which he differs -from other men of the world.” - -“How much Chin Chin looks like Julia Wilkes’s friends, Mr. Cutus and -Mr. Fortisque,” said Clara. - -“Those two unfortunate youths, with chop-stick legs, no perceptible -moustache, complexions _de foie gras_?” and Belden laughed. “The -bohoys call them Shanghais. They are indeed changeling Chinese--not -quite men. There is in South America one variety of monkey that has a -moustache--most have not--they have not.” - -“Why does Julia allow such amorphous objects to be perpetually before -her?” asked Diana. - -“They have surrounded her,” Clara replied. “She is very good-natured -and not very wise. One of them is always standing sentinel. I suppose -no clever man likes to have a sprightly fool forever standing by and -filling vacancy with smiling dumminess while he is talking. So the -clever men have actually been thrust away from poor Julia by these two -pertinacious friends.” - -“Very different from your two civilised California friends,” said -Belden, still in a complimentary vein. - -“Did you know them in California?” asked Diana. - -“No; I was in San Francisco. They were up the country. They were well -known from their efficiency in relieving the starved emigration of ’49, -and from the very active part they took [G-- d--n them!] in making -California a free State.” - -Belden went on commending judiciously the friends, whom he hated on -general principles and found in his way at present. He relieved himself -by internal salvos of cursing and achieved his object of buttering all -his antagonists, so that he could slip by, as he hoped, and win the -prize. He _must_ win. Yes. Or what? - -“How handsomely he spoke of Paulding and Dunstan,” said Clara, after -he had gone. “I must learn to think better of a man who has the rare -virtue of not being jealous.” - -“Can it be,” said Diana, “that he was ever attached to Miss Sullivan? -He speaks almost tenderly of her. I have noticed a certain coolness or -awkwardness between them hardly to be accounted for in any other way. -If it is so, he shows another rare trait, that of remembering without -unkindness a woman who has rejected him.” - -So this serpent charmed away Clara’s prejudices, or for a moment -persuaded her that she was unjust, and beguiled Diana into something -more like intimacy. They, as innocent women, knew very little of -the man. And, indeed, there were no positive charges against him, -except that he was what is pleasantly called a “lady-killer.” Their -gentlemen friends, though sharing in the general distrust of him, -had no brother’s privilege of warning against an acquaintance, if -merely undesirable. Therefore, the ladies did not hear of Mr. Belden’s -flirtation with Mrs. Budlong. The Waddies did not know her. Her -storming of good society had taken place during their absence. Mr. -Belden, in reply to their inquiries, spoke of her with respect. - -Diana, at this time, occasionally felt a slight recurrence of that -pain in her side which has already been noticed. Once when Belden -was accompanying her in a ride, a privilege he now frequently had, -this pain for a moment overcame her terribly. She would have fallen -but for his ready aid and judgment. She was restored in a moment and -insisted upon continuing her ride. Belden was even better received than -usual when he called in the evening to make proper inquiries. He had -shown a very respectful delicacy and was rewarded by gratitude and an -invitation to dinner. He congratulated himself upon his luck and hoped -the lady would faint every day. - -Diana was seized with this same pain one evening when she was sitting a -little apart with Dunstan. He sprang to support her. She had strength -to repel him, almost rudely. Clara retired with her a moment till -the spasm passed. When the gentlemen took their leave, which they -did immediately upon the ladies’ re-entrance, Diana gave her hand to -Dunstan, as if to apologise. Her manner was grave, even solemn, as she -said to him some commonplaces of thanks for his intended courtesy. - -Clara felt some anxiety for her sister-friend. What meant these sudden -pains? Diana made light of them. They were nothing, transitory only--a -reminder of an unimportant hurt she had received in Texas. She was -perfectly well--and so she seemed, brilliantly full of life, that must -sing and laugh and blush at each emotion. - -There arose a singular coolness between the sisters at this time--a -lover’s quarrel, as it were; and yet no quarrel, but a seeming -hesitancy before some more perfect confidence. They were more -affectionate than ever when together, but more apart, shunning each -other, talking of trifles. Clara was conscious of this partial -estrangement. In fact, it was almost wholly on her side. The high and -careless spirits of her friend seemed to jar upon her. She seemed to -long for solitude. Anywhere but at Newport in the summer, she might -have indulged in lonely walks. There she was compelled to encounter the -world and be gay with it. - -But she grew pale--they told her so. She said it was moonshine. And so -it was--beautiful moonshine--sweet, melancholy pallor; but bloom was -better. Sorrow, unmerited, came to her--sorrow such as even to herself -she could not confess. The wish, the hope that she would not admit, for -all its besetting sieges, would make her untrue to herself and disloyal -to her friend. Disloyal to Diana--her rival! The first was as far from -her thoughts as the last seemed unimaginable. No one could be the rival -of Diana! - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -MR. BELDEN CONTEMPLATES VILLAINIES, NEW AND OLD - - -Belden was the only guest at the dinner at Mr. Waddie’s in recognition -of his care of Diana. It was a satisfactory affair to him, the -principal actor. The to eat was good; the to drink sparkling; the to -wit brilliant; the to woo he thought promising. - -It was not late when Mr. Belden reached the Millard on return from this -fortunate occasion. They were hopping, reciprocating to the Nilvederes. -There was tempting wealth of _étalage_, but Belden slipped through the -side door and up to his room. He took from one of his double-locked -trunks a small tin case, such as men who have securities keep them in. -He unlocked the case and took from it a bundle of papers, old papers -carefully enveloped. They were endorsed “Ira Waddy’s Letters.” - -Belden opened the parcel and looked at several of the letters. Some -were signed “Ira Waddy,” or “Ira”; some “Sally Bishop.” They were such -letters as some women exchange with some men, but such as only vile men -and women write. Belden seemed to enjoy the tone of these epistles -hugely. - -“What a bitch that girl was,” he said to himself. “Waddy missed it when -he was such a Puritan with her. She was a bad one to have for enemy. -She thought getting up the letters a glorious joke. How we roared over -some passages. I think I should have let the thing drop after proposing -it, if she hadn’t been so mad for it. It was a devilish risky thing -to do. The fellow would kill me in a minute if he knew it, but Sally -won’t peach before she dies, I think. The other woman is safe, damn -her! She and Waddy are the only two people that ever baffled me. But -I’ve had what I call a neat revenge--I should think so. She might much -better have smiled upon me for her own good. As to Waddy, he don’t seem -over-civil now. I shouldn’t mind closing the whole thing up by shooting -him. Miss Diana seems to have a liking for fighting men. I’m getting -on fast with her. She’s a little of a bolter, but I can soon tame her, -once in hand. Well, I thought I would burn these letters, but they’re -a little too rich. When I’m engaged to her, I’ll burn ’em and reform. -Some people would call it forgery--writing those documents--bah! what’s -forgery!” - -He began scribbling names in various hands: his own, Ira Waddy, Diana, -Betty Bud, Bet Budlong, Sally Bishop, Tootler, Janeway, Sullivan, -Perkins, and others, just as recollection seemed to associate those -whom he had known in former life or now. - -While he was scribbling, there came a knock at the door. - -“Who’s there?” called Belden, tossing the papers into their case. - -“Hit’s me, sir,” answered a cockney voice. - -Belden unlocked the door and admitted a very bandy-legged groom, neatly -enough dressed, but topped by a most knavish head and face. - -“Well, Figgins,” said his master, “what do you want?” - -“Will ye ’ave Knockknees, sir, hin the mornink harely? Ye can go hon -the beach hat sevenk.” - -“Bring him up at seven, then; the race must come off now in a few days. -I’m ringing in these precious greenhorns. They’ll all run their damned -cows, but they haven’t got enough to bleed much. I want to get that -fellow in with his black horse. He’ll bleed gold. Can I beat him on the -square, do you think?” - -“Hi dunno, sir,” said Figgins, “’e’s a stepper, his that black. Hi -never see such a ’oss for clean goin’. You mout beat, hand you moutn’t. -But p’r’aps ’e’ll be summat sick,--a little sick, ’nough to take the -edge hoff ’im hat the race.” - -“Perhaps he will,” agreed Belden, instantly accepting the hint. “You -might look at him once or twice and let me know whether it’s likely. -You know where his stable is--can you get in?” - -“There’s keys to be ’ad, I s’pose. Do you want ’im to show hat all?” - -“Oh, yes, I hope he’ll be well enough to make good play. He might win a -heat--then I can get more out of ’em. You understand? It will pay you -devilish well if I win a jolly pile.” - -“Hi see, sir,” said Figgins, and with a furtive look at the tin case, -he went out. - -Belden locked the case and put it away. The full luxurious sound of -music from the hall swelled up again after a pause and filled the room. -Some men are purified from baser wishes by the delicate sensualities of -passionate music; but not such men as Belden. - -“Ah, a galop!” he thought. “I must go down and have a stampede and hug -with Mrs. Bud. Dear Betty Bud! I think I get on rather faster with her -than with Miss Diana.” - -He went to the glass to arrange his toilet for the deranging struggles -of the hop. He did not perceive that the look of his three villainies -of the evening was stamped upon his face--three, one remembered, two -meditated. He thought it was the effect of age, the change he began to -be conscious of in his appearance. But age, of those whose lives are -worthy to endure, softens and tranquillises expression and harmonises -colouring; it does not darken the shadows where they had grown dark on -his face, nor give the unpeaceful and uneasy look he had. - -“I must hold up for a while,” he thought. “I wish I could keep away -from that damned faro place. My luck is dished lately. However, I’ll -make that race square the accounts. If it don’t, I’m up a tree.” - -He went down Jacob’s Ladder. Millard’s parlour was nearly as deserted -as its namesake of political supporters. All the Millarders and -the Nilvederes, with a decimation of outsiders and farthermores, -were taking their constitutional perspiration bath in the dining -rooms--tables having been turned out for the occasion. Trotting polkas, -racking redowas, cantering waltzes, galloping galops--bipeds were being -put through all their paces. - -The old flirtations were going on swimmingly in the damp intervals of -dance; and lo! a new one. Bob O’Link was for the first time devoted -to Miss Anthrope. That strong-minded young person had, in the most -feeble-minded manner, succumbed at once when Bob O’ suddenly and -newly appeared in the ballroom and unanimously singled her out for a -permanent partner. - -“Miss Anthrope has decided to take a false position,” said Peter -Skerrett to Gyas and Cloanthus, who were swabbing and drying off at the -door. - -“No! Has she, though!” said Gyas. “What is it? She looks to me as well -on her pins as usual.” - -“She is going to marry for money--that is the false position, a pillory -that neither man nor woman ever escaped from. Well, Bob O’ will stand -by her better than most fellows. Look at the chap. He is as sure to win -in love, particularly the bought variety, as at billiards.” - -“Stand by, Peter,” said Gyas; “I’m going to say a good thing. Miss -Anthrope will be linked to Link, in the links of high man’s chain. -Capital, isn’t it? Now, Clo, don’t you get ahead of me and say that to -Julia.” - -“Honour among friends,” returned Cloanthus. “I’ll take you odds, Guy, -on Bob O’Link. Ten to one he gets her in ten days; five to one in five -days; two to one on to-morrow--and even it’s done to-night.” - -“You’d better save your money, boys,” said Peter. “Not that you’ll -spend it in charity, but you’ll want it all to pay what you’ll lose on -the race Belden is getting up.” - -“There he comes now with Mrs. Budlong,” said Gyas Cutus. “By Golly, -isn’t she a stunner! Belden looks deuced hard to-night.” - -“You’ll find him hard enough--hard as one of Millard’s eggs. I -recommend you both to keep away from him and his horse,” said Peter. - -Here the music struck up a galop and the two flexible youths, -pocketing their moist _batistes_, tore wildly into the affray. Mr. -Belden dashed by with Mrs. Budlong in his arms. - -He had found her tête-à-tête with De Châteaunéant. Their whispered -conversation closed as Belden approached, and bowed his request for a -dance. “Hot nubbless” looked after her wickedly as she moved away. - -Sir Comeguys, passing with Granby, looked into the parlour. Sir Com saw -the Frenchman standing there with his vicious look and his clenched -fist. - -“Gwanby,” said the bold and battailous Briton, “I can’t be wong--that -is the scoundwel that helped to wob me in Pawis. He called himself -Lavallette then, or some such name.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -THE BRAVE PREPARE FOR A RACE, THE FAIR FOR A PICNIC - - -Next morning after Millard’s hop, several of our acquaintance met on -the piazza. - -“What happened at the subscription party last night?” asked Peter -Skerrett of Gyas, who looked blue and slumbrous as a night policeman. - -“They didn’t do a very heavy business,” responded Guy. “Lob Lolly -subscribed three hundred. Hobble de Hoy collected two-fifty. Belden -lost like leaking. De Châteaunéant was collecting pretty well, till -Sir Com Ambient came in and sat down opposite; then he seemed to get -flustrated, subscribed once or twice, and went away.” - -“What an astonishing feller that Belden is!” said Cloanthus. “There he -comes in on Knockknees, and we’ve only just grubbed.” - -Belden gave his horse to Figgins and lounged up the steps. He affected -a dignified indifference with the younger men generally, but this -morning he was quite gracious. They were discussing the preliminaries -of the race. They had talked of a steeple-chase, but the riders did not -come forward very freely, and they had determined to have a formal -race; mile heats on the second beach, best two in three, free to all -ages, no handicap--in short, a kind of scrub race. - -While they were talking it over, Chin Chin brought up Pallid. Mr. Waddy -was going for a morning ride with Clara and Diana. There were divers -opinions on Pallid’s merits. Some of them said he was too handsome to -make time--“a good un to go should always be a bad un to look at,” and -there were instances enough on this side. There were also abundant -instances on the other. In short, no one had seen him put to his speed, -and none could do more than conjecture how low he would go down in the -seconds. A very few seconds make the great differences in horses, as -the minor, imperceptible charms distinguish between the few beautiful -and the many pretty among women. It was conceded that it was a sin -to race on the beach. “The horses’ feet will be ruined; the beach is -as hard as Macadam.” But they had determined to do it. There was an -_éclat_ about the beach that no other place could have. - -Belden said that Pallid was a very fine animal--the handsomest horse -he knew--very fast, too; very fast. He was surprised that Mr. Waddy -had not entered him. Perhaps Mr. Waddy did not want to win their -money--very likely! He couldn’t know, of course, anything about the -comparative powers of the two horses, but if Pallid were in the race, -he wouldn’t fear to back his horse against him for a thousand. - -“Do you mean that for an offer?” asked Major Granby, joining the group. - -“I would make it one if the horse were in the race,” answered Belden. - -“This is getting interesting,” said Peter Skerrett; “and just in time -here comes Dunstan, and Mr. Waddy to speak for himself.” - -The boys crowded round Mr. Waddy to persuade him to enter his horse. -Guy and Clo wished to see Belden beat; he had scoffed at them for being -imberb. - -“Of course,” said Mr. Waddy, “anything to please the children; but I -can’t ride him myself. I carry too much weight for a race. Pallid’s -only five. I say, Dunstan, don’t you want to ride him? You are just -my height--five feet ten--but then I outweigh you fifteen pounds--two -pounds a year for the difference in our ages.” - -“I shall be delighted,” said Dunstan, “if you’ll trust me. Is there -anything on it besides the stakes?” - -“That is as Mr. Belden pleases,” said Granby. “Do you hold to the -offer?” - -“Certainly,” responded Belden, and the bet was booked. - -“If I were betting with Belden,” said Gyas, aside to Peter Skerrett, “I -should want stakes up.” - -“You would behave with your usual asinine indecorum, Guy, my boy, -if you hinted such a thing. Belden is not a man to back down. He’d -rather murder somebody and get the money. If he loses, he’ll pay. But -he don’t intend to lose. He knows his horse, and I’d advise you not -to bet against him. In fact, the best thing you and Clo can do is to -stop betting entirely and put your money in your old boots. I’ve been -talking like a father to you two for years, and you don’t improve.” - -“Why, what do you want us to do, Peter?” asked they penitently, by -Gyas, principal spokesman. “Everybody is down on us. We try to do -the fair thing. We pay our tailor’s bills and don’t smoke over five -cigars a day. We don’t know what to do. Miss Sullivan, up at The Island -this summer, used to pitch into us and say we ought to have ambition. -Well, I did try politics once and went to the polls to vote. There -was an Irish beggar who swore he’d seen me vote twice before. That -rather knocked my politics. I’ve read all Thackeray, and Buck on the -‘Sublime,’ and Tennyson’s ‘Sacred Memories,’ and the ‘Pickwick Club.’ -Then about religion--I’ll be blowed if I can keep awake in church. It’s -no go. I try every Sunday. The Doctor can’t do it, and he’s allowed -to be the best preacher in the world. I get asleep and have bustin’ -nightmares on account of the painted windows.” - -“Well, try to be good boys. Don’t bet, and I’ll see if I can think of -something for you,” said Peter. - -The season was drawing to a close. There had been no earthquakes of -excitement, no avalanches of clean or dirty scandal. Indeed, since the -Pithwitch oration, there had been no event at Newport. People actually -began to talk of going away too soon. The race, then, was the right -thing at the right time. People began to talk of it astonishingly. -Major Granby had, people said, ten thousand dollars bet with Mr. -Belden. Major Granby was, so report alleged, a younger son of the -Marquis of Grimilkin, and had made an enormous fortune on the turf. -Rev. Theo. Logge said that he disapproved very much of betting, but -that he should ask the winner to contribute to the Cause--he did not -say whether the Lee Scuppernong cause or not. He hoped that his sister -in the faith, Mrs. Grognon, would not interrupt her drive to the beach -for these carnal excitements. Perhaps it was as well that she should -see the race, to know for the future what to avoid. He would escort her -and gain experience, which would be valuable to him in warning young -men not to go to such scenes of temptation. - -All the ladies became partisans. Miss Milly Center asked Mr. Dulger if -he should ride. - -“I’ve no horse,” said Billy, safe in that negation. - -“But,” said Miss Millicent, “Sir Com Ambient has none, and he says he -intends to hire one just for the fun of the start.” - -Unhappy Billy Dulger, whom nature did not shape to fit a saddle, -must not be outdone by Sir Com, whom Milly quoted constantly. Billy -consulted a livery-stable man. This personage provided Billy with a -four-legged quadruped. - -“He won’t win the first heat,” said the man, “nor perhaps the second; -but git him through those, and I shouldn’t be surprised at anything.” - -Bob O’Link entered his horse. Miss Anthrope, her nature seemingly -changed with her proximate change of name, hung about him tenderly, -praying him not to ride. She preferred that he should not be killed, -for with his death would die Mrs. O’Link _in posse_. - -Blinders entered a headlong steed. He generally rode him with two -snaffles, one around his waist, the other in his two hands. Blinders -did not talk about his horse. He was a fellow who always went slap at -anything without a word; but he looked at all the horses and thought -his own chance was good. His horse was called Nosegay, on account of -the gayness of his nose. - -Little Skibbereen besieged his mamma to let him enter with Gossoon, but -mamma had prejudices against the breaking of Skibby’s neck. Scalper, -the artist, arrived in time. He would ride Gossoon, who was one of the -favourites. Unfortunately, Scalper was too amusing a fellow not to be -fat, and he outweighted Gossoon. - -Guy and Clo, though _fortes ambo_ in a buggy, were not accustomed to -bestride the prancing steed. Paulding reserved himself to drive Diana -and Clara. - -There was question between Tim Budlong and De Châteaunéant which should -bounce upon Drummer. When the Gaul discovered that Sir Comeguys was -to contend, he remembered that Drummer seemed to have unreasonable -prejudices against him, and if he should endeavour to subdue that very -priceless steed with spiteful whip and spur, some displeasure might -arise on the part of Mr. Budlong. Tim therefore proposed himself and -Drummer for victory, and the fair Saccharissa Mellasys bestowed upon -him a lovely jockey cap of blue and white satin gores. Tim’s face was -by this time pale and flabby, and he did not look the handsomer for his -fresh head-piece. - -Thus, a field of eight was entered, as many as could conveniently -start on the beach. Peter Skerrett, by common consent, became the -_impresario_ of the occasion. Interest rather centred upon Pallid -and Knockknees on account of the bet pending. Some of the knowing -ones backed Blinders and Nosegay for the purse. A few trusted to Bob -O’Link’s personal reputation for luck, and one or two backed Drummer, -thinking Tim could not possibly persuade him to be beaten. - -While the gentlemen were thus ardently preparing for their Olympic -games, the ladies also had their scheme of festivity. - -“What shall we do for Milly Center on her birthday?” asked Mrs. Wilkes, -that unwearied chaperon. - -Miss Millicent was not too old to have a birthday on the day before the -race. Mr. Dulger was aware of this epoch and had written to Bridgeman -for a barrel of flowers. Dulger’s clerkly salary--for his stern papa -kept him on a salary much too exiguous for his exigencies--his salary -hardly sufficed for his systematic floral tributes. He had been obliged -to write to the bookkeeper in Front Street for another temporary loan. -Billy had presentiments that the crisis of his fate was at hand. He -would not fail at the last for want of sufficient investment. A flower -barrel was a _grandiose_ gift. He was confident that no one else had -thought of it. True love makes a Dulger a genius. If the wooed could -not be won by a barrel of flowers, he would forever fly her false -toleration and among the flour barrels toilsomely regain his wasted -bouquet money. Poor Billy Dulger! So long a Tolerated, he was weary of -this “longing much, hoping little, asking naught.” - -“How shall Milly’s birthday be honoured?” was, however, still a -question for the generality. Each suggested other things and a picnic. - -“A picnic, of course,” said the masterly Mrs. Wilkes. - -“To the Dumplings, of course.” - -“Yes, of course.” - -“Why, yes; how could we think of anything else?” - -“With a band,” said Julia, “and dancing on the grass.” - -“With a boatload of champagne,” said Cloanthus. - -“No flirtations allowed,” suggested Peter Skerrett. - -“No? Well, then, flirtations compulsory; first, with Miss Milly, Queen -of the Day, afterwards with our private Queens of Hearts,” and he -chanted, - - “The Queen of Hearts she brought some Tarts - Unto a Picnic gay; - The King of Hearts he ate the Tarts - And gave his Heart away.” - -It is not very important, but be it hereby known unto thee, O outsider -of Kenosha, Stamboul, Fond du Lac, Paris, Natchez under the Hill, -London, Lecompton, or Jerusalem! that the Dumplings of Newport _is_ -an old stone fort, not _are_ certain apples enclosed in certain -unwholesome strata of dough. - -Picnics go to the Dumplings as a shad to fresh water in spring, as a -moth to a candle, as a swain to a nymph. They go there in boats over -the smooth bay, across the strait, where a soft, lulling prolongation -of the distant ocean swell reaches the navigator with sweet reminder -motion. When picnics arrive at the Dumplings, they stroll about; their -better halves are handed over the rocks by their worse halves; they -view that crumbling, cheese-shaped object, the fort, and say sweet -things of salt water and sunshine. They chat. They romp. Then comes the -climax--to eat the picnic. Picnics are properly eaten with the fingers. -The idea is to return to Arcadian manners. - -Picnics being well known by all the fair and brave, who deserve each -other, as so charming and offering such charming opportunities for -attaining their deserts, there is no wonder that everyone was delighted -with Mrs. Wilkes’s scheme. Miss Millicent, as the heroine of the -occasion, gave deep thought to her toilet. She was resolved to be -captivating as Miss Millicent, that is for herself; not as Miss Center, -that is for her fortune. She had always adorers enough, besides the -inevitable Dulger, but he was her thrall and the others she had flirted -through. She had been observed to be dissatisfied of late. Was it that -she had failed with Sir Comeguys? Or did some other novelty refuse -to enter her toils? Or was there some escaped one whom she wished -to beguile back again with penitential wiles? Or was she a little -ashamed of her exacting, not immoral, _cicisbeism_ with poor Billy? For -whatever reason, Miss Milly seemed a little disappointed, and Mrs. -Wilkes, not thinking it proper that any of her protégées should be out -of spirits, hoped well of the picnic, that it would restore the heiress -to amiability. So Mrs. Wilkes shopped extravagantly with Miss Milly and -the girls. - -Clara and Diana were of course to be of the party. They were really the -belles. The men who fell in love with Diana that summer, and some of -them were stanch old belle-ringers, say that she was the culmination; -that there never was and never will be another like her. And then, some -stanchest old member of the pack gives tongue and says “Except Clara,” -and the whole pack cry “Except Clara”--Clara not second in order, but -only subsequent in thought. - -Everybody, in a word, was to be at the picnic. Everybody means thirty -or forty people. Good Mrs. Wilkes had a moment’s hesitation about Mrs. -Budlong, and privately consulted Peter Skerrett, her Grand Vizier. -Peter, with his usual thoughtfulness, pointed out that Miss Arabella -couldn’t go without her mother; so Mrs. B. was invited. Mrs. Aquiline, -_née_ Retroussée, had recently begun a dead set at Mr. Waddy. She -engaged ardently in the project. There would be a band and a boatload -of champagne and a sail home by moonlight. - -In short, Miss Milly Center’s birthday picnic was to be the event of -the season. Her spirits rose as she beheld her most becoming dress, -and she prognosticated for herself no solemn epoch of repentance and -reform, but an auroral dawn of new flirtations with full recovery of -all the old, an _annus mirabilis_ of social success and scores of manly -hearts trampled under foot. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -MISS CENTER’S BIRTHDAY PARTY AND WHAT OCCURRED THEREAT - - -The fateful day dawned. Fair were the omens of the morning; full their -accomplishment as day culminated. Oh, what a parade there was! Chiefly -and Chieftainly the Millard sent forth its fleet full of younkers and -prodigals and “skarfed barks,” flaggy with dizzy floating of ribbons. -Commodore Mrs. Wilkes headed this centre of the squadron. Commodore? -I will rather say Admiral of all the grades, red, white, and blue; -_liberté_, _égalité_, _fraternité_--these, under her admiral conduct, -were to be the watchwords of the day. And now from many a cottage of -gentility, from many a sham château, if possible more genteel, they -were pouring and thronging in full-sailed bravery toward the rendezvous. - -They were landed in a lovely cove near the Dumplings. Mr. Dulger was -ardent in his endeavours to aid the Queen of the Day, Miss Millicent, -in disembarking; so ardent that Nemesis thought he needed quenching, -and so quenched him a little. He slipped knee-deep into the water with -a ducking splash. Dunstan handed the lady out, while Peter Skerrett -picked Billy up with a mild reproof. - -The party was one of many elements; these soon grouped or paired in -elemental concord, and all the slopes were gay with the sight of -lolly circles, and jocund with the sound of their lively laughter. -The band piped unto them and somewhat they essayed to dance upon the -undulating sward. It was remarked by the Millarders that Mr. Belden and -Mrs. Budlong were absent a long time, and that afterwards he was very -devoted to Diana. It was also remarked that Miss Arabella was getting -tired of the Frenchman. Dear me! how people do remark things. - -Mr. Waddy did not feel out of place at the picnic, because, as a man of -the universal world, he was always in place; but he was out of spirits. -Tootler wrote no more. Ira was wretched with suspenses and suspicions. -Poor old Budlong--here was this wife of his hardly concealing her -intrigue with Belden--her second intrigue, and this time not with a -blackleg, but with one whom, he feared, was a villain. Belden, too, was -intimate with Diana, favoured by Clara; and Ira could not warn them. -He had nothing except suspicion. His judgment, sharpened by this, saw -Belden as he was--plausible, flattering, laborious to please, cautious -of offence, clever, experienced, a man of that very dangerous class -who see the better and follow the worse. Mr. Waddy, therefore, seeing -Belden’s success, was filled with wrath. The old man Ira began to take -control of his lately stoical nature. - -“I’m getting dangerous,” he felt; and not all the petting of Mrs. -Aquiline, nor all the attentions of the daughtery mothers and nubile -daughters, could distract him or make him distracted from this ugly -presence of hateful thoughts. He observed that Belden was uneasy when -he was by, and concealed his unease by a seeming cordiality. Mr. Waddy -began to tingle with a nervous sensation of presentiment that there was -to be a crisis, an explanation, a punishment, a vengeance--what and for -what he could not yet foresee. - -By-and-by, the happy moment arrived for which all other deeds at -a picnic are only preparatory. The edible and potable picnic was -announced as ready to be eaten and drunk, and a truly Apician banquet -it was--thanks to Mrs. Wilkes, experienced giver of dinners and liberal -feeder of mankind. Some of the banqueting was very pretty to behold. -Fair ladies are not ignoble in the act of taking ladylike provender. -But it must also be allowed that some of the banqueting was not so -pretty. - -“Look at Rev. Theo. Logge,” said Peter Skerrett to Ambient; “he -pretends to wish that - - “‘All the world - Should in a pet of temperance feed on pulse, - Drink the clear stream----’ - -“But observe, that is not pulse he eats, but pâté of Strasburg, and what -he is pouring down is a stream, to be sure, a large one and clear, but -it comes from a very poptious bottle. I cannot think it water.” - -“I say, Peter,” says Guy, “let’s fuddle the Rev.” - -“Guyas Cutus,” reproved Peter gravely, “you are a pagan. I have -frequently remarked that difference between Cloanthus and you. You are -a pagan and swear ‘I Gaads.’ He is a monotheist and swears ‘I Gaad’. -In this case you can spare yourself a sacrilege. Mr. Logge is fuddling -himself. Hillo,” he added, looking up suddenly as a cork struck him -hard on the ear. - -De Châteaunéant had opened a champagne bottle carelessly and had not -only bombarded Peter, but had deluged Sir Comeguys. Sir Com looked -quietly at the Frenchman, waiting for an apology; none came, but the -bottle-holder gave a blackguard laugh. He must have been a little -elated by drinking, and reckless. Miss Arabella had been particularly -cool to him all day, and it had taken much wine to counterbalance his -chagrin. No one saw the little scene except Blinders and Mrs. Budlong, -and the banquet went on and off brilliantly. - -While the gentlemen were lighting cigars and separating for a few -moments from the ladies, Blinders tapped De Châteaunéant on the -shoulder. - -“Sir Com Ambient would like to say a word to you behind the hill -yonder,” he said with a meaning look. “I’ll see fair play for you.” - -Auguste Henri, who had continued his draughts intemperately, first -turned pale and then blustered and vinously vapoured that he would not -go at any man’s dictation--he didn’t owe any apology to “_ce niais_.” - -“You’ve got to go,” said Blinders calmly, but with conviction. “You -needn’t make any apology for insulting him as you did. But you must -stand up to the rack, or you can’t stay here.” - -So Blinders quietly led off his man, cursing in French like the -rattling of a locomotive. They found Peter Skerrett and Sir Com waiting -behind the hill. The latter had his coat off, and was tramping this way -and that, like a polar bear in a cage. - -“Your name is Pierre Le Valet,” said Ambient. “You needn’t lie about -it. Skewwett, show Blinders the handkerchief. I’ve been sure for some -time you were one of those damn thieves that gouged me in Pawis. -Now I know it by your looks and by that name. You’ve behaved like a -blackguard to-day, and I’m going to lick you, if I can, on the spot. -You know, Blinders, what the fellow has been doing here--cheating -evewybody.” - -“Take off your coat, Mr. Le Valet,” said Blinders, “and thank your -stars you’ve one gentleman to thrash you and another to stand by and -see you’re not killed.” - -The detected blackleg made a treacherous rush at Ambient, furious and -intending to try some shabby trick of a _savate_, but a solid one, two -smote his countenance and floored, or rather, turfed him. As he did not -come up to time, Ambient took from Blinders a light Malacca joint and -wallopped the skulking wretch until he began to scream for mercy. By -this time, the facial one, two had developed into two ugly black eyes. -“Hot nubbless” was unpresentable, and Peter and Blinders led him off to -a boat and sent him away, swearing vengeance spitefully. - -“What can he do, Peter?” asked Blinders. - -“Harm, I’m afraid, to someone,” replied Peter, thinking how he had -come into possession of the handkerchief and doubting much whether he -had done right to show it. “What shall we say of his absence--that -perfidious Albion and proud Gallia had a contest as to who was victor -at Waterloo?” - -“What have you done with Monsieur De Châteaunéant?” asked Mrs. Budlong, -looking sharply at the two, as they walked back. - -“He had a bad head,” replied Peter innocently, “and thought he would be -better at home. We have charged ourselves with his excuses.” - - * * * * * - -After the banquet, Clara and Diana, with the two other members of -their quartette, had retired apart from the crowd. It was almost -sunset. They had chosen a vantage point of vision just at the summit -of a soft slope, commanding the old fort and the bay. The boats lay -picturesquely grouped in front. The wash of waves sent up a pleasant, -calming music. They were alone, except when some promenading couple -passed at the distance. Paulding was lying half-hid by the short -sweet-fern bushes, smoking lazily. Clara was near him. Diana and -Dunstan were at a little distance, so that a slight modulation of the -voice made conversation joint or separate. Diana had been the gay one -thus far; but now the pensiveness of evening seemed to quiet her. - -“The sky and water and those mossy rocks remind me of Mr. Kensett’s -pictures,” Clara said. “He seems to have been created to paint Newport -delightfully.” - -“Rather Newport for him to paint,” corrected Diana, “as the world was -made for man, the immortal. Besides, Mr. Kensett is not narrowed to -Newport for his subjects. I notice that so many of you who know him -speak of him by his prenom. Only very genial men are so fortunate as to -be treated with this familiarity, even by their friends.” - -“He is indeed genial--one of the men whose personal, apart from -his artistic life, is for the sunny happiness of those who know -him. Apropos of prenoms, Miss Clara,” continued Dunstan, “pray what -melodious, terminal syllables belong to your father’s initial, W.? G. -W.--his G. is George, I know. His W. is what?” - -“It is an old family name,” replied Clara; “Whitegift. My father -is fond of genealogy and traces the name to a relative, a Bishop -Whitegift.” - -“An odd name,” said Dunstan. “I seem to have heard it before. Ah, now I -recollect having read in some old family manuscript that my ancestor, -Miles Standish, had some feud with a Pilgrim of that name.” - -Clara laughed. “You must talk with Mr. Ira Waddy. He has a legend that -the first Waddy, Whitegift by name, was cook of the _Mayflower_, and -that there grew a feud between him and Miles Standish. The cook put too -little pepper in the hero’s porridge. Hence an abiding curse, which -Mr. Waddy says depressed his branch of the family until his time. He -represents the democratic side of our history. My father rather scoffs -at the legend. I must tell him the odd confirmation of it from you. It -will shock his aristocratic feelings terribly.” - -“Bah! for the legend,” said Dunstan. “Your ancestors, fair lady, were -gods and goddesses of other realms than those dusky and too savoury -ones where cooks do reign supreme. But I cannot permit my ancestor’s -curse to rest longer upon you. In my capacity as his representative, in -eldest line, I wave my hand. The curse is revoked, nay, changed to a -blessing. The old feud is at an end. It will never be revived between -us. We shall never quarrel.” - -“I hope not,” said Clara, and turning away abruptly, she renewed her -conversation with Paulding apart. - -“You accent the ‘we,’” said Diana, “as if you could imagine yourself -quarrelling with other women.” - -“Yes,” said he; “why not? But women have always the advantage of us in -a quarrel. We can compel a man traitor or wrong-doer to pistol or rifle -practice. If he shirks, he becomes a colonist of Coventry. But a woman -shelters herself behind her sex and dodges the duello. There ought to -be a code of honour for them also.” - -“There is--in the hearts of the honourable,” said she. - -“Ah, yes! but who are they? How are we to know them, except by those -very tests that we cannot apply until falseness and dishonour on the -woman’s part will be to us the cause of bitter wrong, such as a man -should pay us with his life?” - -“So you would challenge the gay deceiver to mortal combat? Weapons, -a fan against a pocket-comb, across a skein of sewing-silk. Hail! O -Attila! scourge of Flirtationdom! Newport will be depopulated when your -plan prevails.” - -“Depopulated of gay deceivers and their victims. You and I, Miss Clara -and Paulding, would be left to weep over the slain and strew their -graves with old bouquet leaves. But pity the sorrows of the young -heroes, murdered now and unavenged, while their murderesses sing their -siren song to annual freshmen.” - -“But why do your freshmen listen to siren songs?” - -“Freshmen love music and are unfamiliar with sirens. And even men no -longer so fresh, who have been forced to hear sorrowful songs, may -mistake siren song for angel song. Harmony is so rare and so heavenly. -We hear it one day, and land. We meet no chilling reception; the siren -sings on sweetly. The dewy violet and the thornless rose are still -worn and the young heart or the weary heart has but one word more of -passion to say. The third and last degree of lovers’ lessons waits -to be taken, lip to lip. But--_Halte là!_ ‘Will you walk out of my -parlour?’ says the spider to the fly. ‘Certainly, fair tarantula, -since you insist upon it.’ Another freshman is on the threshold, or -another not-so-very-fresh may be wooed into the web. Continue, pretty -dear, your wanton wiles. Sing away, Siren, seeming angel. We are out. -_Adieu!_” and Dunstan, whose cigar was smoked to the thick, drew an -immense puff and breathing out a perfect ring, deposited it upon his -engagement finger. He held up his hand, while the smoke slowly drifted -away in the still, warm air. - -Diana laughed. “Very well done, the ring and the description. But -the termination was rather too contemptuous for the poetry of the -beginning.” - -“Was it?” said he. “Contempt is not a pleasant feeling. I supposed -myself too old to express, if not to have it.” - -“Did you mean your history,” asked Diana, “for the epitaph of a dead -love?” - -“A dead love? No! Diana, no! It was the _hic jacet_ on the cenotaph of -a hundred buried flirtations--my own and other men’s. Not all of them -can chisel the inscription as coolly as I do, nor be as indulgent as I -am to the memory of the names inscribed. But love! Love is undying!” - -As he said this, they heard a little rustle and a sigh near them. They -turned. It was Miss Milly Center. She had heard, perhaps, all the -conversation. She rose and seemed about to speak, but her effort ended -in something like a sob, and two rather well-made tears started and -overran her cheeks. - -Just then a cheerful voice came over the hill: “‘Oh, Susannah! don’t -you cry for me----’” and a very shiny glazed hat with a black ribbon, -such as is some men’s ideal of “the thing” for a head-piece at a -water-party, appeared. This hat was on the top of Billy Dulger. - -“I was looking for you, Miss Milly,” he cried, “and wondering where you -had wandered to.” - -“I’m very glad you have found me,” said she. “I don’t care to be third -in either of these duos.” - -She had whisked away her tears before she turned to answer Billy -Dulger’s hail, and now with a smile she took his arm and walked away. -But it was not a very happy smile. - -Clara and Paulding had not perceived her presence until Dulger -appeared; they were too distant to hear the conversation just -interrupted, or to observe her confusion. - -“Perhaps Miss Center recognised herself in the heroine of your tale,” -said Diana. “Do you know the hero? It must have happened long ago. I -think you have made Mr. Dulger’s fortune. He has been a faithful swain, -I hear. So you think that, though flirtations may, love cannot die?” - -“Diana,” he began, and it was the second time he had addressed her -thus. He paused; the sun had just set. A flash and burst of white smoke -shot from the ramparts of Fort Adams, across the strait. It was the -sunset gun. A great, massive, booming crash came over the water, and -then, eagerly, tumultuously chasing it, a throng of echoes followed. - - “O love, they die in yon rich sky, - They faint on hill or field or river: - Our echoes roll from soul to soul, - And grow forever and forever.” - -“Diana,” continued Dunstan, “let us walk a little.” - -They went on for a few steps in silence, her arm in his. They had not -noticed the direction they took, and these few steps brought them -over the crest above the banqueting spot. Several of the party were -gathered about Mrs. Wilkes and aiding her in arranging for return. - -“Come, Mr. Dunstan,” cried Mrs. Wilkes, catching sight of him as he -was turning back. “You are just the person I wanted to select Mrs. -Wellabout’s forks and Mrs. Skibbereen’s spoons. No! no! I can’t excuse -you. Young men must make themselves useful at my picnics. You’ve -had the belle long enough. She must be tired of you by this time. I -understand what it means when ladies bring their cavaliers back to the -chaperon’s neighbourhood.” - -Dunstan half uttered an ugly Spanish oath. Diana, half-hearing, gave -him a reproving look. Belden and another gentleman approached and -Dunstan was dragged off to identify spoons and forks. He recognised -all his obligations to Mrs. Wilkes, and did his best to help that busy -lady through her embarrassments with clumsy servants. He did not even -break plates and dishes. Men who have had their California or frontier -experience, understand themselves in crockery and cookery. Still, at -this moment, he would have preferred not to be so useful. - -And now Mrs. Wilkes, like a wise mother of an errant brood, began to -sound her homeward notes of recall. The roll of the party began to -complete itself. Someone asked, “Where is Diana?” Where, indeed? - -“I saw her walking off alone towards the Dumplings some time ago,” Gyas -Cutus said. “I asked if she wanted a companion and she said no--so I -thought I wouldn’t go.” - -“You may go and look for her, Mr. Dunstan,” said the chaperon, “as -payment for your industry.” - -Dunstan sprang up and _non scese, no, precipitò_ down the hillside. -Clara looked anxiously after him. These were the saddening moments -of twilight, when sunset glories are gloom and we are not yet quite -reconciled to night. Some one of the festal party said that the evening -was ominously beautiful--it seemed there could never be another to -compare with it. Splendours were exhausted. - -The Dumplings stands upon a low, craggy hillock at the water’s edge. In -front is a bit of precipice; then a scarped slope, covered with débris, -such as bricks, stones, broken bottles, sardine boxes, and chicken -bones; then rocks again and water. On the landward side the rough -hillock is still steep, but overcome by a path circling the crumbling -round of the fort. This path is rather up and down, enough so to blow -most dowagers and duennas; the ascent has therefore its great uses in -the world, and many a tender word has been gasped from panting hearts -of those who panted up together, eluding, for precious moments, the -stern duenna below. - -Dunstan climbed rapidly up. It was but a few steps, yet in the moment -all that had ever passed between him and Diana came powerfully back, -as all the sounds of a lingering storm are suddenly embodied in one -neighbour thunder-clap, and all its playfully terrible lightnings, -illuminating scenes far away, concentre in the keen presence and -absence of the flash that strikes near by. The evening, whose ominous -beauty had impressed him also, was so still that he could hear gushes -of gay laughter from the party. He could see nothing of Diana. She -must be within the fort. As he stepped along the narrow ledge of the -pathway, he checked himself an instant before entering the ruined -gateway, and called “Diana!” No answer! Could she have gone elsewhere? -He sprang within the inclosure. - -Diana was there. She sat leaning against an angle of the crumbling -wall. As he entered, she turned towards him a ghastly and agonised -face. She did not stir. She was pressing her handkerchief to her arm. -He was at her side in an instant. - -“Blood! blood again!” he said, with a dreadful shudder. “It shall not -part us now--Diana, my love! my love!” - -He took her very tenderly in his arms. Blood was flowing freely from a -wound in her arm. He tore off his cravat and checked the flow and was -binding the place with his handkerchief. The agonised look on her face -changed to a smile of gentleness. - -“Harry,” she said, “this is nothing--a scratch--I fainted and fell. -That was the old wound. I am dying with the old wound. Dying to-day, -when I was happy again--to-day, when I know you love me still.” - -“Love you--oh, Diana! I have been waiting through all this long despair -for this one moment. I knew the terror must pass away that separated -us, and now a new terror comes--the old wound--dying--no! no! Oh, my -God!” - -He drew back and looked at her. There was no dreary ghastliness in her -pallor. He took her in his arms again for one long, lover kiss--one -long kiss of life to life and soul to soul. In that kiss all their old -hopes were fulfilled; all their old confidence came back again; all -doubt and hesitation were gone forever. Fate, that was so cruel to -them, forgave them again. The old terror between them had slowly sunk -away, like a vanishing, ghostly dream,--vanishing as light of heaven -grows strong and clear over the soul. The blood that they knew of on -each other’s hands was washed and worn away, flowing no longer between, -a dark line, narrow but deep as the river of death. - -They had riven their last embrace long ago, because a death, bloody and -terrible, beheld them with dead, chilling eyes. Even that last embrace, -with all its passionate despair, seemed a sacrilege, a repeated -parricide. What if the murder was no murder? Then there was the dead. -There, studying them with staring eyes, staring beyond them into an -eternity of vengeance. Was that a place for love’s endearments? For -tenderness dear and delicate? No! no! depart! Fly, lover! Seek thy -saddest exile! Crush thy dear, dear longings! Forget! ah, yes, forget! -That guiltless crime they knew of severed them. Go! Let this impossible -love be crushed or forgotten. - -Crushed! Forgotten! These despot words are uttered easily; but all -the while they know their futileness. Stronger grows mightiness until -it has prevailed. And love is the strongest strength. This is the -permanent and uncontrollable victor, stronger than death. - -But slowly for these lovers the sense of their guiltlessness overcame -the awe of crime. Heaven pardons ah! things more guilty far, than -their unhappy and bewildered innocence. They saw pardon rising over -them, pale but hopeful as the twilight of dawn. And when this pardon -overspread their hearts, like the throbbing violet of daybreak, and the -pardoned lovers met, how could they know that parting had not done its -common work? All common loves are slain by separation. So these two -lovers stood apart; each ignorant whether Heaven had been generous to -the other of its gift of pardon, and each unwilling, as proud souls may -be, to hold the other to old pledges and perhaps detested bonds. Apart, -but approaching surely; until the pleasant, meaning playfulness of -picnic talk, and the fateful apparition of the flirt, and the chance -confession of an old, half-forgotten folly, had revealed to them, -clear as their hopes had been, the certainty of their love, unchanged, -unchangeable, eternal, infinite. - -He had taken Diana in his arms again. Her hurt was surely not grave, a -cut upon her arm as she fainted and fell. But again another spasm of -paling agony passed over her face. - -“The old wound,” she said despairingly. “I am fainting again. Take me -to Clara.” - -He lifted her--she, so dying as it seemed--he so strong in his heart’s -agonies of death. - -He did not note it then, but he remembered long afterward, that as he -passed from the fort, the moon was rising pale and solemn, through the -dull, leaden blush, reflected from sunset upon the misty east. - -The gay picnic party had hardly observed Dunstan’s brief absence. Clara -was watching the fort, and as Dunstan issued with his burden, she ran -wildly down the slope. She met them at the foot of the escarpment. -Dunstan had found himself staggering at the last few steps and was -resting, kneeling by Diana. Clara knelt by his side. - -“Dear sister,” said Diana, unclosing her eyes, and seeming to revive at -her