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diff --git a/old/65018-0.txt b/old/65018-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3308bad..0000000 --- a/old/65018-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6396 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook, A Fool in Spots, by Hallie Erminie Rives - - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - - -Title: A Fool in Spots - - -Author: Hallie Erminie Rives - - - -Release Date: April 7, 2021 [eBook #65018] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - - -***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FOOL IN SPOTS*** - - -E-text prepared by D A Alexander, Martin Pettit, and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images -generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) - - - -Note: Project Gutenberg also has an HTML version of this - file which includes the original illustrations. - See 65018-h.htm or 65018-h.zip: - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65018/65018-h/65018-h.htm) - or - (http://www.gutenberg.org/files/65018/65018-h.zip) - - - Images of the original pages are available through - Internet Archive. See - https://archive.org/details/foolinspots00riveiala - - - - - -[Illustration: “‘She is beautiful!’ he exclaimed.” Page 77.] - - -A FOOL IN SPOTS - -by - -HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES. - -Illustrated. - - - - - - -Published by -Woodward & Tiernan Printing Co. -St. Louis. - -Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1894, by -Woodward & Tiernan Printing Co. -St. Louis. Mo., -In the Office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. -All Rights Reserved. - - - - -To my dear Mother and Father. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - Page -CHAPTER I. - -TWO ARTISTS 7 - -CHAPTER II. - -DREAMS AND SCHEMES 20 - -CHAPTER III. - -AN HONEST MAN’S HONEST LOVE 31 - -CHAPTER IV. - -IN THE SOCIAL REALM 37 - -CHAPTER V. - -THE IMAGE OF BEAUTIFUL SIN 44 - -CHAPTER VI. - -WHITE ROSES 52 - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE CALL OF A SOUL 57 - -CHAPTER VIII. - -LIFE’S NIGHT WATCH 62 - -CHAPTER IX. - -A KENTUCKY STOCK FARM 68 - -CHAPTER X. - -THE BIRTH MARK 75 - -CHAPTER XI. - -HEARTS LAID BARE 87 - -CHAPTER XII. - -SUNLIGHT 97 - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE PICTURESQUE SPORT 103 - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WEDDED 108 - -CHAPTER XV. - -CHLORAL 113 - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A BOLD INTRUDER 120 - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN ERRAND OF MYSTERY 130 - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -A TIMELY WARNING 140 - -CHAPTER XIX. - -A PLAINT OF PAIN 146 - -CHAPTER XX. - -A CROP OF KISSES 151 - -CHAPTER XXI. - -A HOPE OF CHANGE 156 - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE HOME IN THE SOUTH 160 - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A STRANGE DEPARTURE 172 - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -OF THE WORLD, UNWORLDLY 183 - -CHAPTER XXV. - -TEMPTED 193 - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -LOST FAITH 197 - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE CUP OF WRATH AND TREMBLING 203 - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -A DROP OF POISON 207 - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -ROBERT’S TRIUMPH 211 - -CHAPTER XXX. - -SHADOWING HER 216 - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -GONE 219 - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -STORMING THE LION’S DEN 222 - -CONCLUSION 232 - - - - -A FOOL IN SPOTS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -TWO ARTISTS. - - -They were seated tete-a-tete at a dinner table. - -“Tell me why you have never married, Milburn,” and the steel eyes in -Willard Frost’s face searched through his glasses. - -Robert Milburn’s answer was a shrug, and a long cloud of smoke blown -back at the glowing end of his cigar. - -“Tell me why,” persisted the keen-eyed Frost. - -“Because it is too expensive a luxury; besides, a man who has affianced -a career like mine must take that for his bride,” was Robert’s answer. - -“Admitting there is warmth and color in some of your artistic -creations, old fellow, I should think you would find these scarcely -available of winter nights, eh?” - -Robert laughed; his laugh was short, though, and bitter. He had taken -keen pleasure in the cynical worldly wisdom and unsentimental judgment -of this man. - -“If you can’t afford the wife, then let the wife afford you,” began -Frost’s logical reasoning. “You have brain, muscle and youth. Marry -them to that necessary adjunct which you do not possess, and which the -government refuses to supply. This is perfectly practical. The whole -question of marriage is too much a matter of sentiment; too little -a matter of judgment. Now, the son of a millionaire without an idea -above his raiment and his club, devoid of morals and of brains, marries -the daughter of a silver king. What is the result? A race of vulgar -imbeciles.” - -Here Frost, more wickedly practical, continued: “Now, you are of -gentle blood, being fitted out by nature with the most unfortunate -combination of attributes. Nature has given you much more than your -share of intelligence and manly beauty, together with most refined and -sympathetic sensibilities and luxurious tastes, and then has placed you -in an orbit representing intelligence, aristocracy and wealth. Here -she has left you to revolve with the greater and lesser luminaries, -and that with the slenderest of incomes, which is not as yet greatly -increased by your profession. You doubtless find that it requires -considerable financiering to do these things deemed necessary to -maintain your position in the constellation.” - -“It is rather annoying to be poor,” Robert answered in a carefully -repressed voice. A hard sigh followed, and there flashed through him -the hot consciousness of the bitter truth. For that special reason no -word had ever crossed his lips that could, by any means, be twisted -into serious suit with the fair sex. It was generally accepted that he -was not a “marrying” man. - -They were, both of them, men who would at first sight interest a -stranger. The younger of the two you might have seen before if you -frequented the ultra-fashionable dinner parties, luncheons, etc., of -polite New York. Anywhere, everywhere, was Robert Milburn a special -guest and a general favorite. - -He was medium-sized, delicately featured, with a look of half-lazy -enthusiasm. You would set him down at once as an artistic character; -at the same time, there was in his make-up and bearing, that which -bespeaks an ambitious nature. His companion, who appeared older, was a -man of statelier stamp, tall and sufficiently athletic. His face was -well finished and had a certain air of self-possession, which not a few -name self-conceit, and resent accordingly. - -“Ah! Robert, you have entirely too much sentiment, my boy. Do not -waste yourself. I will cite you a girl--there’s Frances Baxter. True, -she is not good looking, in fact, I presume quite a few consider her -extraordinarily plain. But that excessive income is worth your while to -aspire to--such a name as Milburn is certainly worth something.” - -With an earnestness of tone and manner which the gossipy nature of -the talk hardly seemed to call for, Robert nervously threw aside his -crumpled napkin and looked sharply at his companion, saying: - -“Surely, then, I may do something better with it than sell it.” - -“There, we will not argue, I am too wise to oppose a man who is -laboring under the temporary insanity of a love affair. I had feared -that you were not so level-headed as is your wont. Come, who is the -woman? Is it the Southern girl at the Stanhope’s?” - -“Of whom do you speak?” asked Robert, looking pale and annoyed. - -“Of Miss Bell--Cherokee Bell--to be sure.” - -“You honor me with superior judgment to so accuse, whether it be true -or not,” and upon Milburn’s face there was that expression which tells -of what is beyond. - -The other smiled meaningly, and raised his brows. - -“Ah, my dear boy,” he mutely commented, “I am sorry my supposition is -true, but it leaves me wiser, and no transparent scheming goes.” - -“Tell me your opinion of her, Milburn, I am interested deeply.” - -“Well, I have always said she was positively refreshing,” began Robert. -“She came upon us to recall a bright world. She came as a revelation to -some, a reminiscence to others, and caused our social Sahara to blossom -with a suddenly enriched oasis.” - -“Yes, she has that indescribable lissomeness and grace which she -doubtless inherits with her Southern blood. I was attracted, too, by -the delicacy of her hands and feet, of which she is pardonably proud. -But that scar or something disfigures one hand.” - -Robert spoke up quickly: “That is a birth-mark, I think it is a fern -leaf.” - -“A birth-mark! Oh hopelessly plebeian, don’t you think?” - -“Your Miss Baxter has a very vivid one upon her neck.” - -“I beg pardon, then, birthmarks are just the thing.” - -Frost had commenced in a bantering mood, but now and again his voice -would take a more serious tone. - -“Joking apart, Miss Bell is charming. She is, thanks to God, a being -out of the ordinary. She has a style unstinted and all her own. I -have upon several occasions made myself agreeable, partly for my own -gratification and partly because I saw in her eyes that she admired me.” - -Frost leaned back in intended mock conceit, no small portion of which -appeared genuine. - -Robert gave way to laughter, in which just a tinge of annoyance might -have been detected. - -“She is quite accustomed to these attentions, for all her life -adoration has been her daily bread.” - -“I should like to know how you are so well posted?” asked Frost, with a -dark flash in his grey eyes. - -Robert Milburn lifted his head proudly, and answered quietly: “I have -known her since she was a little slip of a lass.” - -“And how did the meeting come about? you were brought up in Maryland, I -believe.” - -“True, but in the early ’80s I spent one spring and summer South. I was -at ‘Ashland.’ You know that is the old home of Henry Clay. It is about -in the center of the region of blue grass, down in Kentucky. Clay’s -great grandson, by marriage, Major McDowell, owns this historic place. -He is a well-mannered and distinguished host, and allowed me to fancy -myself an artist then, and I made some sketches of his horses--he is a -celebrated stock breeder.” - -“How I should enjoy seeing a good stock farm; that is one pleasure -I am still on this side of,” put in Willard. “Go on, I meant not to -interrupt you.” - -“The Major often saddled two of his fine steppers and invited me to -ride over the country with him. It was upon one of these jaunts that I -met the girl. It happened in this way: We were in the blue grass valley -just this side of the mountainous region. A turn-row, running through -a field of broken sod was our route, to avoid a dangerous creek ford. -With heartsome calls and chirruping, six plowmen went up and down the -long rows. The light earth, creaming away from the bright plowshare, -heaped upon their bare feet. I thought, ‘What is so delicious as the -feel of it--yielding, cool, electrical, fresh.’ We stopped to watch -them. They tramped sturdily behind the mules, one hand upon the -plow-handle, the other wrapped about with the line that ran to the -beast’s head. Presently, they all fell to singing a song--a relic, -it must have been, from the old care-free days. Over and over they -chanted the rude lilt, and their voices were mildly sweet. We stopped -to listen, for their song was like no other melodies under the sun.” - -“But where does the girl come in? I expected to hear something of her,” -interrupted Willard, with an impatient gesture. - -“Oh, yes! She is just down a trifle farther in the pasture lands with -an ‘ole Auntie.’ The Major addressed the negress as ‘Aunt Judy.’ They -were welcoming the new comer--a calf. The Auntie wore a bandana and a -coarse cotton print, over which was a thin, diamond-shaped shawl. Her -subdued face was brown--the brown of tobacco--and her weary eyes stole -quick, wondering glances at us, and instinctively she took the child’s -hand, as if to be sure she was safe. - -“Now I come to Cherokee--let me try to describe her to you. In -coloring, delicacy, freshness, she was a flower. Her hair was combed -straight back, but it was perversely curly; and the short hairs around -her forehead had a fashion of falling loosely about, which was very -pretty. She was slim, her drooping-lashed eyes wore a soft seriousness. -She at once chained my vagrant fancy and I promised myself that would -not be the only time I should look upon her. On the homeward way the -Major told me she was the only child of Darwin Bell, an excellent -man. A man of good blood, good sense and piety, ‘but the best of all,’ -continued the Major, ‘he was a gallant Confederate captain.’ - -“Then he happened to recall the fact that I was of the other side and -said: ‘I beg your pardon young man, but Darwin and I were army mates, -and that eulogy was but a heart-throb.’ - -“He had quite a little to tell of the negress. She was Cherokee’s -‘black mammy,’ and her faithfulness was a striking illustration of the -devotion of the slaves. It seems to me that the most callous man or -woman could not fail to appreciate little touches, here and there, of -the sweet kindly feeling that nestles close to the core of honest human -hearts. I went home that night in a softer mood.” - -“Softer in more senses than one, I judge, also poorer,” Frost returned, -amusedly. - -“You mean I had lost my heart?” the other asked in an odd tone. - -“To be sure, but tell me more of Miss Bell, she is very like a serial -story, and I want awfully to read the next chapters.” - -“Then you must learn the sequel from her.” - -“That is not quite fair of you, but I have a mind to; in fact, I know I -cannot resist cultivating your blonde amaryllis, if you don’t object?” - -Willard Frost smiled half--chaffingly, and quite enjoyed the expression -of surprise and anxiety upon his companion’s face. - -“That is a matter of the utmost indifference to me,” was the icy -answer. The speaker’s hand, as it lay on the table, opened and shut in -a quick nervous fashion, which showed that he was more annoyed than he -looked, whereupon Frost waxed more eloquent and earnest. - -“I mean to enter, though well I know, when love is a game of three, one -heart can win but pain.” - -“But that would surely be mine, for what chance has a poor devil of an -artist like me with the invincible Frost?” - -“I come under the same heading,” returned Willard, “I am an artist too.” - -“Yes, but it would keep me in a desperate rush to run ahead of you--you -the prince of the swagger set, a member of half a dozen clubs, owner -of the smartest of four-in-hands, a capital dinner-giver, and a -first-rate host, and, accompanying these, a plethoric purse to make all -hospitalities easy.” - -As Robert spoke, Frost poured out the last of the second bottle of -champagne and looked carelessly at the bill for it, which the waiter -had presented to the other. - -“Suppose you find you a champion to do your battle--a John Alden?” - -“He might do as Alden did, and keep the prize. My chum, Latham, is the -only one I dare trust to win and divide spoils, and he is abroad now, -you know.” - -“Right glad I am, for Marrion Latham is a marvellous success with -womankind. Still, I want some one to oppose me, for no game is worth a -rap for a rational man to play unless he has competition”--this with -decided emphasis. - -“What’s the matter with Fred Stanhope? I think he will make it -interesting for you.” - -“Oh, I want a man, not a sissy. He is just the son of Mr. Stanhope. -He hasn’t enough sense to grease gimlets. He is a rich-born freak, -and I think he has set out to make a condign idiot of himself, in the -briefest, directest manner, and he will doubtless succeed. I prefer you -for a rival.” - -“But Frost, I would be powerless, quite powerless, with you in the -field.” - -“Ah, you idealize me, make me too great a hero,” answered Frost, quite -pleased within himself. - -“Not a hero,” spoke Robert slowly, “but a smooth calculating man of the -period, just the manner of man to take with that type of woman. She, -this charming, intense creature, is so innocent, so ‘un-woke-up’, I -might say.” - -“I am a holy terror at awakening one, and if there is any money with it -I shall exert myself to arouse her.” - -There was an awkward silence. Frost paused and lighted a cigarette. - -“Has she any plantations, stock farms, and the like? You seem so well -up in her history.” - -“No, with the exception of a thousand dollars or so, she is absolutely -without means.” - -“That settles it,” said Frost, flippantly. “You and your John Alden may -open negotiations for her beauty and innocence, but they are too tame -for me.” - -“You are a fisherman, Frost, and if you can’t catch a whale you catch -a trout, and if you can’t catch a trout you would whip in the shallows -for the poor little minnows.” - -“Minnows have their use as bait,” returned the other, with a meaning -smile. - -“But not to catch whales with, and you direct the training of my -harpoon toward a big haul, yet you can stop to fish where you get but a -nibble? What a peculiar adviser--rather inconsistent, don’t you think?” -observed Robert, with a cynical sense of amusement. “I shall keep an -eye on you.” - -“And I shall keep an eye on that fact,” muttered Frost to himself when -he had left his friend. “It is not much, but it would answer the small -demands of an honest girl. I will see about that _thousand dollars_.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - -DREAMS AND SCHEMES. - - -Willard Frost’s observations rang in Robert Milburn’s ear, not without -effect, as he walked to his room that evening, albeit, his conscience -refuted the arguments. He whiled away an hour or more piecing together -the broken threads of their discussion. Frost had said, and in truth, -that Miss Baxter was the richest prize of the season. She had turned -all heads with her fabulous wealth. He had said, “A union of wealth -and genius is as it should be.” That speech had a mild influence over -Robert. There was something very soothing and agreeable to be called a -rising genius, and, then, the thought that other men would be gnashing -their teeth was a stimulant to his vanity. - -Miss Baxter was a sharp girl, and she had an exquisite figure which she -dressed with the best of taste. What if her nose was a trifle snub, and -her mouth verging on the coarse, she had a large capital to contribute -to a copartnership. - -But when love, or whatever else by a less pretty name we may call the -emotion which stirs within us, responsive to the glance or touch of -a woman, sweeps man’s nature as the harpist the strings of his harp, -all thoughts pass under the dominion of the master passion; even the -thought of self, with all its impudent assertiveness, changes its -accustomed force, and sinks to a secondary place. - -Love is a disturber and routs philosophy, and as for matrimony, Robert -rather agreed with the philosopher who said, “You will regret it -whether you marry or not.” An old painter had once told him that in -bringing too much comfort and luxury into the home of the artist, it -frightened inspiration. - -“Art,” he said, “needs either solitude, poverty or passion; too warm -an atmosphere suffocates it. It is a mountain wind-flower that blooms -fairest in a sterile soil.” - -From the scene-house of Robert’s memory came visions strangely sweet; -they came like the lapse of fading lesson days, gemmed here and there -with joys, and crimsoned all over with the silken suppleness of youth -and its delights. - -Again the glamour of gold and green lay over the warm South earth. New -leaves danced out in the early sunshine, dripping sweet odors upon all -below. Robins in full song made vocal the budding hedgerows from under -which peeped the hasty gold of the crocus flower. By fence and field -peach trees up-flushed in rosy growth, and the wild plum’s scented -snowing made all the days afaint and fair. And again the woods were -brave in summer greenery; hawthorn--dogwood, stood bridal all in white. - -Matted honeysuckle, that opened as if by magic in the dewless, stirless -night, arched above a garden gate, wherefrom, with hasty thrift, tall -lilacs framed a girl in wreathen bloom. - -From the moment the gleam of that sweet face of hers touched him, the -world, he felt, would lose its luster if Cherokee did not smile on him, -and him alone, of all the world of men. - -All the wealth, fashion and talent of the rest of women in their -totality, were of no more meaning to him than the floating of motes in -the great sunbeam of his love for this girl. This fact made all other -resolutions impossible--glaringly impossible. - -With this honest conviction in his manly breast he went to bed, and the -blessed visitor of peace placed fingers upon his eyelids to keep watch -until the morrow. - - * * * * * * - -Two ladies, in loose but becoming morning gowns, sat, at the -fashionable hour of eleven, breakfasting in a dainty boudoir in an -extension to a fine residence on Fifth Avenue. The table, a low -square table covered with whitest linen, was set before a great open -fireplace, where gas gave forth flashes of lurid lights which were -refracted by the highly polished surface of the silver tray, teapot, -sugar and creamer. - -The elder lady had the morning paper in her lap and she sat sipping -her tea. She scarcely looked her four and forty. Youth was past, but -the charm of gracious maturity lay in her clear glance and about the -soft smiling mouth. The girl had turned her easy chair away from the -table, perching her pretty feet on the brass rail of the fender. Her -aristocratic brown-blonde head was bending over the _Herald_. - -“Here is another puff about Willard Frost, the portrait painter,” she -said complacently. “He has become the rage; I suppose the fact that he -is a romantic figure of an unconventional type is one reason as well as -his artistic qualities.” - -[Illustration: “‘He has become the rage.’” Page 23.] - -“And, too, because he is unmarried,” said the elderly lady. “Society is -strange, and when the gods marry they lose caste. If he should bring -home one day a beautiful wife, I fancy few women would care about -sitting for portraits then.” - -“I cannot understand that; why is it?” inquired the girl, innocently. - -“Because women declare against women. I wouldn’t be surprised if they -were already angry with you.” - -“Why?” - -“I have thought that he fancied you and showed you preference.” - -“He has been quite nice, but I thought it was generally understood that -he would make love to Miss Baxter.” - -“I may be wrong, but I sometimes imagine you like him, and I do not -blame you either, my dear; many a girl has married less attractive men -than your artist.” - -“Oh, he is handsome, has a magnificent build, and that voice--” -murmured the girl, clasping her hands over her knee and looking into -the fire. - -The other watched her intently and said slowly: “I had hoped to save -you for my boy--he is our best gift from God, and you--come next.” - -The girl smiled softly, “Oh, Fred doesn’t care for me; he says I remind -him of hay fields and yielding clover. I take it that he means I am too -‘fresh,’” observed the girl, half seriously. - -“Not at all; what is purer and sweeter than to be forest-bred? Why, -after all these long years, I tire of my city fostering and long for -the South country where your mother and I grew into womanhood. And -while Fred chaffs you about being a country girl, he is really proud -of you. He often talks to me: ‘Why, mother,’ he tells me, ‘I never -saw anything like it; as soon as she appeared she shone; a sudden -brightness fills the place wherever she goes; a softened splendor comes -around.’ And dear, I am not blind, I see you are besieged by smiles and -light whispered loves--you hold all hearts in that sweet thrall; you -are the bright flame in which many moths burn.” - -“You are both very, very, kind--Fred and you”--Here she was interrupted -by a maid entering with a card. - -“Mr. Willard Frost.” - -“Ah, Cherokee, what did I tell you? He has even taken the liberty of -calling at unconventional hours.” - -As Frost waited below he nervously moved about; there was a sort of -sub-conscious discomfort, as of one whose clothes are a misfit. The -least sound added to his uneasy feeling. - -“Am I actually in love with her?” he asked, “or does her maidenly and -becoming coyness excite my surfeited passion? Is it something that will -burn off at a touch, like a lighted sedge-field,” he reflected. “Would -I marry her if I could? Well, what’s the difference? The part I have -undertaken is a good one; I will see it through and risk the winning.” - -When Cherokee appeared he thought her lovelier than ever. He looked -hungrily at her fair, high-bred face, her enigmatical smile that might -mean so much or so little. She gave him her hand in kindly welcome. - -“You will pardon my stupidity to-day, for I shouldn’t have come feeling -so badly, and I should not have come at all had I not wanted a kind -word of sympathy,” he said, when the first salutations were received. - -“You did quite right,” she answered, “burdens shared are easier -carried. What is your trouble?” - -“I would not confide in many, but somehow I have always felt we were -vastly more than common friends. Do you feel that way about it?” he -asked, in weighing tones. - -“I take great delight in your companionship,” she told him, frankly. - -“And it is these subtle, intelligent sympathies which make you most -dangerously charming. Now, I have a question; do not answer me if you -think it wrong of me to ask, but did you ever like a man so well that -you fancied yourself married to him?” - -She laughed a care-free, girlish laugh. - -“Why no, now that you ask, I’m sure I never did.” - -Then there was a long, uncomfortable pause, broken by saying: “Ah, -well, there’s time enough, only be sure that you know your heart, if -you have any; have you?” - -She laughed again her gay little laugh. “I’ll tell him that if he ever -comes.” - -He had a far-away look, and breathed long and deeply. Suddenly he spoke -up. - -“Dearest love,” taking both her hands and looking with gravity into her -face, “I did not mean to say it yet, but I must. I love you--I love -you--and I would show it in a thousand ways. Be my wife.” - -She listened to each word intently, her face neither flushed nor paled. -She spoke very deliberately: “I--your wife, Mr. Frost? No. You interest -me, but if I care for you, there is something that mars its fullness. -Forgive me for saying it plainly, but I do not love you.” - -“But, little woman, you cannot but awaken to it sometime. It is a heart -of stone that will not warm to the touch of such love as mine. Love is -dependent upon contact; we are only the wires through which the current -throbs--lifeless before they are touched, and listless when sundered.” - -He attempted to take her in his arms, but she slipped from his embrace, -and naively replied, “If that’s your theory, there’s one remedy: I’ll -break your circuit.” - -“Was there ever such a tangle of weakness and strength in woman?” -he asked himself. He bit his lips and marvelled; he had again been -thwarted. Pretty soon he leaned heavily on the table, and looked the -embodiment of despair. - -“What makes you so gloomy?” asked Cherokee, sweetly. - -“Because I am a lost and ruined man. I never felt quite so alone and -friendless.” - -“Why friendless? Tell me what it is that makes you so downhearted?” Her -tones were well calculated to reassure him. - -“I am suffering from the inevitable misery which, as a ghost, follows -the erring,” he said, and his voice was hard. - -“Tell me all about it, Mr. Frost, that I may be in sympathy with you.” - -“Then I will tell you all,” raising a face that looked worn and -worried. “There is nothing of sentiment in my misfortune; as rascally -old Panurge used to put it, ‘I am troubled with a disease known as a -plentiful lack of money.’” - -“Why, Mr. Frost, I thought you were rich; the world takes it that way.” - -“I did possess a fair competency until two weeks ago, but an -unfortunate investment in Reading swept it away like thistledown in the -wind. The friends to whom I could apply for aid are in the same boat. -For one of them, I, very like the fool Antonio, have gone security for -a thousand dollars. To-morrow that must be paid else I lose my pound of -flesh, which, taken literally, means my studio, pictures, and, worst of -all, my reputation.” - -“And you call yourself a fool for helping a friend; I am surprised at -that.” - -“You are right. I shouldn’t feel that way, for he is noble beyond the -common; his faults, such as they are, have been more hurtful to himself -than to others.” Frost spoke magnanimously. - -“Who is the friend?” she asked, so impulsively that it bore no trace of -impertinence. - -“Pardon me, but I would not mention his name; however, you know him -quite well.” - -Cherokee turned her face full upon him and asked bravely: “Will you let -me help you both?” - -He appeared startled: “You little woman, you! What on earth could you -do but be grieved at a friend’s misfortune?” She little knew that all -this was but to abuse that intense, fond, clinging sympathy. - -“I have fourteen hundred in my own name, will you use part of that?” - -“Great heavens, no. I would become a beggar first!” - -“But if I insist, and it will save you and--him?” - -Willard Frost sat for a time without speaking; apparently he was -weighing some profound subject. At last he looked up and gathered -Cherokee’s hands in his. - -“I appreciate the spirit that prompts you to make this heroic offer to -me. When will you need this money?” - -“Not for two months yet, I expect to spend the winter in ‘Frisco’ with -Mr. and Mrs. Stanhope.” - -“Are you absolutely in earnest about our using it?” - -“Never was more in earnest in my lifetime,” she answered, solemnly. - -“Then I will take it, though I feel humbled to the very dust to think -of these little hands saving me.” - -He bent and kissed them as reverently as though she had been his patron -saint. As she gave him the check for one thousand dollars, Cherokee -thought his trembling hands told, but too well, of humbled pride. - -“That was a stroke of genius--a decided stroke of genius,” he said to -himself, as he passed into the club house that day. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - -AN HONEST MAN’S HONEST LOVE. - - -It was far into twilight when Robert Milburn rang the bell at the -Stanhopes. He had called to escort them to the closing ball of the -Manhattan season. - -“I have not seen you for more than a week, Robert. I fear you have -been worrying or working too hard,” said Cherokee, looking at him -searchingly and anxiously. - -“Ah, not working any more than I should, yet there has been a terrible -weight on my mind--a crushing weight.” - -“Then, let us remain at home to-night; I prefer it.” - -“You must have read my mind, I wanted so much to stay, but the fear of -cheating you of pleasure kept me from suggesting it.” - -So it was agreed upon that they would not go to the ball. - -“Now tell me what makes you overtax your strength?” said Cherokee, -sweetly and solicitously. - -“I must get on in my profession, so that one day you will be proud of -me.” His enthusiasm inspired her. - -“I am that already, and shall never cease to hope for you and be proud -of your many successes. A great future is waiting to claim you, Mr. -Milburn.” - -“Not unless that future’s arm can hold both of us, Cherokee, for you -are still all I really want praise from--all I fear in the blaming. -But, sweetheart, you have dropped me as a child throws away a toy when -it is weary. When Frost told me he had been here it started afresh some -thoughts that I find lurking about my mind so often of late.” - -Did her bowed head mean an effort to hide a face that told too much? - -“I believe you are sorry he is not with you here now.” - -She laid her hand in playful reproach upon his lips. “Sorry, you -foolish boy! I am glad you are here, isn’t that enough?” - -“I hope so; forgive me, Cherokee, but you do not know the world. It is -deeper, darker, wider, than you have