presence. She made a feeble movement with her wounded arm. “It is -nothing, dear Clara. But I am suffering from the old pain. Forgive me -that I concealed something. I could not tell you all. Now I can, for I -have found my old unchanged love. We will rest here a moment. I grow -stronger. Perhaps I can walk to the boats. Harry, tell her all our sad -story. Dear Clara!” - -Dunstan, in a few quick full words, gave Clara the history of their -love and their parting. Clara listened, divining much with eager -interpretation. - -“Dear Diana! Who could have been strong to bear this?” said she. “Why -could you not let me comfort you?” - -“I thought,” said Diana, “that there was to be comfort for me -nevermore, until Miss Sullivan was my angel of pardon. Oh, how wise and -good she is! My mother--our mother, dear sister.” - -The unwilling, almost unconscious coldness that had withdrawn Clara -from her friend, had utterly passed away. It shamed her now like a -crime, that uncontrollable passion had made her an unacknowledged, -unperceived rival. But the harm was done, and she must know it -bitterly in her heart and endure silently. She kissed Diana tenderly, -desolately, and gave her hand to Dunstan. They felt the tenderness: -they could not see the desolation. - -Paulding, who had been at the boats, bestowing paraphernalia, now -appeared, and learning from the party that something was wrong, he came -swinging down the slope with giant strides. - -“I can walk now,” said Diana. “To-day speak to Mr. Paulding and the -others only of my fall and the cut; that explains itself. The rest -by-and-by,” and she smiled hopefully with that beautiful smile, sadder -than tears to those who behold it and know the hopelessness of its -deceiving consolation. - -Paulding came up, followed by Sir Comeguys. Both showed great concern -at the accident. Diana thanked them and said that she hoped it was only -trifling, though a shock at first. She then walked slowly to the boats, -clinging to Dunstan’s arm. - -Everyone was in such consternation at Diana’s accident that she made -efforts to recover her usual spirits and partly succeeded. Good Mrs. -Wilkes must not be mortified by a calamity at her picnic. All the men -who did not venture to be in love with Diana, or who loved elsewhere, -liked her, and the ladies were not jealous of so unconscious a belle. -She had breadths of sympathy. Miss Milly Center, Queen of the Birthday -Festival, came and took Diana’s hand softly and was very sorry. And -when Diana thanked her gently, poor Milly, on her gay birthday, burst -into tears. - -In Miss Milly’s walk with Mr. Dulger, she had been very exasperating. -There was no object she carried that she did not drop, and few that -she did not break or tear. Poor Billy was put terribly in fault by -her conduct. He could not endure it another day, and when Milly -finally crashed her parasol into a bag of silk filled with comminuted -whale-bone, and said, “You must have it mended to-morrow before -eleven, Mr. Dulger, and bring it to me,” he resolved to make the -morrow’s morn the crisis. It should end for better or for worse, -for richer or for poorer, his dumb thraldom. He would kick away the -platform and be a dangler no more, even if he broke his neck. Courage, -Billy Dulger! - -Mr. Belden was especially distressed at the accident. In fact, he -seemed, in speaking to Clara, to assume a right to more than friendly -sympathy. Clara observed, now for the first time, that singular -resemblance between him and Dunstan. She saw why Diana had allowed an -intimacy. - -Clara, studying Belden’s face, quickly and keenly, discovered that -the resemblance was not a pleasant one. All her old distrust of him -returned. - -“Please do not speak of it to-day, Mr. Belden,” she thought proper to -say to him, “but you will be glad to know that Diana and your friend, -Mr. Dunstan, are engaged. It is an old affair revived. It began in -Texas a long time ago.” - -Belden, with his usual self-possession, said what was friendly and -commonplace on such occasions. Clara was almost deceived. She could not -hear the monosyllable he sent out with a blast, as he turned toward -Mrs. De Flournoy. - -Admiral Mrs. Wilkes re-embarked her party for the moonlight sail. -Except Diana’s accident, which that lady made light of to the happy -chaperon, everything had gone on and off most prosperously. It -was whispered that Titania had accepted Mr. Nicholas Bottom, the -millionaire; and poor Cinderella, whom the hostess feared might be -neglected, had been walking all day and picking buttercups with Mr. -Oberon, the genius. - -So with the faint breeze of a silent night of summer, they drifted -across the bay, away along the path of moonlight. Song and gay hail and -answer passed from boat to boat of the flotilla. Delicious night! Happy -world! Fortunate Miss Milly Center, with such a joyous birthday! Kind -Mrs. Wilkes! Universal success! Huzza! - -At the Millard, Mr. Waddy and Peter Skerrett found Mr. Budlong just -arrived. He came up to them with his now anxious manner. - -“That beggar of a Frenchman has come home pretty well bunged up,” he -said. “He has sent word that he wants to see me. I wish you would go, -Peter, my boy, and talk to him. I can’t guess what it means. If he -wants to borrow money, lend him.” - -Mrs. Budlong came in with Belden. She gave her husband a couple of -fingers of welcome. Millard’s band was playing and she, with several -other untiring females, organised a hop. - -Peter Skerrett went off to see De Châteaunéant. It was late when he -came down. He found Mr. Waddy waiting on the piazza, his cigar oddly -lurid in the mosquitoless moonlight. - -“He makes conditions,” said Peter, “the infernal shabby wretch! He says -if they don’t give him Miss Arabella, he’ll expose Mrs. Budlong. He -pretends to have proofs; and I’m sorry to say that I fear he has them. -I could have beaten him to death, the contemptible cuss! if he hadn’t -been lying there in bed, sick and swelled like a pumpkin. He can’t show -to-morrow and we shall have all day to work.” - -“He’ll sell out, won’t he, Peter?” asked Mr. Waddy. “I haven’t -contributed to foreign missions yet, and here’s an opportunity. We’ll -try and arrange it to-morrow.” - -Dunstan called late at Mr. Waddie’s. Clara saw him. - -“Diana is doing well,” she said. “We will have good hope,” and in her -fair beauty by the moonlight she seemed to him an angel of hope. He -could not see her tears as she turned away and fled from him, and from -herself, to Diana’s bedside. - -All night he walked and wandered on the cliffs, watching the light in -Diana’s window. Sometimes he thought he saw another figure wandering -like himself; but always when he approached, he found some uncertain -deceptive object, shrub or rock. He was alone in the moonlight, with -his memories, his hopes, his despairs. Alone in the wide world with his -love. Dying? No! He would not interpret thus the melancholy fall of -waves. - -Mr. Belden was rather late that night. He had been walking somewhere -with Mrs. Budlong--very late somewhere with Mrs. Budlong; he sat in his -room reflecting. - -“Hell!” said he again. “I’ve lost the Diana chance, whether she meant -to cheat me or not. Well, I’m sure of my bet on the race; and if the -worst comes to the worst, I’m glad to know that Betty Bud has some -money of her own. I’m sure of her. That job is done.” - -I am afraid Belden was becoming a very vulgar ruffian. He had very -soon, in coarser amours, drowned his first disappointment for the loss -of Diana. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -CHIN CHIN AND PETER SKERRETT SEIZE THE FORELOCK OF OPPORTUNITY - - -Mr. Dulger arose in the morning dull and early. He stood several hours -over the industrious prolétaire who was mending Miss Center’s parasol. -Meantime Billy smoked weak cigars, pulled at his sporadic moustache, -and studied at a formula of words he meant to use, but would forget. - -At eleven, he might have been seen walking in Millard’s halls, -uneasily, with a neat parasol in hand. - -At 11.03, Miss Millicent descended Jacob’s Ladder equipped for a walk. -She was evidently oblivious of her appointment, and taking no notice of -poor Dulger at the lower turn of his beat, she turned into the parlour -and sat there quite alone, playing with her gloves. Surely she was -waiting for someone. - -Trepidatingly Dulger approached---- When they returned from their walk, -an hour afterward, it was announced, proclaimed, thundered, through -Millard’s and through Newport, that Miss Center and Mr. Dulger were -engaged. Bulletins to that effect were dispatched to postoffices from -the Aroostook to the Rio Grande, as members of Congress say. Billy -telegraphed to his friend, the bookkeeper, to send a thousand-dollar -diamond ring from Tiffany’s by express; it came, and glittered on her -finger that evening at the hop. Billy’s investment for the ring was -one-tenth of one per cent. on her million, and, _certes_, was not -extravagant. Rich Milly! Poor Milly! Poor Dulger! Rich Dulger! Poor, -rich Mr. and Mrs. Dulger!--the man never forgetting his long and sulky -apprenticeship--the woman, unapproached any more by exhilarating -flirtations, and never forgetting that her yielding was part -compunction and part pis-allerage. So ends the Billy-dulgerid. - -Dunstan came down to inquire about to-morrow’s race. Mr. Waddy begged -him not to withdraw, unless Diana’s condition should be critical. No -one else could ride Pallid. Peter Skerrett, in search of Mr. Waddy, -came up and mentioned the new engagement. No one was surprised. - -“It was as sure as shooting,” said Gyas Cutus. “He treed her. I gaads! -I knew she’d have to come down. He’s been lamming her with bouquets -ever since she came out.” - -“And now,” says Peter, “she has come down in a shower of gold, -reversing the fable of _Danae_.” - -“There’s no fable about the million,” said Cloanthus. “I wonder if -Billy would lend me a V on the strength of it?” - -“I think it’s a case of _dépit amoureux_,” whispered to Dunstan, Peter -Skerrett, penetrating sage. - -Dunstan said nothing, and presently walked off. This gossip was -distressing to him; he could only think of his love regained, his -love perhaps dying. He must not see her that day. Absolute repose was -necessary. - -“The old wound,” he thought; “the old wound,” and thinking of it, he -shuddered again. - -Peter Skerrett took Mr. Waddy’s arm, and walked him away to a quiet -corner. - -“That damned scoundrel of a Frenchman wouldn’t accept your -proposition,” he began. “He said it was wealth for him, but the -infernal coxcomb also said he wanted to range himself and become a -virtuous man, and a happy father of a family. He must have the ‘fair -Arabella, whom he loved and whom he believed was secluded from him by -the decree of a harsh parent’; some such stuff he uttered and then blew -a kiss from his bruised, swelled lips. Faugh!” - -Mr. Waddy echoed the exclamation; he shared in all Peter’s disgust, and -all his anxiety. - -“It’s lucky,” continued Peter, “he can’t come out to-day. Everyone’s -inquiring about the row, and Sir Comeguys says he will only keep still -until the fellow is out of bed and able to speak for himself.” - -“Well,” said Waddy, as Peter paused again, “what’s to be done? Is that -all the scoundrel said?” - -“Not by a blamed sight; but it’s so damned unpleasant I hate to repeat -it. After refusing your offer, he repeated his threat of exposing Mrs. -B., and he gave me details. He said he wanted to see her, and if he -sent a waiter, she would have to come. I knew that would never do, -so I bullied him a little and said I would see her myself. By Jove! -think what a box I was getting into. Mrs. B. is cool; perhaps I may as -well put it, brassy. She was complimentary enough to say that she was -surprised a man of my experience should listen to the idle talk of a -man bruised and angry; that possibly Arabella (blinking entirely the -question, as touching herself--I had stated his threat as delicately -as I could) had given him so much encouragement as to persuade him -he had rights. Very probably, for she herself had hoped that he and -Arabella would make a match, and still hoped it. As to the slanders of -that young brute of an Englishman, they were pure jealousy. She was -satisfied of De Châteaunéant’s position, and thought his abuser a vile -coward for profiting by his personal strength to put a rival out of -the way. She would talk over the matter with Arabella and see me in an -hour.” - -“Yes?” said Waddy encouragingly, as Peter paused again, choked with -rage. He rather wondered at Peter’s emotion, for that gentleman -usually held himself well in hand--but then this was an extraordinary -case. - -“Well,” continued Peter, “in an hour, I happened to pass through the -corridor. Arabella, cried to a perfect jelly, was just opening the door -for her mother. How the harridan must have been bullying that poor -girl! And yet she was as cool, and smiling, and handsome, as if she was -coming out of St. Aspasia’s after her Sunday afternoon nap. She said -she had found a little proper ladylike hesitation on the part of Miss -Arabella; that young ladies did not like this courting by proxy; and -that she had no doubt that when De Châteaunéant was able to plead his -own cause, that her daughter’s long-existing inclination for him would -develop immediately into the desirable degree of affection. By Jove! -I couldn’t help admiring the woman as she stood and told me all this, -perfectly self-possessed, though she knew I believed it was every word -a lie. Then she said that, as I was quite the confidential friend of -the family, she would ask me to go with her to M. De Châteaunéant. And -I went! What do you think of that, Waddy?” - -“I don’t know what to think,” answered Ira. “And yet it was probably -the best thing to do.” - -“So I thought,” agreed Peter. “She sat down by the beggar’s bedside -and told him, by Jove! that she thought he needed a little motherly -sympathy; that she had always looked with great favour upon his suit -for her daughter, and that she hoped and had no doubt the young lady -would smile upon him. She could promise it, in fact, after an interview -this morning. I tell you, Waddy, she took my breath away. I could have -screamed with laughter.” - -“No doubt,” said Mr. Waddy grimly. “How did the farce end?” - -“It ended with a few minutes’ earnest whispering on the part of the -lady. Then she got up triumphantly, and that blackguard turned his ugly -swollen face towards me. - -“‘Monsieur Skarrette,’ he said, in his dirty, broken English, ‘I veel -vate faur ze promesse auf Mees Arabella teele aftare to-morrah. I -veel not be anie maur cheete. Ef she do not agree, I sall tale all to -Meestare Buddilung.’ - -“Well,” continued Peter, “I was white hot--I don’t think I shall be -ever quite so angry again--I certainly hope not. I think Mrs. B. saw -it and feared some further injury to the Gaul, for she said good-bye -hastily and carried me away with her. Out in the hall, she turned to me -again, cool as a cucumber. - -“‘You see he is quite reasonable,’ she said, with amazing impudence, -‘though naturally rather ardent for his object. We are much obliged to -you, Mr. Skerrett.’ - -“She gave me her hand and the only sign of emotion she showed in -the whole interview was to grasp mine like a vice. A few minutes -afterward, I saw Belden help her into his buggy and they drove off -together. Do you suppose it possible that she meditates some escapade -with him? Of course all this couldn’t be told to poor old Flirney; he -should be saved, if possible. But I could not bear to think of Arabella -being the victim of such an infernal plot, without a friend. The matter -had gone too far for ceremony, so I went up and knocked at her door. -There is so much of that familiarity going on, that I supposed no one -would notice it. She opened the door and, when she saw me, burst into -tears. I felt so sorry for the poor child that I couldn’t help----” - -“Oh, you did, did you?” interrupted Ira, seeing a great light. - -“Yes, I did; and she shall be Mrs. Peter Skerrett, if her step-mother -is a---- She shall, by Jove!” - -“Peter, you’re the king of trumps!” cried Mr. Waddy, and held out his -hand. “And, by curry! you deserve to be congratulated. She’s a nice -girl.” - -“She is!” agreed Peter, with conviction. “I’ve known it a long time. -Well, to return, the poor thing was actually bewildered with terror. -She said that she liked the fellow well enough at first--you know he -has the talents of an adventurer--he flattered her and led her on, -always speaking French, until he had got up a great intimacy. Then Mrs. -Budlong,--she no longer called her mother,--began to persuade her to -accept him, and then to treat the matter as settled; and then to bully -her and say that her honour was engaged, and her character would be -gone if she did not marry him. - -“Imagine the poor girl, so young, and totally uneducated to think for -herself, in the grasp of that infernal crocodile! Then her brother, -that mean little squirt, Tim, made some heavy gambling debts to the -Frenchman, and he told her he thought the marriage was just the -thing, and wouldn’t listen to a word from her. Mrs. Budlong said that -her father had given his full approval to the match. Arabella felt -utterly abandoned, and I do believe that horrid hag would have carried -her point before this, if Ambient hadn’t stepped in with his timely -licking. At the picnic the Frenchman was continuing to treat her with -tyrannical familiarity. She hated him so much that she longed to go to -Diana and Clara for protection, but she feared they would think her a -silly little snob and send her to her mother. Mother!” repeated Peter -with emotion, and swallowed hard. - -Mr. Waddy also felt an unaccustomed lump in his gullet. - -“Peter,” said he, a little huskily, “I’m proud of you. By Jove! I’m -proud to know you. You’re the best man in the lot. The rest of us would -have stood around and seen that girl sent to the devil and never have -lifted a finger to prevent it.” - -“Oh, come,” protested Peter, “I know better than that. And then, -besides, you see, you--you didn’t have my incentive. She needed -someone, Waddy; she said she’d always thought me one of her best -friends--but she couldn’t speak to any gentleman about her troubles, -much less me. And then she began to cry again and I had to kiss her -again like a brother and tell her that I was her best friend and would -save her. Luckily, no one happened to pass; so I let her sob herself -quiet in my arms and told her to have courage and not to speak to -anyone on this subject. What a damnable infamy it is! I don’t care -for Mrs. Budlong, and would let her be exposed and go to the devil, -but it will kill the old gentleman. He’s a good old boy, and actually -loves that woman. We must save him if we can. Here is old Mellasys, -Saccharissa’s father; couldn’t we get him to kidnap the Frenchman for a -fugitive slave?” - -“Peter,” said Waddy, “we may get the Frenchman off, but there is left -behind a man much more dangerous than any Frenchman--Belden!” - - * * * * * - -About eight o’clock that evening, Mr. Waddy sent Chin Chin to inquire -of Diana’s health. On his return, Chin Chin made a circuit to a shop -he knew of. His object was lager beer, a washy beverage, favoured -by Chinamen, Germans, and such like plebeian and uncouth populaces. -Feeling sleepy after his draught, he gradually subsided into a ball -and sank under the table. Except, perhaps, Box Brown and Samuel Adams, -packed some years ago by John C. Colt, corner Broadway and Chambers -Street, no being is known, bigger than an armadillo or a hedgehog, -capable of such compact storage as a slumbering Chinaman. - -Chin Chin under the table was therefore not perceived by two men who -came in to get beer and mutter confidences over it. He, however, waking -and craftily not stirring until he could do so without disturbing legs -endowed with capacity to kick, heard this secret parley. He could not -recognise the legs, but could the voices. - -As soon as he was released, he ran to the Millard, and gave his message -to Mr. Waddy; then, in consequence of the beer-shop discoveries, he -crept along like a quick snake to his master’s hired stable. The night -was very dark, the clouds obstructing the moon. Chin Chin’s mission -and his plan were perfectly suited to his crafty Malayan nature. He -knew the stable intimately. He had often found it a handy place to -snooze away the effects of beer or gluttony--larger and more airy -than his usual habitation, and much less liable to rude invasion. He -had prepared a secret means of ingress and egress; now, after a quick -glance around, he glided along to one corner, moved a board slightly -and crept inside through the crevice thus revealed. - -In the stable were Mr. Waddy’s three horses. Pallid stood next to a -vacant stall. A roughly contrived manger, with no division, passed -through all the stalls. The back door of the stable opened upon a yard, -separated by a low fence from a dark lane. There was a locked door -through this fence; both the stable doors were also locked. - -Pallid recognised the Chinaman and whinnied a welcome nearly as -articulate as the other’s reply. Chin Chin’s plan was already laid. He -did not seem to need light to execute it. He groped about for a billet -of wood in a spot he knew of, and drawing a fine fishing line from his -pocket, made it fast to the billet, which he then threw over a beam -running the length of the stable. He drew the billet up to the beam by -his line, and holding the end, wormed himself in under a heap of hay -that filled the stall next to Pallid’s. He found that, without changing -his position, he could pass his hand into the adjoining manger. It -seemed he had a fancy of possible danger, for he took from his breast -pocket a perilous piratical knife and laid it in the manger at his side. - -“Pigeon--all same--Hi yah!” said he, with gleaming teeth and a grin. - -Chin Chin waited, probably dreaming of the Central Flowery Land and -fancying himself under the shade of his native tea plant, offering a -tidbit of rat pie to the fair Pettitoes in sabots, skewered hair, talon -finger-nails, and brocaded raiment. - -His tender, nostalgic reverie was disturbed by the cautious turning of -a key. The door opened and two men armed with a slide lantern entered. -They drew up the slide and stood revealed, a precious pair, Belden and -Figgins, come to superintend the training of Pallid for to-morrow’s -race. - -They peered cautiously round the stable--nothing but horses and -hay. They could not see that snake-in-the-grass watching them with -glittering eye and keen delight. - -“We must do it quick, Figgy,” said Belden; “give me the ball. You hold -the light. Whoa, Pallid!” - -He stepped to the stall, and patting Pallid on the neck, placed a very -suspicious-looking horse-ball in the manger. Pallid was beginning to -turn it over and sniff at it, when--slam, bang!--Chin Chin let go the -billet. It crashed to the floor, knocking down sundry objects with a -terrible clatter. - -The conspirators started, looked at each other fearfully, and sprang -back as if to escape. The noise ceasing, they looked about with -anxiety. Belden caught sight of the billet and its effects. - -“Bah!” said he. “Nothing but a stick of wood fallen down----” and -turned back to the horse. - -Meantime, under cover of the noise and panic, Chin Chin had snatched -away the dosed sausage from Pallid’s manger, and thrown in a handful of -oats. The horse champed them. - -“The greedy brute has swallowed his pill and is licking his damned -chops,” Belden announced. “Well, you black devil, so much for you -for throwing me, and so much for your master. You won’t win any race -to-morrow nor this year.” - -Again examining suspiciously everywhere, they went out as cautiously as -they had entered. - -Chin Chin chuckled. He was fond of Pallid and fond of the turf, a novel -fancy for a Chinaman. He knew if he revealed this adventure to Mr. -Waddy, that the race would come to an end, so far as that gentleman was -concerned, at least. Chin Chin wanted to see the fun. Unluckily for -Figgins, he had bets with him. Chin Chin determined to consider himself -the executive of retribution and keep his own counsel till after the -race. He looked at the ball; he smelt it. - -“Pose good for Chinaman,” he said, “ebryting all same pigeon eat em -rat; eat em puppy; pose eat em sossidge. Hi yah! first chop good, all -same.” - -He nibbled a little bit, ate a little bit, and then looking out and -finding the coast clear, cautiously crept homeward in the shadow. As -he ate, he seemed at first very well satisfied, then less satisfied, -and finally not at all satisfied, and throwing away the remnants of the -ball, he made for the Millard, pressing both his hands on that part of -his person which seemed the centre of dissatisfaction. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -THE STORY OF DIANA AND ENDYMION - - -Diana was still very ill. They found it necessary to keep her perfectly -quiet. The old wound, never fully healed, had given her much pain -of late. Mental excitement at the picnic and her fall had produced -feverish symptoms. Her physician had fears which he hardly ventured -to express; which he hardly dared formulate, even to himself. She had -aroused herself enough during the day to send a kind message by Clara -to Dunstan, and to ask that they would write to Miss Sullivan to come -on. A letter to that lady would go by the morning mail to Boston. - -Dunstan was in an agony of suspense. During the day, he tried to -distract his fixed madness of thought by training Pallid over the -beach. The other men were also out on the beach or the road. Bets -were nearly even on Pallid, Knockknees, and Nosegay. Toward evening, -Dunstan mounted his own horse and galloped off up the island. The wild -sunset and windy drift of torn, black clouds was such a mood of nature -as suited the terror at his heart. It was a night like this when, in -Texas, he had started from San Antonio to ride sixty miles across the -country and catch his train. There were such stormy masses of weird -clouds, so flashed through by an August moon, so floating at midnight, -when, as he dashed along the trail, shouting in savage exhilaration, -all the wildness of his nature bursting forth in mad songs and chants -of Indian war, suddenly his trusty horse, who had borne him thousands -of miles in safety by night and day, over deserts of dust and wastes -of snow, fell with him, on him, crushing him terribly. And then, by -just such fitful gleams of moonlight, he had dragged himself desolately -along, with unbroken limbs, but mangled and bleeding--dragged himself -whither he saw a midnight lamp, as of one who watched the sick or the -dead. And near the spot whence the light came, he had sunk voiceless, -fainting, dying, until he was awakened by a tender touch upon his brow, -and saw bending over him, in the clear quiet of midnight, Diana, who -had found at last and was to save her Endymion: Diana, from that moment -to become the passion of his every instinct, the love of every thought. - -But now, now it was she who was the wounded, the fainted, the dying. -O God! he could not think of this despair, and he cried aloud and -galloped on furiously. The drift of wild black clouds followed him as -he rode and met him more gloomily as he returned. - -He could not rest, and soon resumed his sentinel tramp along the -shore. There for hours he walked, the breakers counting his moments -drearily. The horizon all to seaward was a black line, and over it -the sky was lurid blankness; it did not tempt the voyaging hope to -circle ocean, chasing distant dawn. He could not seek a refuge for -his miserable hopelessness in that reasoning with the infinite called -prayer. Was it to make him happy or content that men, questioning the -infinite and receiving for all answer, “Mystery!” had essayed for -themselves to interpret this dim oracle and had feigned to find that -sorrows and agonies are strengthening blessings? So the happy and the -placid say: so say not the lonely and bereaved. Pain is an accursed -wrong, for all our self-beguiling and self-flattery in its lulls. - -This was a man of thorough, tested manhood. There was no experience -that educates the body and the mind which he had not proved. All this -preparation was done; he was facing the duties of his full manhood. And -now that was to happen, that sorrow he knew must come, which would make -every effort joyless, every achievement a vanity, every belief a doubt, -every day sick for its coming night of darkness, and every morn sad for -its uninvited dawning and eager for speedy night. - -As he moved along the shore, he was aware again, as on the previous -night, of a shadow lurking in the dimness. - -“Possibly a mischief-maker,” he thought, and half-concealing himself, -he waited to watch. The figure approached--a man. He stepped forward to -meet him in the moonlight. - -“Paulding!” - -“Dunstan!” - -The two friends had not met since the picnic. Paulding knew, only as -everyone now knew, that his friend and Diana were engaged. He therefore -could conceive why there was one night wanderer by the shore. In a few -passionate words, he told Dunstan his own secret--the secret of his -sorrowful unrest. He, too, loved Diana. - -“My dear friend,” said Dunstan tenderly, as the other sobbed and was -silent, “I have seemed almost a traitor to you and if I could have -dreamed of this, I would have even violated my pledge to tell you -before what I now can tell permittedly. I was too busy with my own -happiness in recovering Diana to think of any other man or woman.” - -“Recovering her?” repeated Paulding. “Then you had already met----” - -“Yes,” said Dunstan, and recounted the incident of his night ride from -San Antonio and his fall. “Diana went out upon the lawn,” he continued, -“to study the moon, her emblem. She heard my moans. The noble woman -was living there alone with her mother, once ruined and mad, and now -dying. Her whole household consisted of a few negroes and two or three -Mexican servants. When I awoke from my fainting fit and found her -stooping over me, I knew in that moment that she was to be the goddess -of my life. Love came upon me like a revelation. She had me taken to -her house, and herself dressed my wounds and cared for me. You know her -dignity and judgment as a woman of society, but you may hardly imagine -the energy and skill and contrivance and fearless delicacy she showed -in her treatment of me, as I lay there a perfectly helpless invalid. -I convalesced slowly. We found that our worlds of society and thought -and aspiration were the same. The circumstances were what are called -romantic. I need not give you the history of my growing love. You know -the woman. You know the man. It was fate. Anywhere it must have been -the same; there, how doubly certain. I have never known any being like -Diana; fresh and free and fearless as a savage, and yet the heir of the -beautiful refinements of all chivalric ages. Oh, Paulding--when I think -of her, as I knew her then, with a mind and character of an empress, -and her dear tenderness of heart, as I knew her and loved her then, and -shall forever, I cannot let her die!” - -He groaned and was silent for a while. The melancholy crash of breakers -undertoned his story, and now, as he paused, it filled the interval -like the unpeaceful symphony of some great genius, wasting itself in -doleful music. - -“Diana had collected in that distant seclusion,” he went on, “all the -beautiful necessities of elegant life. We had books and music. Our -acquaintance, friendship, love marched strong and fast. It grew with my -convalescence. It was now admitted love. She had told me the whole of -her mother’s sad story. Her mother was dying; in days, weeks, or months -it would be all over. She besought me to remain and not leave her alone -with death. I had never seen her mother, who was confined entirely to -her bed. - -“You remember that beautiful bowie knife you gave me in California. -One day I was sitting on the piazza cleaning that and my six-shooter, -for the first time since my fall. I had given the knife an edge keen -as a gleam and was trying it on a chip. Suddenly Diana ran out to me. -Her mother was wild, she said, almost in convulsions. The old nurse -was terrified to death; would I come quick and aid them? She was still -speaking, when a mad, ghastly figure, in white, sprang forward and -seized her. - -“‘Devil!’ screamed this maniac, ‘you shall not ruin my child, as you -have ruined me,’ and she stabbed Diana furiously in the side with a -knife. Then she leaped upon me. I had the bowie in my hand. There was -an instant’s struggle. I felt her cutting at my neck. I was not aware -of using my weapon, but she stiffened in my arms and sank away, bloody -and wounded. She died there in a moment, horribly--she, Diana’s mother! - -“Diana had fallen fainting, but not unconscious--she had seen the -whole. I sprang to her. She repelled me with a look of horror. I was -covered with blood, my own, her mother’s, hers. I screamed for help. -The old nurse came out, crouching with terror. Diana dragged herself -away, turning back to give me a glance of utter agony. - -“I was left alone with the corpse; I washed my own wounds; they were -but trifling. I longed for death. I seemed to myself an assassin. I set -myself to remove the traces of the struggle. The old nurse came out and -aided me, cowering and shrinking away as I touched her. We carried the -poor, lifeless body in--Diana’s mother, feebly like her daughter. Diana -joined us, pale to death. She gave me her hand solemnly. - -“‘Go,’ she said, ‘this is between us forever--between me and my undying -love. I am better. Do not fear for me. Go. God save and pardon us. Let -this be a secret between us and Him.’ - -“I crept away like a guilty man. My horse had recovered from his -sprain; I rode off and left him with the nearest settler, five miles -from her house. I returned and lurked like a wild beast in the woods. I -saw the funeral. No one was present but her own people. She was pale, -but calm and strong. I must fly despairfully, and on my hands the -stain of her mother’s blood. - -“My friend, the settler, told me as a piece of general indifferent news -that the madwoman up at the big house had killed herself in a fit. That -was the accepted story and went uncontradicted. Soon after, I joined -you in New York. - -“That is my story. You can imagine the gradual calming of our minds, as -we recognised our real guiltlessness. You can understand why, to escape -questions, we seemed not to know each other. We learnt in our daily -meetings here that we need not shrink from a new friendship, and then, -by a chance confidence at the picnic, that our love was unchanged. - -“And now, Paulding, forgive this unwilling reticence of mine. You know -what was this old wound. I fear the worst. But that we will not speak -of.” - -“It is a wide world, Harry,” said Paulding. “There is room in it for -many exiles. I shall find my home for wandering--somewhere--anywhere.” - -The moon sank away drearily, leaving a ghastly paleness in the west. -And the melancholy breakers, in darkness now, went on falling, -hesitating, lifting, falling on the black rocks, counting the measures -of a desolate eternity. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -IN WHICH MR. BELDEN REACHES THE END OF HIS ROPE - - -When Mr. Waddy rang his bell in the morning after the stable scene, no -Chin Chin appeared, and inquiry developed the fact that Chin Chin was -sick. Ira’s toilet may, therefore, not have been quite so accurate as -usual, and the polish on his neat calfskins not so mirrorlike. In fact, -he had too many anxieties crowding around, to concern himself much with -cravat ties and the gleaming boot. He sent his groom, a Bowery boy, -_pur sang_, to care for Chin Chin. - -“He ain’t dangerous, sir,” that worthy returned to report, “but he’s -been a-gulpin’ down suthin’ as has kicked up a bobbery in his innards.” - -“Very well,” said Mr. Waddy; “have Pallid ready for eleven o’clock. How -does he look this morning?” - -“He’s as gay, sir, as a house afire,” Bowery assured him. “Yer kin bet -yer life on it, he’ll rake ’em down!” and Bowery departed, humming -cheerfully to himself, confident of being richer ere the day was over. - -Major Granby dropped in upon his friend a moment later. - -“I’m losing my interest in this race,” said Waddy, “since Dunstan’s -unwillingness to ride has become so evident. Poor fellow! I’m afraid -there’s very little hope for Diana.” - -“Don’t say so,” protested Granby; “the world cannot spare that noble -girl. I was just speaking with Skerrett of her. He says she is the only -woman he ever knew who is afraid of neither fresh air nor sunshine. And -Clara--how can that beautiful friendship be severed? You can hardly -imagine how those sisters have quartered themselves in my rusty old -heart. Did you ever hear them speak of Miss Sullivan, their governess? -She must be a remarkable person.” - -“Sullivan? No,” said Waddy, connecting the name at once with his -preserver at The Island. “A lady of that name did me a service once. I -must ask them about her.” - -“Dunstan will ride without fail, I suppose?” asked Granby. “We must -beat that fellow Belden.” - -“Dunstan will hold to his word; if it were to drive the chariot of -Tullia,” answered Ira, who had read his friend’s character aright. - - * * * * * - -Mrs. Budlong had an interview with Arabella early that morning. -Arabella looked very tearful, but there was also a new expression -in her face, thanks to Peter Skerrett--one might almost call it -determination. - -“Well, my dear,” said the step-mother, “what shall I say to the lover? -He is eager for the kind word of encouragement,” and Mrs. De Flournoy -played affectionately with the young lady’s curls. - -“Tell him I hate him!” cried the poor penitent, bursting into tears -again. “I hope, madam, you will never mention his name to me--no, not -once more! Oh! oh! you hurt me.” - -The affectionate mamma had given the curls a little tug. - -“You silly fool!” said she, “don’t you know he can ruin your prospects? -You’ll offend your father so that he’ll discard you, and then what -will you do? If you are so dishonourable and disobedient, when we are -striving for your good, we shall let you go to the destruction you -choose.” - -“I hope I shall find some friends who will not think me dishonourable,” -sobbed poor Arabella, thinking with rueful gratitude and confidence of -honest Peter and his fraternal feelings. “I’m not dishonourable. I’m -trying to do right. I may have been foolish, but that--man--he can’t be -a gentleman, or he would not persecute me so. I don’t know what reason -you can have for wanting to make me miserable.” - -“My reasons are of course wise and judicious,” retorted Mrs. B. “I will -see you once more, and then, if you do not choose to yield, you will -be the cause of the _éclatant_ scandal of the season. You won’t think -of going to the race with those red eyes. I wouldn’t take you if you -did.” - -Poor Arabella was the only one who did not go; everybody went; all that -we have encountered in this history and platoons of others. - -The first beach at Newport is straightish, and a mile or so in -length,--a very long “or so,” when you are dragged over it in the -unwilling family coach, by stagnant steeds--a very short mile when the -beautiful comrade whose presence is a consecration and a poet’s dream, -says “Shall we gallop?” and cheats with fleeting transport, as she -passes, the winds from summer seas, that sigh to stay and dally with -her curls. - -Between beach number one and beach number two is an interregnum of up -and down, a regency of dust. Then comes the glorious second beach. You -will hardly see anything more beautiful than this long, graceful sweep, -silvery grey in the sunshine, with a keener silver dashed along its -edge by curving wave that follows curving wave. You will hardly see any -place gayer than this same wide path beside the exhilarating dash of -the Atlantic, on a gay afternoon of August--hundreds of carriages, more -or less well-appointed; scores of riders, more or less well-mounted or --seated. - -Thus, then, to the second beach between grey rocks, grey sand slopes, -and grey meadows beyond, and on the other hand the gleaming glory of -the sea, came at eleven that morning, to see the race, all the snobs -and all the nobs. Peter Skerrett and his aides marshalled them. Mrs. -Budlong, alone in her carriage, bowed and smiled very pleasantly to -Peter. However critical that person may have felt her position, and -whatever desperate resolve she might entertain for escape, through -whatever postern, from the infamy of public dismissal, she was quite -as usual. No; she was even handsomer than usual, more quietly splendid -in attire, and reclining with calmer luxuriousness of demeanour on her -cushions of satin. - -Among the many traps, drags, and go-carts, of various degrees of -knowingness, Mr. Waddy’s was conspicuous. Major Granby, old Budlong, -and Paulding accompanied him. Old Bud said it made him quite young -again to see the boys out. - -“But, sir,” he added, “why do they bump on the outside of a horse, when -they might sit and grow fat in a buggy? There’s Tim, sir, my boy Tim, -is growing quite thin and haggard; he says riding don’t agree with him. -I’m afraid he won’t do much with Drummer to-day.” - -A straight race, on a dead level, lacks features of varied brilliancy. -Peter Skerrett had arranged that the field should start alternately -from either end, that all might see alphas and omegas. Thus the proud -and numerous start and the disarrayed and disappointed finishes might -be viewed by all spectators. All might share the breathless sympathies -of doubts and enthusiasms for the winner. - -Peter Skerrett, too busy to think of poor Arabella, who, in her bower, -was thinking much of him and sighing as she thought how unworthy she -had been in her long education of vanities and follies; Peter now -brought forward his rank of equestrians. The sea was still, and hardly -rustled as it crept along the sands, unterrifying to horse or man; yet -the air was cool and the sun not too ardent to be repelled by a parasol. - -As the line formed, the ladies chose their champion men and bet gloves -recklessly on them; the gentlemen chose champion horses, with a view -also to riders, and bet reckfully. - -It appeared that Tim Budlong was--bluntly--drunk, and Drummer lost his -backers. There was a murmur of sympathy as Dunstan rode up on Pallid; -sympathy admiring for this pair, a best of the animal and a best of -the man, and sympathy pitiful for the man of a soul that must bear the -anxiety and perhaps the sorrow that all knew of. A noble fellow and a -generous the common suffrage made him, already distinguished for bold -ability and frank disdain of cowardice and paltering. When experience -had made him a little more indulgent to the limping progress and feeble -vision and awkward drill of mankind, rank and file, he would be a -great popular leader. So thought the Nestors, feeling themselves fired -by the fervours of this young Achilles. - -Belden had overdone his costume, as such men often do. It was urgent -with him to look young; he achieved only a gaudy autumnal bloom. -Knockknees, _malgré_ that ungainly quality of his legs, was an -imposing, masculine style of horse. As he passed, stopping to speak -intimately to Mrs. De Flournoy, several of the intuitionless women -envied that person and several men called him “lucky dog.” - -Blinders was not a lady’s man. His horse was, however, one of the -favourites. Very few men but Blinders would have ventured to mount, -or even approach, such a rascal brute. Nosegay knew that his master -was invincible, but he wished to inform him that they were a pair of -invincibles; accordingly, despising the two snaffles, the one in hand, -the other around the rider’s waist for steady drag, Nosegay would fling -his head about and then move on without reference to requests that he -tarry or stand at ease. - -“That there ’oss’ll overrun ’isself,” said Figgins to Mr. Waddy’s -Bowery Boy, with whom he had bets on Pallid, money up. “’E’ll make a -four-mile ’eat hout of hevery mile ’eat.” - -“Gaaz, Johnny Bull!” returned the Bowery. “Thar ain’t no hoss in a hide -as kin git away from Mr. Blinders. It caan’t be did. He’s one er the -bohoys, he is.” - -Bob O’Link’s horse was a mare. The sentimental fellow had named her -Lalla Rookh. She was a delicate beauty, but it was quite evident that -her master would not give himself the trouble to win. - -Scalper was so busy caricaturing Billy Dulger that he was near -forgetting to present himself with Gossoon. Little Skibbereen recalled -him to his duty. Skibby wanted to see his horse go, and could hardly -forgive his mamma for keeping him at her side. - -“Why shouldn’t I break my neck, ma, if I like?” he protested. “I’ll go -and break it the day I’m twenty-one and leave my property to the Tract -Society.” - -Sir Com Ambient said good-naturedly that he merely started to make one -more in the field. This was clear to the observing eye. - -Billy Dulger, having achieved his heart’s desire, rode up very -unwillingly. The bookkeeper had sent him on garments much too refulgent -for this, or any occasion. He was rather conspicuous _per se_ as the -Great Accepted of Miss Center. The Billy-dulgerid epic, having already -been brought to its finale, nothing more need be said of its hero’s -performances in the race, except that his horse did not disappoint the -stableman, his owner; did not win a heat; did not start a second time; -and that Billy’s hair was full of sand for several days after this -eventful one. - -Preparations are of years, acts of moments. To run a mile takes a -minute and so many seconds, disappointingly brief. Poor, dissolute Tim -Budlong, over-fortified by drink, struck Drummer viciously at starting. -Drummer shied toward the water and Tim went over his head. Sobered -by the plunge, Timothy mounted the horse, which someone caught, and -disappeared homeward, fully ashamed of himself. - -In a minute and so many seconds, a hurrah came down the wind. Blinders -had won; Pallid second; Knockknees third. - -“All right next time,” telegraphed Figgins to his master. - -Sir Comeguys had saved his distance handsomely and now withdrew. - -Time was about to be called again. Where was Blinders? At last he -reappeared. Nosegay had gone on indefinitely and was at last, with -difficulty, persuaded to return. - -Off they all go once more. The ladies at the upper end are almost -terrified at this assault of cavalry. So even seems the front of charge -that all are deemed winners; but the judges announce Pallid first; -Knockknees second; Nosegay third--all very close running. - -Belden began to be anxious. Instead of drooping, Pallid was improving. -Had the poison failed? He superintended the care of his horse most -sedulously. Each of the gentlemen had a groom at either end of the -course. Dunstan grew excited with success. The match was a very even -one. Good riding would determine it. Bob O’Link strolled up to Miss -Anthrope’s carriage. - -“I think I’ll win the next heat, if you wish it,” said he languidly. - -Everyone was astonished at the next announcement of victory. Lalla -Rookh first; Knockknees second; Pallid and Nosegay third. Blinders kept -Nosegay up, but he was showing the effects of his stubborn struggles. -Belden called Figgins. - -“By God!” said he, “you’ve cheated me; the horse goes better every -time. I only got ahead this time by Link’s riding in.” - -“Hi dunno what hit means,” protested his accomplice. “Hif I’ve cheated -you, Hi’ve cheated myself. Hevery penny of mine’s hon it. I ’ope ’e’ll -drop next time.” - -But he did not drop. There was only half a head between him and -Nosegay, but Pallid won the race and immense applause. He was victor in -the first regular race ever run on the beach of Newport. Everyone felt -that the occasion was important. - -For a moment Belden sat his horse like a man dazed. He had been -falling a long time--at last he had come to the ground. He had backed -Knockknees heavily, besides his bet with Granby. He could not pay. He -knew that his Boston creditors would be down to attach his horses for -Boston debts; Millard’s bill of three figures was lying on his table -unpaid. - -“That damned Figgins will blow me,” he thought. He cursed Dunstan, -winner of the race, winner of Diana. “She would have made me a better -man,” thought he, with a groan of despair. “I shall have to retire for -a while. Luckily, I’ve got hold of someone that I can invite, rather -positively, to go along and pay expenses.” - -The thought nerved him, and he pulled himself together. He dismounted, -gave his horse to his supplemental groom, and looking with a pleasant -scowl around, walked up to Mrs. Budlong’s carriage. - -“I find it rather warm, now that the race is over,” said that person. -“Will you get in and drive home with me?” - -So they drove off in very handsome style, admired by the admiring, -envied by the envious. Mrs. Budlong complained of a headache, and kept -her room the rest of the day. - -Wellabout drove Dunstan away. They stopped at Mr. Waddie’s. Diana would -see her betrothed to-day. His heart sank at the announcement. There -was, indeed, no hope; she must die; slowly, sadly, after many days of -lingering adieux, and all that divine beauty be no more seen and felt -to inspire and to consecrate her neighbour world. - -Mr. Waddy, Major Granby, and Peter Skerrett returned at ten that -evening from dining at the Skibbereens’. Old Budlong met them in the -hall, and they all went up to Mr. Waddy’s parlour for a cigar. - -Chin Chin had reappeared, looking as unwholesome as a cold buckwheat -cake. Retribution for his reticence had overtaken him. He began to tell -Ira his story of the stable scene in his odd, broken English. While he -was so doing, there was a knock at the door. A woman, Miss Arabella’s -maid, to see Mr. Skerrett, and the Bowery Boy for Mr. Waddy. - -Ira interpreted Chin Chin’s tale to the other gentlemen. - -“Well,” said the Bowery Boy, who had waited with the imperturbableness -of his class, “if somebody tried t’ pizen the hoss afore, it must be -the same chap as has did it now. I found this piece of a ball in the -manger, and Pallid’s down on his side as dead as Billy Kirby.” - -At this moment Peter Skerrett returned. - -“Send your people away, Waddy,” said he. “Mr. Budlong, these gentlemen -are friends. We shall need their advice. Your wife and Mr. Belden are -missing. They probably went in the Providence boat two hours ago.” - -For a moment no one spoke. Poor Bud sat staring, his face purple, -unable for a breath to comprehend. Then his colour faded, his face fell -suddenly into folds and wrinkles. He put down his head and groaned. - -Before anyone could find words of consolation, or realise how powerless -to console any words must be, there came another knock at the door. It -was Figgins, looking more like a ticket-of-leave man than ever. The bow -in his legs seemed to have increased. - -“My master ’as ran hoff without payin’ me hanythink,” said he, cringing -to Mr. Waddy. “Hi found them papers hamong ’is traps,” he continued, -laying a packet on the table, “hand seein’ as they was marked with yer -honour’s name, Hi thought yer honour mout give me five dollars fer a -savink of ’em.” - -“So you’ve been thieving as well as trying to poison,” said Ira, as he -opened the door. “Here, boys,” he called to Chin Chin and Bowery, in -the adjoining room. “Lug this beggar off. We’ll have him attended to -to-morrow.” - -“Hi yi! All same!” shouted Chin Chin, pouncing upon Figgins, and that -worthy was dragged off with a Chinaman at his hair and the Bowery Boy -playfully tapping him on the nob. - -Mr. Waddy picked up the packet of papers, to toss it after Figgins, -but held his hand, with a sudden start of astonishment as his eye -caught the indorsement. He stared at it a moment, scarce believing that -he saw aright; a swift presentiment shook him, turned him hot, cold---- - -“Gentlemen,” said he, a little hoarsely, “I do not desire to pry into -Mr. Belden’s private papers, but this parcel is indorsed in my own -hand, or a hand that seems my own, as relating to me. I shall take the -liberty, in your presence, of ascertaining the contents.” - -He opened them with trembling fingers: the whole plot burst upon him, -foul, damnable, unspeakably vile. - -“My God!” thought he. “They showed her these--she could not doubt my -own hand. And I have wronged her all these fifteen years! Oh, how I -pardon her!” - -His hands were trembling still; his eyes were hot with tears--tears of -joy, tears of thankfulness---- - -Old Budlong looked up, with a sudden jerk of the head. His eyes, too, -were wet and his hands tremulous. - -“Gentlemen,” said he, steadying his voice, which would have broken, -“I’m an old man, but I’ve been a kind husband, and as devoted to my -wife as I knew how. I sometimes thought she was a little gay and it -made me unhappy--but I was old and she was young, and I never thwarted -her. She has had everything she wished, and, gentlemen, I loved her -like a wife and a daughter. She was a beautiful woman, you know, and -I found her very poor, the daughter of one of my old cronies, and I -put her where she belonged, among splendid things. I have never seen -anything handsomer than she was, gentlemen, and I was proud of her.” - -He spoke of her as if she were dead, and other lips were quivering, in -sympathy with his. - -“Perhaps you have thought,” he went on, after a moment, with a quiet -dignity that was new to him and very touching, “that I was too much -away this summer; but when we came back from Europe, she asked me to -take a few thousands she had inherited from her uncle and operate with -them. So I’ve been at work for her all summer in that hot town. I paid -her over the profits last time I was down, in shares of the Manhattan -Bank, a good old stock, twenty-three thousand dollars. I thought -perhaps she’d like to feel more independent of the old man. I felt a -little vain of the operation, gentlemen, and I said to her, ‘You see, -Betty dear, your old boy does understand one thing, and that is how to -make money for you.’ She actually cried at that, she did, gentlemen, -and said she was very sorry I’d been away so much, working so hard, -and she wished she was good enough for me. That doesn’t look like a -bad woman,” he continued, wiping his eyes. “I can’t believe she’s -bad,--not at heart, my friends,--but you know I’m an old man and a -little rough, perhaps, and she didn’t like my being proud that I’d come -up from a deck-hand on a North River barge. It was to please her that -I stopped writing my name Flirney and bought my new house and tried to -study French and went to Europe. But it was too late--I was too old--I -couldn’t change--though God knows I tried! - -“I’m sorry on Arabella’s account,” he added, more calmly. “She’s an -honest girl, and a pretty girl, and a good girl, too, though I say -it, and like her own mother, when we lived down in Pearl Street long -ago. Now, nobody will speak to the daughter of an old man whose wife -has----” And the broken-hearted old gentleman stopped and wiped his -eyes again. - -“No! no! Peter Skerrett, lad,” he continued, “I know what you mean to -say. I love you like a son; but it’s no use. My name shall never bring -its disgrace upon anyone else. - -“And now,” he added, rising, “I thank you, gentlemen, for your kind -feeling and listening to my childish talk. I’m an old man, you see; -but there’s some of the old stuff left in me still. I start to-morrow -morning and I’ll trail him--I’ll trail him like an Injun. I’ve lived -mostly in the city since I was a boy, but I used to be pretty good with -the old King’s arm and I guess he’ll find I can hit the size of a man -yet. Good-night, gentlemen. Good-night, Peter, my boy.” - -“Mr. Budlong,” said Ira, seizing the old man’s hand, “I will go with -you. My revenge is older than yours.” - -Well out of Vanity Fair, Mr. Ira Waddy! - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -A VOYAGE OF UNKNOWN LENGTH - - -There will always be a certain number of respectable, but inexperienced -and unattractive men whose wives will prefer others more attractive -than their husbands, even to the point of infidelity. The wronged -husband, who is often not destitute of embryonic manliness, inquires -what he is to do, when he is true and his wife is false? - -“Look you, stranger! There is only one thing to do. You must shoot!” - -Mr. Budlong did not seem any more like a withered De Flournoy in the -pursuit of the fugitives. He was strangely alert, keen, skilful in -seizing every clew, but totally indifferent to all other interests. In -their long and dismal journeys by day and night, he and Ira Waddy sat -side by side; stern, self-possessed, silent save on one single topic, -and on that speaking only rarely and of necessity. Travellers for -autumn pleasure, travellers returning gaily from gay summerings, saw -these two grave, iron men, and were awed by their look of inflexible, -deadly purpose. There was a watchful meaning in all their actions. -Their monosyllables with each other struck like thrusts of a dagger. - -At Providence, the fugitives had disappeared. There are many honest -couples journeying at that season, and it was impossible to distinguish -the dishonest one. Then, too, Belden’s dangerous facility of -handwriting made the various names they assumed unrecognisable. He took -this precaution before he was aware of pursuit. He became aware of it -only by a chance. It was at one of the great railroad centres, where -lines of rail interlace each other like a network of nerves. The train -with Belden and his companion was just quickening on to speed when a -coming train rumbled slowly into the station. Belden was looking from -a window and divined why these stern men were leashed together. He saw -them and they him: it was a view of a moment and roused them afresh to -retrace their steps in unflagging pursuit. - -Belden grew very shaky after this. Fear is a terribly wearing thing. -With prostration of his morale, physical feebleness began also to come. -He felt the consequences of his exhausting life. His hand trembled. -You would not have bet upon his snuffing a candle with the pistol -he carried. In fact, you would have thought it quite unsafe that he -should have a pistol. He might shoot a bystander or himself, as well -as an assailant. He played too much with that weapon with his nervous, -trembling fingers. - -It was very soon discovered between him and his partner that their -flight was not a necessity of passion. Each had made a convenience of -the other, and it was not long before they knew it with mutual disgust. -The _intriguante_, to give her the benefit of all euphemism, found -out what a ruined villain she had hired for an escort: and she, in -revenge, made him understand her own good reasons for absence before -exposure. No very pleasant feeling, then, between this pair--certainly -not love--passion exhausted--contempt, disgust, hatred growing--only -between them the cohesion of guilt, and now of common terror. Chasing -him was the punishment of his last and of his first villainy and most -he dreaded the older vengeance of the younger man--that had a black, -looming weight of long accumulation, and if it fell upon him, would -fall with the vigorous force of youth. Chasing her was love changed, -as she thought, to hate; trust to contempt; faith outraged; pride -shattered; a man bitterly pursuing a woman who had been false to him; -a worthy husband, an unworthy wife: and besides this, the companion of -this pursuit was the person whom she would least wish to encounter as -the representative of that public scorn she had desperately fled to -escape. All this stole the bloom and freshness from the cheeks of the -late wife of Mr. Budlong; her flourishing days were past; her withering -days had come; and, alas! for her there would be no second spring to -follow winter. - -Flight is fleet by night and day. Ways of dashing speed traverse half -the continent. Flight is independent and baffling with labyrinthine -choices. Pursuit must slowly seize its clew and follow cautiously. - -In the early confidences of their departure, Belden had learnt the -extent of his partner’s resources--the twenty-three thousand dollars, -profits of Mr. Budlong’s summer toils. - -“A neat capital,” thought Belden, “for a new country. When I get hold -of it, I’ll let her slide, and after this blows over, I can buy back -into society.” - -So he made for the West, hiding his trail and covering his campfires. -But a coward dread permanently overcame him, and he often felt with -trembling fingers for his pistol and started when coachmen pointed at -him with threatening whips of would-be invitation, or hotel clerks -asked his name. - -All penal laws are founded upon vengeance. The passion of revenge is -necessary for protection. But it is ugly, like the crimes and wrongs -that awake it. Mr. Waddy, sternly intent upon the punishment of a -scoundrel, whom society could not fully punish, repelled all softer -thoughts. He concentrated the whole ire of his nature on this one -object. He would not think tenderly of his old love, perhaps still -his faithful love. He forgave her for the wrong of his exile, for -her imagined falseness: it was inevitable. But what she had become; -whether she still remembered him with loving bitterness, with sorrowful -despair of disappointed love like his own--this he knew not, would not -think of. He would not perplex himself with tender uncertainties. - -“Vengeance, vengeance,” said his fifteen dreary years. But would she, -if she still remembered him kindly, receive him to the old friendship -if he came with blood on his hands? He swept away the thought; he saw -before him a duty to society. - -On, on, silent pair! wronged husband, wronged lover. On, deadly -thoughts! voiceless purposes! Fate goes with you and Vengeance and -Death! - - * * * * * - -An ugly muddy ditch, the Mississippi, divides our continent with its -perpendicular line of utility. It is not a stream that one used to -vivifying seaside waters, or the clear sparkle of New England brooks, -would wish to drown in, if drowning was his choice. - -The vehicles that run upon this muddy pathway are worthy of its -ugliness. At night, majestical moving illuminations, by day they -are structures of many-tiered deformity. One of these monsters, a -favourite, _Spitfire No. 5_, was to start one sultry afternoon of -this same September for up the river. _Spitfire No. 5_ wore over her -pilot-house the gilded elk-horns of victory; all the passengers were -sure of being speedily borne to their destination. - -As the boat backed out into the stream and hung there a moment -motionless, two men, who had been a little belated in searching for -someone they wished to find at the different hotels, pushed off in a -row-boat and overtook the steamer. The strong current drifted them out -of their course and they boarded the boat unobserved, on her starboard -side, away from the town. - -Mr. Saunders and his lady, a handsome but rather faded person, had -remained in their stateroom until the _Spitfire_ was fairly out in the -stream. The rail was not yet put up at the forward gangway, and Mr. -Saunders stood there, looking at the crowded levee and its hundred -monster steamboats, including _Spitfires_ from 1 to 10. He was in a -moment’s pause between two journeys. One long journey was over; another -was about to begin. How long he could not say; voyages on Mississippi -steamboats may be short, may be lingering. All voyages are uncertain. -Fatal accidents often happen. Mr. Saunders, so he entered his name on -the books, was just beginning a journey of unknown length. - -A greenish gardener from near Boston, emigrating to Iowa, who thought -he had seen Mr. Saunders somewhere before, was a little frightened at -that gentleman’s brutal reply to an innocent question, and observing -him nervously fingering at something like a cocked pistol in his breast -pocket, shrank back. - -“A border ruffian,--perhaps Atchison or Titus,” he said to himself, and -thanked his stars for his fortunate escape. - -The two belated passengers had tumbled in astern and now came forward, -with carpet-bag in hand, to ascend the staircase to the saloon. As they -passed the gangway, still open, the man with the cocked pistol turned, -and they met face to face. - -They dropped their luggage and stepped toward him. But he was too quick -for them. The nervous, trembling fingers clutched at the cocked pistol; -there was a report; he staggered back with his hand at his breast and -fell through the open gangway. The great wheel smote upon the muddy -current and tossed up carelessly in the turbid foam behind a dead man, -with forehead mangled by a paddle-stroke--a dead man, going on a voyage -of unknown length along the busy river. - -Among the people who rushed aft at the cry of horror that arose was the -woman registered as the lady of Mr. Saunders. She saw the body come -whirling slowly by and lazily drown away. She sank upon a seat, and was -there still in stony, speechless dread, when she felt a hand laid not -unkindly on her shoulder. - -“Betty, we meant to kill him,” said Mr. Budlong; “perhaps it would have -been murder. We were spared the final crime. I’m sorry for you, Betty, -and forgive you from my heart,” and the poor old gentleman, worn out, -heartbroken, his life no longer sustained by the tense vigour of a -single purpose--poor old Bud drooped and fell blasted, a paralytic, at -the feet of his unfaithful wife. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -MR. WADDY ACCOMPLISHES HIS RETURN - - -Opposite Mr. Belden’s house, which, about the time of his departure -from Newport, passed into the hands of his creditors, was the old -country place of the Janeway family. It was still in the possession of -the representative of that family, under a different name. - -The late Mr. Janeway, though a proud and, as it finally appeared, a -bad man, remembered the inherited debt of his family to the Waddys, -and felt some aristocratic vanity in his tutelage of the young Ira, -our hero. A close intimacy of childish friendship grew up between Mr. -Janeway’s only child and daughter, Mary, and his young protégé. Young -Horace Belden, the handsome son of the next neighbour, Mr. Belden, the -great merchant, was also a companion of Miss Janeway; in fact, the -parents of these two destined them for each other. Adjoining estates, -large fortunes, good blood, beauty on both sides--the two fathers -thought the match a perfect one and the young people were taught to -consider it settled. Something unsettled it. Horace Belden unsettled it -by being himself and that self was, from early years, not a noble one. -He unsettled it in the mind of Mrs. Janeway, as he grew older, by what -he called his flirtation with Sally Bishop, a flaunting girl, daughter -of Mr. Janeway’s ex-coachman. - -Belden, however, remained very devoted to Miss Janeway. He loved her as -much as was in his nature, and his pride was fully engaged in winning -her, the great match of the day and his by long convention. As he grew -older and no better, he began to consider this pure young lady as his -bond to purer life and mentally to throw on her the responsibility -of his future intended reformation. She must become his, or he would -revenge his disappointment, his wounded pride, and his failure of her -help and control in his proposed change of character, upon her, upon -society, and upon himself. - -It was about this time that Mr. Janeway began to discover that too -great an intimacy was growing up between his protégé, Ira Waddy, and -his daughter. It was well enough while they were children, but the son -of a shopkeeper of Dullish Court, and clerk in the counting-house of -Belden & Co., was not for Miss Janeway, beauty, aristocrat, heiress, -belle. So Mr. Janeway was very distant to Ira Waddy, now a handsome, -high-spirited, quick-tempered, energetic young man, full of generous -candour and kindliness and gratitude to all the Janeways for the happy -and refining influences of their society and their world. The ladies -always took Ira’s part, but this only confirmed Mr. Janeway in his -purpose of making him uncomfortable. At last, this gentleman, finding -one day Ira tête-à-tête with Mary, quarrelled with him openly, and -finally forbade him the house, speaking very ill of his character. -It may have been too late. Whatever had passed between Ira and Miss -Janeway that might fitly be known, Belden knew. Ira Waddy, trustful as -he was true, had given his unreserved confidence to Belden, friend of -the lady and of him. - -Miss Janeway was twenty, two years younger than Ira Waddy, when he, -suddenly, one July, fifteen years before this Return of his, went off -to those regions where his namesake river rolls. Five years after, the -crash in her father’s fortunes came. He became an utterly dishonoured -man, financially, morally. He could bear his guilt; not its discovery. -He died, as it was best he should. His daughter, belle and reputed -heiress, did as scores of young ladies of New England have done: she -became a teacher in a school and at last a governess. By-and-by, an -old lover of Mrs. Janeway arrived. His constancy