ever dreamed, and there are some -very queer people in it. I shall keep my eyes open, and if I can help -it, you shall never know it as I do.” - -“Why, what harm can come to me? What could the world have against me?” -and her innocent face looked hurt. - -“Nothing, except your beauty and purity, and either is a dangerous -charge. I wish you could have always lived among the bees and -bloomings, with the South country folk.” - -“Why, do you find it annoying to have me near?” - -“No, but very annoying to have you near others I know. I cannot quite -understand some men--for instance, Willard Frost.” - -“I think he is a very warm friend of yours.” - -“Probably so, probably so. But, Cherokee, tell me, in truth, do you -love him?” - -“I do not,” she answered, promptly, and there was nothing in her eyes -but truth. - -“My God,” Robert cried within him, “you have been merciful. Cherokee, -listen to me--I know you already understand what I am about to say: You -have known from the first that you are the greatest of what there is in -my life. There is no joy through all the day but that it brings with -it a desire to share it with you. I often awake with your half-spoken -name on my lips, as though, when I slipped through the portals of -unconsciousness into the world of reality, I came only to find you, as -a frightened child awakes and calls feebly for its mother. I look to -your love for the sweetness of home. I need you; can you say ‘We need -each other?’” - -The adoration he expressed for her filled her with innocent wonder and -gratitude. His overpowering love and worship for her startled her by -its force into a sweet shame, a hesitating fear. She was looking at him -with her eyes softly opening and closing, like the eyes of a startled -doe, as though the wonder and delight were too great to be taken in at -once. - -At length she made answer, hesitatingly, -“And--this--beautiful--love--is--for--me?” - -“It is all for you,” he said, tenderly. - -“Robert, there is a feeling for you which I think is a part of my soul, -but I do not know that it is love. It came to me--this feeling--so long -ago that I believe that it has a seven-years’ claim. It was far back -yonder, when I played at “camping out” under the broad white tents that -the dogwoods pitched in the forest. I spent hours and hours in my play -making clover chains to reach from my heart to yours--” - -Here he interrupted her. “And it did reach me, finding fertile soil in -which to grow. Tell me you have kept your part alive.” - -“I cannot tell yet, I am going to test it. I believe I will imagine you -feeling the morning kiss of Miss Baxter, and watching her good-night -smile, and see if I would care.” - -“Please do, but tell me why you said Miss Baxter? Why not any other -lady of my acquaintance?” - -“I suppose it is because I often hear that you are awfully fond of her.” - -“That is not true, my dearest. I like her for the reason she thinks -worlds of Marrion Latham, the dramatist. By the way, I had such a good -letter from him to-day, so full of wonderful sympathy and friendship. -I have often told him of you. I love that fellow. He knew I loved -you before you did, I guess. You know, men in their friendships are -trustful, they impose great confidences in each other, and are frank -and outspoken. Even the solid, practical outside world recognizes the -bonds of such faith, and looks with contempt upon the man who, having -parted with his friend, reveals secrets which have been told him under -the sacred profession of friendship.” - -“Why is it, Robert, that women cannot be true, or a man and woman -cannot form a lasting, loyal friendship?” - -“The first case, jealousy or envy breaks; the second generally ends in -one falling in love with the other, and that spoils it,” he explained. - -She looked up archly: “Which will be the most enduring, your friendship -for Marrion, or your love for me?” - -“Please God that both shall last always,” he answered, with reverence. - -“How good it seems to hear you say that.” Then she impulsively held out -her hands saying: “I do care.” - -Robert, trembling from head to foot at the mad audacity of his act, -bent down to taste from the calyx of that flower-face the sweet -intoxication of the first kiss. The worried look had gone out of his -face. - -[Illustration: “The sweet intoxication of the first kiss.” Page 36.] - -“So you will wait for me until I have made a name that will grace you! -How brave of you to make me that promise. Cherokee are you all mine? -Then there are only two more things required in this--the sanction of -the State, and the blessing of God. May He keep a watch over both our -lives.” - -“I pray that your wish be granted,” she murmured, with a tender voice. - -“Now, my little woman, be very careful of the people you meet. -Unfortunately, one forgets sometimes when one is in danger. You are a -woman, sweet, passionate and kind; just the favorite prey.” - -She looked at him intently, as if endeavoring to divine his underlying -thoughts. - -“What do you mean, sweetheart?” - -He knew by the tremor in her voice she was hurt. - -“I mean, dear, that lions are admitted into the fold because they are -tame lions--look out for them.” - -The next moment he was gone. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - -IN THE SOCIAL REALM. - - -Carriages, formed in double ranks by the police, lined the pavement of -several blocks on ---- street, and from them alighted, as each carriage -made a brief stop at the entrance, men and women of fashion, enveloped -in heavy wraps, for the night was cold. Beneath the heavy opera coats, -sealskins, etc., ball dresses were visible, and feet encased in -fur-lined boots caught the eyes of those who stood watching the guests -of the ---- ball as they entered the building. - -Music filled the vast dance-hall. High up in the galleries musicians -were stationed, who toiled away at their instruments, furnishing -enlivening strains of waltzes or polkas for the dancers. To the right, -adown corridors of arched gold, the reception rooms were filled with -metropolitan butterflies. - -The scene was an interesting study. Foremost of all could be noticed -the voluptuous freedom of manner, though the picturesque grace of the -leading lights was never wholly lost. They were dissolute, but not -coarse; bold, but not vulgar. They took their pleasure in a delicately -wanton way, which was infinitely more dangerous in its influence than -would have been gross mirth or broad jesting. Rude licentiousness has -its escape-valve in disgust, but the soft sensualism of a cultured -aristocrat is a moral poison, the effects of which are so insidious as -to be scarcely felt until all the native nobility is almost withered. - -It is but justice to them to say, there was nothing repulsive in -the mischievous merriment of these revelers; their witticisms were -brilliant and pointed, but never indelicate. Some of the dancers, -foot-weary, lounged gracefully about, and the attendant slaves were -often called upon to refill the wine glasses. - -In every social gathering, as in a garden, or in the heavens, there is -invariably one particular and acknowledged flower, or star. Here all -eyes followed the beautiful, spirited, inspiring girl, who was under -the chaperonage of Mrs. Stanhope. This fresh, beaming girl, unspoiled -by flattery, remained naive, affectionate and guileless. - -During the changing of groups and pairs, this girl heard the sweet, -languid voice of Willard Frost. Through the clatter of other men it -came like the silver stroke of a bell in a storm at sea. She flushed -radiantly as he and Miss Baxter joined her party. - -“Ah, my dear Miss Bell, you are looking charming,” he exclaimed, -effusively. He took her hand, a little soft pink one, that looked like -a shell uncurled. - -“Come, honor Miss Baxter and me by taking just one glass of sherry,” -and he called a passing waiter. - -Cherokee looked at him with startled surprise. “How often, Mr. Frost, -will I have a chance to decline your offers like this? I tell you -again, I have never taken wine, and I congratulate myself.” - -“Are you to be congratulated or condoled with?” There was irony in Miss -Baxter’s tone, though her laugh was good natured, as she continued, -“I see you are yet a beautiful alien, for a glass of good wine, or -an occasional cigarette is never out of place with us. All of these -nervous fads are city equipments.” - -“Then, if not to smoke and not to drink are country virtues, pray -introduce them into city life,” was Cherokee’s answer. - -“Ah, no indeed, I would never take the liberty of reversing the order -of things, for they just suit me,” and Miss Baxter’s bright eyes -twinkled under drooping lashes. As she smiled she raised a glass of -wine to her lips, kissed the brim, and gave it to Willard Frost with an -indescribably graceful swaying gesture of her whole form. - -“Here’s to your pastoral sweetheart, the sorceress, sovereign of the -South.” - -[Illustration: “‘Here’s to your pastoral sweetheart, the sorceress, -sovereign of the South.’” Page 40.] - -He seized the glass eagerly, drank, and returned it with a profound -salutation. - -The consummate worldlings were surprised to hear Miss Bell answer: - -“Thank you, but how much more appropriate would be, ‘Here’s to a Fool -in Spots!’” - -Willard replied, with a shake of the head: - -“Ah, no, you have too much ‘snap’ to be called a fool in any sense, -besides, you only need being disciplined--you’ll be enjoying life by -and by. When I first met our friend Milburn he was saying the same -thing, but where is he now?----” - -Here Miss Baxter laid her pretty jeweled hand warningly upon his arm. - -“Come, you would not be guilty of divulging such a delicious secret, -would you?” - -He treated the matter mostly as a joke, and returned with a tantalizing -touch in his speech: - -“Robert didn’t mean to do it. We must forgive.” - -Cherokee looked puzzled as she caught the exchange of significant -smiles. She spoke, as always, in her own soft, syllabled tongue. - -“What do you mean, may I ask?” - -Willard Frost coughed, and took her fan with affectionate solicitude. - -“It may not be just fair to answer your question. I am sorry.” - -“Mr. Milburn is a friend of mine, and if anything has happened to him -why shouldn’t I know it?” she inquired, somewhat tremulously. - -No combination of letters can hope to convey an idea of the music of -her rare utterance of her sweetheart’s name. - -“But you wouldn’t like him better for the knowing,” he interrupted. -“Besides, he will come out all right if he follows my instructions -implicitly.” - -She stared blankly at him, vainly trying to comprehend what he meant. -Then there came an anxious look on her face, such a look as people wear -when they wish to ask something of great moment, but dare not begin. At -last she summoned up courage. - -“Mr. Frost,” she said, in a weak, low voice, “he--Robert--hasn’t done -anything wrong?” - -“Wrong, what do you call wrong?” was the laconic question, “but I trust -the matter is not so serious as it appears.” - -“Ah, I am so foolish,” and she smiled gently. - -“No, it is well enough to have a friend’s interest at heart, and you -won’t cut him off if you hear it--you are not that sort. I know you -are clever and thoughtful, and all that, but you possess the forgiving -spirit. Now, unlike some men, I judge people gently, don’t come down on -other men’s failings. Who are we, any of us, that we should be hard on -others?” - -“Judge gently,” she replied. - -“I hope I always do that.” - -“If I only dared tell her now,” said Frost to himself, “but it’s not my -affair.” - -He saw the feminine droop of her head, and the dainty curve of her -beautiful arm. - -“She is about to weep,” he muttered. - -Miss Baxter, who had been amusing herself with other revelers, turned -to interrupt: “Mr. Frost, you haven’t given him dead away?” - -This, so recklessly spoken, only added to Cherokee’s discomfort. A -flush rose to her cheek. She asked, with partial scorn: - -“Do you think he should have aroused my interest without satisfying it?” - -“Please forgive him, he didn’t intend to be so rude; besides, he would -have told you had I not interrupted. It was thoughtless of you to make -mention of it,” she said, reproachfully, to the artist. - -The while he seemed oddly enjoying the girl’s strange dry-eyed sorrow. - -Just here, Fred Stanhope came up to tell them the evening pleasures -were done. Cherokee could have told him that sometime before. - -Willard Frost looked remarkably bright and handsome as he walked away -with Miss Baxter leaning upon his arm. - -“What made you punish that poor girl so? What pleasure was there in -giving Mr. Milburn away, especially since you were the entire cause of -it?” she went on earnestly, and a trifle dramatically. “A man has no -right to give another away--no right--he should----” - -“But Frances,” remonstrated Frost, lightly, and apparently unimpressed -by her theory, “I was just dying to tell her that Milburn was as drunk -as a duchess.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - -THE IMAGE OF BEAUTIFUL SIN. - - -In his fashionable apartments, Willard Frost walked back and forth -in his loose dressing-gown. Rustling about the room, his softly -slippered feet making no noise on the floor, he moved like a refined -tiger--looked like “some enchanted marquis of the impenitently wicked -sort, in story, whose periodical change into tiger from man was either -just going off or just coming on.” - -A good opportunity for consideration, surrounded by the advantages of -solitude. He moved from end to end of his voluptuous room, looking now -and again at a picture which hung just above a Persian couch, covered -with a half dozen embroidered pillows. - -What unmanageable thoughts ran riot in his head, as he surveyed the -superb image and thought that only one thing was wanting--the breath of -life--for which he had waited through all these months. - -For two heavy hours he walked and thought; now he would heave a long, -low sigh, then hold his breath again. - -When at last he dropped down upon his soft bed, he lay and wondered if -the world would go his way--the way of his love for a woman. - - * * * * * * - -Cherokee met Willard Frost on Broadway the next morning--he had started -to see her. - -“Let me go back with you and we will lunch together--what do you say?” -he proposed. - -“Very well, for I am positively worn out to begin with the day, and a -rest with you will refresh me,” she said sweetly. - -They took the first car down town and went to a café for lunch. Willard -laughed mischievously as he glanced down the wine list on the menu card. - -“What will you have to-day?” - -“What I usually take,” she answered, in the same playful mood. - -“I received that perplexing note of yours, but don’t quite interpret -it,” he began, taking it from his pocket and reading: - - - ‘DEAR MR. FROST: - - I am anxious to sit for the picture at once. Of course you will - never speak of it. Don’t let anyone know it. - - Yours, in confidence, - CHEROKEE.’ - - -“It is very plain,” she pouted. “Don’t you remember I had told you I was -going to have my portrait made for Mrs. Stanhope on her birthday. That -doesn’t come just yet, in fact it is three months off, but you know -we are going to ‘Frisco’ for the winter, and there isn’t much time to -lose; I have been busy two months making preparations.” - -“What! Are you going, too? I was thinking a foolish thought,” he -sighed. “I was thinking maybe you would remain here while they were -away.” - -“Not for anything; I have been planning and looking forward to this -trip a whole year.” She seemed perfectly elated at the thought. - -“There is nothing to induce you to remain?” - -“Nothing,” she answered, with emphasis. - -“I have an aunt with whom you could stay, and we could learn much of -each other. Do stay,” he insisted. - -“I must go, though I shall not forget you in the ‘winter of our -content.’” - -“That’s very kind, I am sure, but I have set my heart on seeing you -during the entire season, for Milburn, poor boy, is so hard at work he -will not intrude upon my time often. Besides, he is getting careless -of late--doesn’t want society. The fact is, I believe he is profoundly -discouraged. This work of art is a slow and tedious one. But he keeps -on at it, except when he has been drinking too heavily.” - -“Drinking! Mr. Frost, you surely are misinformed; Robert never drinks.” - -Her manner was dignified, though she did not seem affected, for she was -too certain there was some mistake. - -“I hope I have been,” he said, simply. - -He saw at once that she would not believe him. For love to her meant -perfect trust; faith in the beloved against all earth or heaven. -Whoever dared to traduce him would be consumed in the lightning of her -luminous scorn, yet win for him, her lover, a tenderer devotion. - -“So you are going to ‘Frisco,’ and I cannot see you for three long -months? Well, I must explain something,” he began. “It is rather -serious, it didn’t start out so, but is getting very serious. I got -your note about the money more than a week ago--” His voice trembled, -broke down, then mastering himself, he went on, “I could not meet the -demand. Ah, if I could only get the model I wanted, I could paint a -picture whose loveliness none but the blind could dispute--a picture -that would bring more than three times the amount I owe you.” - -He watched the girl eagerly, the while soft sensations and vague -desires thrilled him. - -Wasn’t it a wonder that something did not tell him, “It is monstrous, -inhuman to thus prey upon the credulity of an impulsive, over sensitive -nature.” Not when it is learned that whatever of heart, conscience, -manliness, courage, reverence, charity, nature had endowed him at his -birth, had been swallowed up in that one quality--selfishness. - -“I wish I could help you,” Cherokee said timidly, “for I need the -money. All I had has gone for my winter wardrobe.” - -“Then I will tell you how to help us both. The model I want is -yourself.” He spoke bravely now. - -“Me?” - -“Yes, if you will let me, I can do us both justice, and you will be -counted the dream of all New York.” - -She listened to his speech like the bird that flutters around the -dazzling serpent; she was fascinated by this dangerous man, and neither -able nor honestly willing to escape. - -“Besides, I will make your portrait for Mrs. Stanhope free of charge,” -was the artist’s afterthought. - -“I could not accept so much from you,” she answered, promptly. - -“I offered it by way of rewarding your own generosity, but come, say -you will pose for me anyhow.” - -She regarded him frankly and without embarrassment. - -“I will if it is perfectly proper for me to do so. Surely, though, you -would not ask me to do it if it were wrong.” - -“Not for the world,” he replied magnanimously. “It is entirely proper, -many a lady comes there alone. ‘In art there is no sex, you know.’” - -“But I am not prepared now, how should I be dressed?” - -“In a drapery, and I have all that is necessary. Say you will go,” he -pleaded. - -She hesitated a moment. - -“Well, I will,” was the unfortunate answer. - -Within an hour, master and model entered the studio. - -“Now, first of all,” observed the master, “you must lay aside all -reserve or foolish timidity, remembering the purity of art, and have -but one thought--the completion of it. In that room to your right you -will find everything that is needed, and over the couch is a study by -which you may be guided in draping yourself.” - -As the door closed behind Cherokee, Willard Frost caught a glimpse of a -beautiful figure, “The Nymph of the Stream.” He listened for a couple -of minutes or more, expecting or fearing she would be shocked at -first, but as there was no such evidence he had no further misgivings. -A thousand beautiful visions floated voluptuously through the thirsting -silence. They flushed him as in the wakening strength of wine. And his -body, like the sapless bough of some long-wintered tree, suddenly felt -all pulses thrilling. - -His hot lips murmured, “Victory is mine. Aye, life is beautiful, and -earth is fair.” - -Then the door opened and the model entered. She did not speak but stood -straight and silent, her hands hanging at her side with her palms -loosely open--the very abandonment of pathetic helplessness. - -The master drew nearer and put out his hands. “Cherokee,” he said. - -But he was suddenly awed by a firm “Stop there! I have always tried to -be pure-minded, high-souled, sinless, but all this did not shield me -from insult,” she cried, with a look of self-pitying horror. - -[Illustration: “But he was suddenly awed by a firm ‘Stop there!’” Page -50.] - -He drew back, and his temper mounted to white heat, but he managed to -preserve his suave composure. - -“My dear girl, you misunderstand me; art makes its own plea for pardon. -You are not angry, are you?” - -She looked straight at him, her bosom rose and fell with her quick -breathing, and there was such an eloquent scorn in her face that he -winced under it, as though struck by a scourge. - -“You are not worth my anger; one must have something to be angry with, -and you are nothing--neither man, nor beast, for men are brave and -beasts tell no lies. Out of my way, coward!” - -And she stood waiting for him to obey, her whole frame vibrating -with indignation like a harp struck too roughly. The air of absolute -authority with which she spoke, stung him even through his hypocrisy -and arrogance. He bit his lips and attempted to speak again, but she -was gone from the studio. - -Every step of her way she saw a serpent crawl back and forth across her -hurried path, and she mused to herself: “Let him keep the money, my -virtue is worth more to me than all that glitters or is gold.