and devotion through -ill-report touched the lady, and she consented to share her distress -and her poverty with his humble fortunes at the West. They did not long -remain humble. Where he owned a farm, there a town sprouted; where a -lot, thither came a railroad demanding a station. His hillsides became -stone quarries; his fields, coal mines. His wealth swelled like a -fungus of the forest. His wife died and he soon followed her, fairly -bullied out of existence by his own stupendous success. His whole -property he bequeathed to his step-daughter on the one condition of a -change of name. He thus, as it were, ceased to be childless and avoided -contributing to the prosperity of his former rival’s family. - -Miss Mary Janeway, the governess of Clara and Diana and Julia Wilkes, -became Miss Mary Sullivan, the woman of fortune. She repurchased the -Janeway estate, the house where her happy youth had passed, and it was -there she had received Diana. - -Mrs. Cecilia Tootler, in combination with Miss Sullivan, managed the -charities of their neighbourhood. Miss Sullivan, having no incumbrance -of a Thomas Tootler and Cecilia, junior, could superintend also those -preventive charities, the schools, utilising here her own experience. -In the sick-room or the home of the poor, the sorrowful, or the guilty, -these two ladies made themselves welcome. The elder with her deep -experience had learnt what others need of wisest sympathy, and the -younger came like a gleam of cheerful, untarnished hope. - -Cecilia in vain endeavoured to persuade her friend to see Sally Bishop. - -“She is dying,” said Cecilia. “She is punished for whatever wrong she -may have done. But peace of mind is totally denied her. Remorse is -killing her faster than her disease. All my consolations are vain. She -needs someone better and wiser than I. She needs you.” - -“Has she asked for me?” said Miss Sullivan. - -“No, not to see you,” replied Cecilia, “but she speaks of you often -with great distress. Do come and see her--perhaps she may have some -explanation to give. Mary, Mary, what is this mystery?” - -“Dear Cecilia,” answered Mary, “it is not because Sally Bishop has been -a very bad woman that I avoid her. But she was long ago the willing -and exulting means of proving to me not only her own viciousness, but -the foul treachery and utterly coarse, detestable baseness of heart -and mind of one I trusted as I now trust only God. It was right that -I should know the truth, but I must feel a personal horror of a woman -whose ill-omened duty it was to tell me to despair and lose my faith -and my happiness together. And Sally Bishop did her duty as if it were -a privilege and beheld my misery with vile, vulgar, shameless triumph. -I abhor the thought of her.” - -Cecilia said nothing more at the time--indeed, there was nothing -she could say. But as the days passed, Sally Bishop grew hopelessly -worse, and her father kept himself boozy all the while. Horse-jockeys, -pro-slavery judges, gamblers, and collectors of democratic customs -sometimes love their families. - -Miss Sullivan had just received Clara’s summons to Diana’s bed of -death; she was preparing to go that evening, when Mrs. Tootler drove up -in haste. - -“Sally Bishop cannot live through the day,” said the lady. “She demands -to see you. She has a confession to make. Coming death has absolved her -from a pledge of wicked secrecy.” - -And so, by the deathbed, Miss Sullivan, whose best and brightest hopes -had been destroyed by the infamy of this poor, dying wretch, listened -to her confession and pitied and pardoned her. Sally Bishop, vain -and immodest, had nursed in her heart against young Ira Waddy the -bitter spite of a shameless woman scorned. Belden, who was her first -instructor in shamelessness, discovered this, and used his power to -delude her into the joint revenge of the letters. Oh, what carefully -villainous letters Belden made of them! how brutally treacherous! how -vile! Sally Bishop took the correspondence in Ira Waddy’s writing to -Miss Janeway. - -“There,” said she, “you heiress, you great lady, that have stolen away -my lover, because you are rich, and are engaged to him without your -father’s knowledge, see what letters he used to write to me and how he -spoke of you and his interviews with you. He ruined me because I loved -him, and made of me what you see in my own letters, and I was willing -that he should marry you because he always promised that I should be -first. But now he is trying to get rid of me. He finds me in the way.” - -Miss Janeway read the letters as one reads a fascinating tale of -horror. There could be no doubt of them; hand, style, circumstances--it -was inevitable they were his. Poor, innocent girl--she would afterward -see the world and its treacheries, but never any so base as this. Her -lover, with her maiden kiss upon his lips--agony! to leave her and -write this. - -What could she do? Die--and all the lovely sounds of nature that -she had learned to love with him from childhood said to her, “die -drearily.” But it was dreary life that was to be hers and slow-coming -patience in her desolate retirement from the world, and experience of -domestic shame and shame-crushed life and disgraced death in a darkened -household and strict poverty and unaccustomed labour, and by all this -a character forming--another woman than the gay, impetuous, proud, -loving girl of days flattered by fulness of prosperity. Another in all -but loving, and now she must love no more one she could not forget, -who had fled when he learnt from her cold letter that his falseness to -her was known, she could not sully her pen to tell him how, nor she, a -pure woman, hear or speak or think of him more. Love!--what could she -ever love again with anything more than quiet interest--she the pale -schoolmistress, lonely as that betrothed Mary of the first Ira Waddy, -preserver of her grandfather at Bunker Hill? - -So this pale schoolmistress was calm and patient and learnt by her own -wrong (the only teaching) to hate all wrong and to know it under any -specious guise of quietism; and having something much to pardon in her -own life, she grew to pardon other ruined lives. She saw how easily -sorrow may become despair. A nobler woman she was becoming all these -years, but still solitary; loving the many, but lonely of the few to -love, until she found in Clara and Diana worthy objects of the closest -and tenderest affection. - -And now, almost forgetting the wrong this poor dying victim of Belden’s -villainy had done her, in the sweet pleasure of forgiveness and the -dear passion of reviving love, Miss Sullivan must go to the deathbed of -her she called daughter, whose sad story she knew. She called Cecilia -and resigned to her the dying woman, now at peace. - -“I cannot tell you now, dear Cecilia,” she said. “I must go. I must -think of what I have heard. Only, believe me, she has made me happy, -happy again as a child. God forgive her, as I do.” - -She went to her house by the same paths where her brilliant youth had -walked; through the gate where she had so often stood for moments of -the shy and lingering tenderness of parting; under the ancient elms -whose gracefulness had drooped over her and her exiled lover in many -a moonlight of pensive hopefulness. The glory had come back again. -The freshness of youth and everlasting springtime was over all the -world. She need never again force herself to say that it was good and -beautiful; a brightness of transfiguring hope went before her and -revealed beneath the drifting away of grey dimness and tearful mists -the light of beauty unchangeable and goodness infinite. - -Miss Sullivan was to depart on the same journey that Diana had made -with such hopeful joy of heart. She had one little act of preparation -to do. She took the Testament, her own childish gift, which she had -found still the talisman of life to a drowning man, and pressing it -very tenderly to her lips, she hung it about her neck. Its touch sent a -warm thrill of longing to her fondly waking heart and, with the thrill, -a blush shot youth again through her cheeks. - -“God willed,” she said, “that I who had driven him into exile should be -there at his return. How could I not know and feel that one who still -in drowning and in death clung to this precious talisman of purest -Life, could never be what lies had made me deem him?” - -And she went on her journey to be with sorrow and death; but with a joy -that no chance of any dying, to-day or to-morrow, could take away. Her -joy was of eternity, for she had learnt that love such as hers can -never be born and grow and be, unless it is founded upon fullest truth -and worthiest worth and most honourable honour in the heart of him she -loved--and truth and worth and honour are imperishable and eternal. - -In those weeks, while Mr. Waddy was chasing sullenly to overtake -revenge, Diana was dying among her tender friends--Clara, forlorn -of her noble sister, for whom earth was not found worthy; Dunstan, -Endymion, watching, while night after night, the deity of his life and -of his heaven fading, perished slowly away until, one violet dawn, she -was not. But the sun came up and shone upon his path of manly duty, and -he will bravely walk therein, conscious that a beautiful spirit is near -him and will never vanish from the sky of his visions. - - * * * * * - -Ira Waddy was on his return from the West. Revenge had passed away from -his heart. He had seen his enemy die horribly, but not by his hand. -Death had risen up terribly between him and murder. Merited revenge -had overtaken the guilty, but had not chosen him for executioner. -And as he turned his face again eastward, he was glad for this--glad -that the weight of blood, which he would have assumed unshrinkingly, -was spared him. With this storm of deadly-meaning pursuit, with its -dark sullenness, unillumined until the final thunder-bolt fell--with -this closing crash, all the long accumulating bitterness passed away -from Ira Waddy’s nature. Heaven was clear and cloudless over him. All -mysteries were swept away. It was a new dawn, and a glorious. And -he hastened eastward, every moment, long as it seemed, bringing him -nearer, nearer---- - -He had left poor Budlong under the wise and kind protection of Peter -Skerrett. And there was another, a woman, who would not leave the old -man’s bedside, but was there a silent, humble nurse, often bursting -into bitter tears, when he inarticulately murmured to her feeble -words, which only her quickened ears could construe into intentions of -forgiveness. - -To arrange Mr. Budlong’s affairs at Newport, and his own, Mr. Waddy -passed that way on his eastward journey. He arrived, as is usual, in -the fresh morning. It was still early autumn, but Vanity Fair had -struck its booths, taken down its _étalage_, and gone into winter -quarters. The season had ended sadly; everyone was saddened for Diana. -Her inspiring beauty had been the brilliant presence that made this -summer brighter than any remembered summer. There was many a dry old -beau who, stimulated by the thought of her into a brief belief that he -could be young, ardent, frank, and brave again, found himself looking -with moistened eyes at the places she would illumine no more and -feeling that a glory and a hope had passed away. - -It would have all seemed rather dreary to Mr. Waddy, walking there -alone, but no desolate spot of desert earth is dreary to a man who -feels the warmth of his own happiness making gardens sun-shiny, -roseate, wherever he treads. Not drearily, then, but full of sad -sympathy, Mr. Waddy went toward the house of his gentle kinsman and -friend; thinking most of Clara, now so widowed by the death of one -dearer than a sister. - -“I will ask her who is this Miss Sullivan, whom Granby spoke of as -their governess,” he said, because his heart was full of gratitude. -“Perhaps it may prove that she and my kind friend are one, and I can -discover her residence and thank her suitably.” - -He avoided the main entrance to his kinsman’s grounds, and took a -narrow, winding path, hedged with rich, close growth of arbor vitæ. At -last he reached the house, and passed into the library to wait. As he -entered, a graceful figure in black disappeared through another door. -She had evidently been sitting solitary reading, for the leaves of a -little book on the table were still fluttering. It had a look somehow -familiar. Mr. Waddy stepped toward the table and picked it up. - -It was his own Testament, gift of childish friendship confirmed by -after love, companion of all his better moments, and talisman of safety -to his wide-wandering, bewildered life. - -He raised the time-worn, tear-worn, wave-worn volume to his lips and, -sitting down, covered his face with his hands, and yielded for a moment -to the need of happy tears. - -He was aroused by a gentle touch upon his shoulder. He turned. It was -his old love; his love unforgotten, through all those years of desolate -exile, and now--now, his own love forever. - -And this was the full Return of Mr. Ira Waddy. - - -THE END - - - - - * * * * * - - - - - =“The impression on the reader is so strong that he finds his grip on - the book grow strained in spite of himself.”=--_Boston Transcript._ - - -[Illustration] - -In the Dwellings of the Wilderness - -By C. BRYSON TAYLOR - -With two decorations in color. 12mo, $1.25 - - -Most readers will class this as a ghost story, but it is so plausibly -told that many may, like one of the chief characters, think it might -all be explained by the natural causes after all. It tells the -astonishing adventures of three American engineers, excavating in the -heart of an Egyptian desert. The book is decorated with pictures of the -desert at sunset and in the starlight, and there are initials and a -cover in the Egyptian style. - -_N. Y. Times Review_:--“Remarkably well written, with style and -discretion and feeling for effect. You must read the tale to know about -it.” - -_N. Y. Globe_:--“To strike a note of weird horror, and to sustain that -note page after page, without once falling away from the original key, -is a talent not given to a great number of authors.... A vividness that -makes it difficult to banish the picture from your memory for many a -day after reading it.” - -_N. Y. Sun_:--“An uncanny story of the victory of the inscrutable East -over three American engineers ... a well-written and readable story.” - -_Public Opinion_:--“A weird tale unusually well told.” - -_Independent_:--“A new kind of thrill.... We warn all who have nerves -and nightmares against reading this book.” - -_Chicago Record-Herald_:--“Fascinating ... the author’s art is such -that one is carried away by the romance.... Told with consummate skill.” - -_Boston Beacon_:--“A tale of mystery and cumulative interest -continuously absorbing ... two decorations in color, highly suggestive -of the desert region where the occult action of the tale takes place.” - - - Henry Holt and Company - Publishers (VIII ’04) New York - - - - -=2d printing of “a book of extraordinary interest as a study from the -inside of the ‘inwardness’ of a genius.=”--_Times Saturday Review._ - - -The Diary of a Musician - -Edited by DOLORES M. BACON - -With decorations and illustrations by CHARLES EDWARD HOOPER and H. -LATIMER BROWN. - - 12mo. $1.50 net. (By mail $1.62.) - - -A picture of the soul of a genius, naïvely unconscious of the -limitations imposed upon life by some of us who are not geniuses--and -probably by some who are. A vivid picture is given of the grinding -poverty of his youth on the Hungarian farm, his struggle for education, -and his strange success. His last entries are touching, and somewhat in -the nature of a surprise. The book runs over with marked humor. - -“Much of that exquisite egotism, the huge, artistic Me and the tiny -universe, the gluttony of the emotions, of the whole peculiar compound -of hysteria, inspiration, vanity, insight and fidgets which goes to -make up that delightful but somewhat rickety thing which we call the -artistic temperament is reproduced.... ‘The Diary of a Musician’ -does what most actual diaries fail to do--writes down a man in full. -It is an entertaining study in naïveté and nerves, art-pains and -genius-consciousness.”--_Bookman._ - -“Especially interesting; ... many amusing situations.”--_Public -Opinion._ - -“The naïveté of the book is inimitable.... That marvelous, appalling, -mad thing named genius, at once the despair of those who do and those -who do not possess it, is here pictured with extraordinary fascination -and power.”--_Chicago Tribune._ - -“Uncommon power distinguishes it; ... a curiously interesting -book.”--_Chicago Record-Herald._ - -“A work of unusual character; ... entirely original in its -scope.”--_San Francisco Chronicle._ - -“Take it how you will, ‘The Diary of a Musician’ is -wonderful.”--_Lucille Wetherell in Powers’ Reviews of the New Books, -Minneapolis._ - - - Henry Holt and Company - _29 W. 23d St._ (VIII ’04) _NEW YORK_ - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Emboldened text is surrounded by equals signs: =bold=. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - - - - -End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Mr. Waddy's Return, by Theodore Winthrop - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MR. 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