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - -WHITE ROSES. - - -Robert Milburn, bent at his desk, his fair head in his hands, was -bewildered, angry, in despair. - -“Can this be true?” he asked himself. “Is there a possibility of truth -in it?” - -The air of the gray room grew close, oppressive to the spirit, and -at the darkening window he arose from the desk. He put on his long -rain-coat, and with a hollow, ominous sound, the door closed behind him -and he left the house. - -As along he went, Robert caught sight of the bony face of an American -millionaire and a beautiful woman in furs, behind the rain-streaked -panes of a flashing carriage. On the other side he observed a gigantic -iron building from which streams of shop-people poured down every -street homeward; these ghastly weary human machines made a pale -concourse through the sleet. - -Further on his way a girl stood waiting for some one on the curb. He -looked at her, dark hair curled on her white neck, her attire poor and -common; but she was pretty, with her dark eyes. A reckless, plebeian -little piece of earth, shivering, her hands bare and rough, the sleet -whipping her face, on the side of which was a discoloration--the result -of a blow, perchance. Then he turned his eyes from her who had drawn -them. - -The arc light above him hung like a dreadful white-bellied insect -hovering on two long black wings, and he saw a woman in sleet-soaked -rags, bent almost double under a load of sticks collected for firewood. -Her hair hung thin and gray in elf-locks, her red eyelids had lost -their lashes so that the eyes appeared as those of a bird of prey. -The wizened hands clutching the cord which bound the sticks seemed -like talons. She importuned a passer-by for help, and, being denied, -she cursed him; and Robert watched the wretched creature crawl away -homeward--back to the slums. - -These were manifestations of the life of thousands in metropolitan -history. Robert shook himself, shuddering, as though aroused from a -trance. - -He had started out to go anywhere or nowhere, but the next hour found -him in the presence of Cherokee, and she was saying: - -“How awfully fond you are of giving pleasant surprises.” - -“I am amazed at myself for coming such a night, and that too without -your permission.” - -“We are always glad to see you, but Fred and I had contemplated braving -the weather to go to hear Paderewski,” she said, sweetly. - -“Then don’t let me detain you, I beg of you,” he answered, with -profound regret. - -“Oh, that’s all right, we have an hour or more, I am all ready, so you -stay and go in as we do.” - -“No, I will not go with you, but will stay awhile, since you are kind -enough to permit me.” And he laughed, a little mournfully. - -“Cherokee, I have come for two reasons--to tell you that I am going -home to Maryland to see a sick mother, and to tell you----” He paused, -hesitating, a great bitterness welled up in his breast; a firmness came -about his mouth and he went on: - -“It is folly for you to persuade yourself that you could accommodate -your future life to sacrifice, poverty--this is all wrong. When we look -it coldly in the face it is a fact, and we may dispute facts but it is -difficult to alter them.” - -There was no response from her except the clasping of the hand he held -over his fingers for a moment. - -“I had no right that you should wait for me through years, for -your young life is filled with possibilities. I, alone, make them -impossible, and I must remove that factor.” - -“Robert! Robert! What does all this mean?” Her breathless soul hung -trembling on his answer. - -“It means that I am going to give you back your liberty.” - -“And you?” she gasped. - -“I will do the best I can with my life. Please God, you shall never be -ashamed to remember that you once fancied that you could have cared for -me.” - -And then he could trust himself no further; the trembling fingers, the -soft perfume he knew so well in the air, and the surging realization -that the end was at hand, made him weak with longing. - -Cherokee was at first shocked and stunned at what he was saying? For a -moment the womanly conclusion that he no longer cared for her seemed -the only impression, but she put it from her as being unworthy of them -both. - -Her manner was dignified, yet tender, as she began: - -“Robert, I suppose you have not spoken without consideration, and if -you think I would be a burden to you, it is best to go on without me.” -She ended with a deep-drawn breath. - -“That sound was not a sob,” she said bravely, “I only lost my breath -and caught it hard again.” - -“Yes, Cherokee, I am going without you, going out of your life. Good -bye.” - -“You cannot go out of it,” she answered, “but good bye.” - -“Good bye,” he repeated, which should only mean, “God bless you.” - -There was a flutter of pulses, and Robert walked away with head upheld, -dry-eyed, to face the world. Unfaltering, she let him go, the while she -had more than a suspicion of the lips whose false speaking had wrought -her such woe. - -When he reached his room he unlocked the drawer, produced from it a -card, and looked long and tenderly upon the face he saw. He bent over -and kissed the unresponsive lips. This was his requiem in memory of a -worthier life. Then lighting a match he set it afire, and watched it -burn to a shadowy cinder, which mounted feebly in the air for a moment, -making a gray background against whose dullness stood out, in its round -finished beauty, the life he had lost--echoing with a true woman’s -beautiful soul. - -As the ashes whitened at his feet, he thought, “Thus the old life is -effaced, I will go into the new.” - -The midnight train took him out of town, and Cherokee was weeping over -a basket of white roses which had come just at evening. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - -THE CALL OF A SOUL. - - -Now and again Cherokee kissed the roses with pangs of speechless pain. -The fragrance that floated from their lips brought only anguish. To -her, white roses must ever mean white memories of despair, and their -pale ghosts would haunt long after they were dead. - -All day the family had been busy packing, for soon the Stanhopes would -close the house and take flight. Cherokee had been forced to tell them -she had changed her mind and would go to the country; she needed quiet, -rest. Pride made her withhold the humiliating fact that she had just -money enough to take her down to the South country. - -There was a kind, generous friend, who, at her father’s death, offered -her a home under his roof for always, and now that promise came to -her, holding out its inducement, but she would not accept it; somehow -she felt glad that the time of leaving the Stanhopes was near. This -pleasant house, these cheerful, affectionate surroundings, had become -most intolerable since she must keep anything from them--even though -it be but an error of innocence. - -“Let me forget the crushing humiliation of the past month,” she told -herself, “I must try to be strong, reasonable, if not happy.” She must -find some calling, something to sustain herself, to occupy her hands -and time. The soft, idle, pleasant existence offered by the friend -would enervate rather than fortify--would force her back on herself and -on useless regrets. - -As she sat in her own room, holding the blank page of her coming life, -and studying what the truth should be, there arose before her inner -gaze two scenes of a girlish life; fresh, vivid were they, as of -yesterday, though both were now of a buried past. - -First she recalled the hour when sorrow caught her by the hand, dragged -her from the couch of childhood to a darkened room where lay the -sphinx-like clay of her mother--the lids closed forever over what had -been loving gleams of sympathy--the hands crossed in still rigidity. -Her little child heart had no knowledge of the mysteries--love, -anguish, death--in whose shadow the zest of life withers. She knew -their names but they stood afar off, a veiled and waiting trio. - -She crept, sobbing, from that terrible semblance of a mother to the -out-door sunshine, and the yard, where the crape-myrtle nodded -cheerfully to her just as it did before they frightened her so. The -dark house she was afraid of, so she had gone far out of doors. -The little lips that had lately quivered piteously, sang a tune in -unthinking gaiety, and life was again the same, for she could not then -understand. - -The other scene was a radiant, sparkling, wildly joyous picture. The -world, enticing as a fairy garden, received her in her bright, petted -youth--her richly endowed orphanhood had been a perpetual feast. In -this period not one single voice of cold or ungracious tenor could she -recall. - -But now she looked full over that garden, once all abloom. Here a -flower with blight in its heart, yonder one whose leaves were falling. -There whole bushes were only stems enthorned, and stood brown and -bitter, leaves and flowers withered or dead. - -“So,” thought she, “it is with my life.” A rap on the door brought her -into the present. It was the delivery of the latest mail: some papers, -a magazine, and one letter. The letter was postmarked Winchester, Ky. -With a little sigh of triumphant expectation, she broke the seal. It, -to her thinking, might contain good news from friends at home. - -It only took her a moment to scan it all. - - - “I am sick and needy. Won’t you help me for I am dying from - neglect.” This was signed: - - “Black Mammy, - “Judy, (her X mark.)” - - -Cherokee read it again. Her eyes closed, and then opened, dilating in -swift terror. Her slave-mother suffering for the necessities of life. -She who had spent years in chivalrous devotion to the Bell family now -appealed to her, the last of that honored name. - -A swift pain shot through her veins--a sudden increased anguish--a -sense of something irremediable, hopeless, inaccessible, held her in -its grip, and a voiceless, smothered cry rent her breast. Tears gushed -from her eyes, scalding waters which fell upon her hands and seemed to -wither them. Even the fern-leaf, the birth-mark, looked shrunken and -shrivelled, as she gazed at it; something told her to remember it held -the wraith of a life. - -Cherokee was wild with grief. She went to the window and looked far out -into the night, letting her sight range all the Southern sky, and the -stars looked down with eyes that only stared and hurt her with their -lack of sympathy. A gentle wind crept by, and a faint sibilance, as of -taut strings throbbed through the coming night. It was Fred, with his -violin, waiting for her to come down to accompany him. But she did not -go--she had no thought of it being time to eat or time to play--she had -forgotten everything, except that a soul had cried to her and she must -answer it in so niggardly and miserly a fashion. - -Now three, four, five hours had gone since the sunken sun laved the -western heaven with lowest tides of day. The tired world, that ever -craves for great dark night to come brooding in with draught of healing -and blessed rest that recreates, had been lulled to satisfaction. Still -mute sorrow held Cherokee, and it was nearly day when peace filled her -unremembering eyes and she had forgotten all. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - -LIFE’S NIGHT WATCH. - - -It was a dull, wintry day; blank, ashen sky above--grassland, sere -and stark, below. Weedy stubble wore shrouding of black; everything -was still--so still, even the birds yet drowsed upon their perch, nor -stirred a wing or throat to enliven the depressing wood. A soiled and -sullen snowdrift lay dankly by a road that had fallen into disuse. It -was crossed now for the first time, maybe, in a full year. A young -woman tramped her way along the silent waste to a log shanty. Frozen -drifts of the late snow lay packed as they had fallen on the door sill. - -She rapped at the door and bent her head to listen; then she rattled it -vigorously, and still no answer. She tried the latch, it yielded, and -she entered. The light inside was so dim that it was hard at first to -make out what was about her. Two hickory logs lay smouldering in a bank -of ashes. She stirred the poor excuse for fire, and put on some smaller -sticks that lay by the wide fireplace. By this time her eyes had become -accustomed to the dimness, and she looked about her. There were a -few splint-bottomed chairs, a “safe,” a table, and a bed covered with -patched bedding and old clothes, and under these--in a flash she was by -the bed and had pushed away the covering at the top. - -“She is dead,” Cherokee heard herself say aloud, in a voice that -sounded not at all her own; but no, there was a feeble flicker of pulse -at the shrunken wrist that she instinctively fumbled for under the bed -clothes. - -“Mammy wake up! I have come to see you--it’s Cherokee, wake up!” she -called. - -The faintest stir of life passed over the brown old face, and she -opened her eyes. It did not seem as though she saw her or anything -else. Her shrivelled lips moved, emitting some husky, unintelligible -sounds. Cherokee leaned nearer, and strained her ears to catch these -terrible words: - -“Starvin’--don’t--tell--my--chile.” - -With a cry she sprang to her feet; the things to be done in this awful -situation mapped themselves with lightning swiftness before her brain; -she started the fire to blazing, with chips and more wood that somehow -was already there. Then she opened the lunch she had been thoughtful -enough to bring; there was chicken, and crackers, and bread. She seized -a skillet, warmed the food, hurried back to the bed, and fed the woman -as though she had been a baby. - -Soon she thought she could see the influence of food and warmth; but it -hurt her to see in the face no indication of consciousness; there was a -blank stare that showed no hope of recognition. - -As she laid the patient back upon the pillow of straw there was a sound -at the door, a sound as of some one knocking the mud from clumsy shoes. -A colored woman stepped in. - -“How you do, Aunt Judy?” - -“Don’t disturb her now, she is very weak,” warned Cherokee. - -The visitor looked somewhat shocked to see a white lady sitting with -Aunt Judy’s hand in hers, softly rubbing it. “What’s ailin’ her?” she -questioned in a whisper, “we-all ain’t hearn nothin’ at all.” - -“I came and found her almost dead with hunger, and she is being -terribly neglected.” - -“Well! fo’ de lawd, we-all ain’t hearn nary, single word! I ’lowed she -was ’bout as common; course I know de ole ’oman bin ailin’ all de year, -but I didn’t know she was down. I wish we had ha’ knowed it, we-all -would a comed up and holped.” - -“It is not too late yet,” said Cherokee, gently. - -“Yes um, we all likes Aunt Judy, she’s a good ole ’oman, I thought Jim -was here wid her. Don’t know who he is? Jim is her gran’son, a mighty -shiftless, wuthless chap, but I thought arter she bin so good to him -he’d a stayed wid her when she got down. But I’ll stay and do all I -kin.” - -Cherokee thanked her gravely, gratefully. - -The darkey went on whispering: - -“De ole ’oman bin mighty ’stressed ’bout dyin’. She didn’t mind so much -the dyin’ ez she wanted to be kyaried to de ole plantation to be buried -’long wid her folks. Dat’s more’n ten or ’leven miles, and she knowd -dey wouldn’t haul her dat fur--’spec’ly ef de weather wus bad. I ’spec -worrin’ got her down.” - -Cherokee told the visitor to try and arouse her, now that she had had -time to rest after her meal. - -She took up one of her worn brown hands. - -“How do you feel, Aunt Judy?” - -“Porely, porely,” she stammered almost inaudibly. - -“Why didn’t you let we-all know?” - -“Thar warn’t nobody to sen’ ’roun’.” - -“Whars Jim?” the visitor enquired. - -Her face gloomed sadly. - -“Law, hunny, he took all de money Mas’r left me, and runned away.” She -looked up with tears in her eyes. - -“Tildy, I mout’ent o’ grieved ’bout de money, but now dey’ll bury me -jes like a common nigger--out in de woods.” - -“Maybe not, sumpin’ mite turn up dat’ll set things right,” she said, -comfortingly. - -The old woman talked with great effort, but she seemed interested in -this one particular subject. - -“Tildy, I ain’t afeard ter die, and I’se lived out my time, but -we-all’s folks wus buried ’spectable--buried in de grabe-yard at home. -One cornder wus cut off for we-all in deir buryin’ groun’; my ole man, -he’s buried dar, and Jerry, my son, he’s buried dar, and our white -people thought a sight o’ we-all. Dey’ed want me sent right dar.” - -“Whar dey-all--your white folks?” asked Tildy, wistfully. - -“All daid but one--my chile, Miss Cheraky. I wus her black mammy, -and she lub’d me--if she was here I’d----” She broke down, crying -pitifully--lifting her arms caressingly, as though a baby were in them. - -Cherokee knew now that she would recognize her, so she came up close to -her. - -“Yes, Mammy, you are right, our loved ones should rest together, I will -see that you go back home.” - -“Oh, my chile!”--she caught her breath in a sob of joy, “God A’mighty -bless you, God A’mighty bless you!” - -“Don’t excite yourself, I shall stay until you are well, or better.” -Cherokee stooped and patted her tenderly. - -“My chile’s dun come to kyar ole mammy home,” she repeated again and -again, until at last, exhausted from joy, she fell asleep. - -Tildy and the young white lady kept a still watch, broken only by -stalled cattle that mooed forth plaintive pleadings. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - -A KENTUCKY STOCK FARM. - - -Cheerless winter days were gone. Spring had grown bountiful at last, -though long; like a miser - - - “Had kept much wealth of bloom, - Had hoarded half her treasures up in winter’s tomb.” - - -But her penitence was wrought in raindrops ringed with fragile -gold--the tears that April sheds. Now vernal grace was complete; the -only thing to do was to go out in it, to rejoice in its depth of color, -in its hours of flooded life, its passion pulse of growth. - -“Ashland,” that peerless Southern home, was set well in a forest -lawn. The great, old-fashioned, deep-red brick house, with its broad -verandas, outlined by long rows of fluted columns, ending with wing -rooms, was half ivy-covered. A man came out upon the steps and looked -across his goodly acres. Day-beams had melted the sheet of silvery dew. -A south wind was asweep through fields of wheat, a shadow-haunted cloth -of bearded gold, and blades of blue grass were all wind-tangled too. -How the wind wallowed, and shook, with a petulant air, and a shiver as -if in pain. The man looked away to the eastward, to where even rows of -stalls lined his race-course--a kite-shaped track. - -A darkey boy came up with a saddled mare, and the master took the -reins, put foot in the stirrup and mounted to the saddle. He was -a large, finely built man, fresh in the forties; kindness and -determination filled the dark eyes, and the broad forehead was not -unvisited by care. The hand that buckled the bridle was fat, smooth -and white, very much given to hand-shaking and benedictions. As he was -about to ride away, the jingling pole-chains of a vehicle arrested his -attention. Looking around the curve, he saw a carriage coming up--a -smartly dressed man stepped out, who asked: - -“Have I the honor--is this Major McDowell?” - -“That is my name, sir; and yours?” - -“Frost--Willard Frost,” returned the other, cordially extending his -hand. - -The Major said, warmly: - -“Glad to know you, Mr. Frost; will you come in?” and the Major got down -from his horse. - -“Thanks. I came with the view of buying a racer. Had you started away?” - -“Only down to the stables; you will come right over with me,” he -proposed. - -“Very good. To go over a stock farm has been a pleasure I have held in -reserve until a proper opportunity presented itself. Shall I ride or -walk?” - -“Dismiss the carriage and be my guest for the day, I will have you a -horse brought to ride.” - -“Oh, thank you, awfully,” returned the profuse stranger. And he -indicated his acceptance by carrying out the host’s suggestion. - -“Call for me in time for the east-bound evening train,” he said, to the -driver. - -Pretty soon the Major had the horse brought, and they rode down to the -stables. - -“I think, Mr. Frost, I have heard your name before.” - -The other felt himself swelling. “I shouldn’t wonder; I am a dauber of -portraits, from New York, and you I have heard quite a deal of, through -young Milburn.” - -“Robert Milburn! Why bless the boy, I am quite interested in his -career; he, too, had aspirations in that line. How did he turn out?” -asked the Major, with considerable interest. - -“Well, he is an industrious worker, and may yet do some clever work, if -drink doesn’t throw him.” - -“Drink!” exclaimed the other, “I can scarcely believe it. He impressed -me as a sober youth, full of the stuff that goes to make a man. What a -pity; I suppose it was evil associations.” - -“A pretty girl is at the bottom of it, I understand. You know, ‘whom -nature makes most fair she scarce makes true.’” - -The Major re-adjusted his hat, and breathed deeply. - -“Ah! well, I don’t believe in laying everything on women. Maybe it was -something else. Has he had no other annoyance, vexations or sorrow?” - -“Yes, he lost his mother in mid-winter, but I saw but little change in -him; true, he alluded to it in a casual way,” remarked Frost, lightly. - -“But such deep grief seeks little sympathy of companions; it lies -with a sensitive nature, bound within the narrowest circles of the -heart; they only who hold the key to its innermost recesses can speak -consolation. From what I know of Robert Milburn this grief must have -gone hard with him.” - -Here they came upon the track where the trainer was examining a new -sulky. - -“Bring out ‘Bridal Bells,’ Mr. Noble. I want to show the gentleman some -of our standard-breds.” - -The trainer’s lean face lighted with native pride. With little shrill -neighs “Bridal Bells” came prancing afield; she seemed impatient to -dash headlong through the morning’s electric chill. Pride was not -prouder than the arch of her chest. - -“What a beauty, what a poem!” Frost’s enthusiasm seemed an inspiration -to the Major. - -“She is marvellously well favored, sir; comes from the ‘Beautiful -Bells’ family, that is, without a doubt, one of the richest and most -remarkable known. If you want a good racer she is your chance. Racing -blood speaks in the sharp, thin crest, the quick, intelligent ear, the -fine flatbone and clean line of limb.” - -Frost looked in her mouth, put on a grave face, as though he understood -“horseology.” - -The Major gave her age, record, pedigree and price so fast that the -other found it difficult to keep looking wise and listen at the same -time. - -The trainer then brought out another, a brown horse with tan muzzle and -flanks. - -“Here, sir, is ‘Baron Wilkes’; thus far he has proven an extremely -worthy son of a great sire, the peerless ‘George Wilkes.’ He was bred -in unsurpassed lines, is 15½ hands high, and at two years old took a -record of 2:34¼.” - -“Ah! he is a handsome individual; look what admirable legs and feet,” -exclaimed the guest. - -“And a race horse all over. But here comes my ideal,” he added, with -pride, as across the sward pranced a solid bay without any white; -black markings extending above his knees and hocks. A horse of finish -and symmetrical build, well-balanced and adjusted in every member. -The one prevailing make-up was power--power in every line and muscle. -Forehead exceedingly broad and full, and a windpipe flaring, trumpet -like, at the throttle. - -“Now I will show you a record-breaker,” the while he patted him -affectionately. - -“This is ‘Kremlin,’ unquestionably the fastest trotter, except -illustrious ‘Alix.’ Under ordinary exercise his disposition is very -gentle, there being an independent air of quiet nonchalance that -is peculiarly his own. Harnessing or unharnessing of colts, or the -proximity of mares, doesn’t disturb his serene composure. But roused -into action his mental energies seem to glow at white heat. He is all -life, a veritable equine incarnation of force, energy, determination--a -horse that ‘would meet a troop of hell, at the sound of the gong,’ and, -I might add, beat them out at the wire. His gait, as may be judged -from his speed, is the poetry of motion; no waste action, but elastic, -quick, true. He is a natural trotting machine. His body is propelled -straight as an air line, and his legs move with the precision of -perfect mechanism.” - -“What shoe does he carry?” asked the New Yorker. - -“Ten ounces in front, five behind.” - -“He is certainly a good animal, I should like to own him; but, all -around, I believe I prefer ‘Bridal Bells.’ To own one good racer is a -pleasure. I take moderate, not excessive, interest in races,” explained -Frost. - -“It is rather an expensive luxury, if you only view it from the -standpoint of pleasure and pride.” - -“Oh, when we can afford these things, it is all very well, I have -always been extravagant, self-indulgent,” and he took out his pocket -book. - -“I must have her,” counting out a big roll of bills and laying them -in the Major’s hand. “There is your price for my queen.” And “Bridal -Bells” had a new master. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - -THE BIRTH-MARK. - - -Like most Southerners, Major McDowell had the happy faculty of -entertaining his guests royally. - -The New Yorker was there for the day, at the kind solicitation of the -Major and his most estimable wife. Afternoon brought a rimming haze; -the wind had hushed, and the thick, lifeless air bespoke rain. A cloud -no bigger than a man’s hand had gathered at low-sky; then mounted, -swelling, to the zenith, and wrapped the heavens in a pall and covered -the earth’s face with darkness that was fearfully illumined by the -lightning’s glare. - -Host and guest stood by an open window looking to the southward. Rain -came down, pelting the earth with a sheeted fall that soon sent muddy -runnels adown every fresh furrow. Before the rain was half over, horses -were led from their stalls to the dripping freedom of wide pasture -lands. - -How green, and still, and sweet-smelling it lies. No wonder the animals -ran ecstatically about, neighing, prancing, nipping one at the other, -snatching lush, tender mouthfuls between rolls on the soft, wet turf. - -“A goodly sight, Major; I see that you have peculiar advantages of soil -and climate for stock-raising,” remarked the guest. - -“That must be true, and it is a recognition of that superiority that -sends breeders from all parts of the world to Kentucky. ‘Kentucky -for fine horses, good whiskey, and pretty women,’ is a maxim old and -doubtless true.” - -“I can vouch for the first two, but it has not been my luck to meet -many of your fair women.” - -“Well, it is proof true,” said the Major; “look for yourself,” and he -pointed to the forest lawn where a young woman was coming between the -elm rows, a child’s hand in each of her own. Her figure preserved that -girlish accent which few women manage to carry over into womanhood. - -She had blonde-brown hair, and blue eyes--very dark and tender. She -looked up as she passed the window, and was none the less charming for -her startled look. The quick averted glance sent a blush to the face of -Willard Frost. - -Some imagine that only virgins blush; that is a mistake. A blush -signifies but a change in the circulation of the blood; animals can -blush. The rabbit is so sensitive that its ears are dyed crimson at -the least sudden impression. - -“That is Cherokee Bell, the prettiest of them all; yes, and the best.” -The Major’s tone was deep and earnest. - -The guest immediately grasped the water bottle, poured himself a glass -and drank it off slowly, with majestic mien, to calm himself. - -“She is beautiful!” he exclaimed, and shutting his teeth together: “Why -in the name of heaven did I run upon her”--this to himself. - -“My wife and I have always been very fond of her--she is our governess.” - -“Your governess!” Frost’s smile of superiority lighted his face as he -added: “I had thought I would like to know more of her, but----” - -“She seldom meets strangers,” said the Major quietly, and looking -steadily at him. “She has had some little experience in the outer -world. She is more contented here with us.” - -“How long has she been with you?” - -“Six months and more.” - -Frost’s voice was unsteady as he asked, “Hasn’t hers been a life of -romance? She looks like a woman with a history.” - -“You are a regular old gypsy at fortune telling. She has had a varied -life, poor child.” - -“And the scar I noticed upon the back of her right hand. How did that -happen?” - -“I will tell you,” answered the Major, suggesting--“Maybe you’d like a -smoke; suppose we go on the veranda?” - -The guest assented, and taking his hat from a table, followed the other. - -Scent of the lilacs fanned through the ivy, and the sodden trees -dropped rain on the drenched grass. - -“I think,” said the Major, as they turned at the end of the veranda -to retrace it again: “as you seem greatly interested in my pretty -governess, I will give you the history of what you call a scar--that is -a fern-leaf--a birth-mark.” - -Frost puffed away in a negligent manner of easy interest, and said: - -“I should like to hear it.” - -“It takes me back to distant, cruel days of war--her father, Darwin -Bell, was my friend; we were comrades; he had been brought up on a big -plantation, just this side of the mountainous region--it is sixty miles -from here--to the northwest. That mountain and the valley on which he -lived were favorite haunts of mine in those memorable early days of -my life. I was three years Darwin’s junior, and never had I realized -his being ahead of me until, at twenty-one, he brought home a wife. -Soon the war broke out; he was no coward, not half-hearted, and when -the summons came he was ready to go. I was to enlist at the same time. -We, like hundreds of others, had only time to make hasty and almost -wordless farewells. He had to leave this young wife in the care of -servants, Aunt Judy, and I believe her husband’s name was Lige, and she -had a son. They were to guard his love-nest while he went out to fight -for the Southern cause. - -“Aunt Judy made many promises; I remember how good were her words -of comfort. He respected her as sacredly as the leaves of his dead -mother’s Bible, and the safety of his saber. Her brown, leathery face -was showered with tears as the young husband and wife, hand in hand, -went to the gate; she drew back and sat down on the door-steps, not -daring to intrude on those last few moments. - -“The pale little wife could not trust herself to speak; she could only -cling to Darwin, as, whispering tender words of endearment, he caught -her in his arms in a last embrace; then tearing himself away, and -strangling a sob, he mounted his horse and started for the war. - -“She watched us go, and, no doubt, deadly fear for his safety must have -clutched at her heart, and the longing to call him back, to implore him -for her sake not to risk his life, must have been almost irresistible. - -“But the thought of manhood and country flashed into her mind, no -doubt, and nerved her; for, when he turned to wave a last farewell, her -face lighted with a brave, cheering smile, which lived in his heart -the whole war-time. I will not take time to tell of the trials and -discomforts; you know enough of that by what you’ve read. - -“It was six or maybe seven months afterward when we were back in old -‘Kaintuck;’ the day of which I speak, we of the cavalry, against -customary plans, were set in the forefront, not on the wings. - -“As the mist lifted, we looked across the valley to see the Kentucky -river gleaming in the sun. It was a familiar sight, a house here and -there, nearer to us a little church, with its graveyard surrounding; -we could see the white headstones, and the old slate ones like black -coffin lids upright. The noise of war, it seemed to me, was enough to -rouse the dead from the buried rest of years. - -“The church reminded me that it was Sunday; with some prickings of -conscience for having forgotten, I lowered my head, and asked that the -right might triumph, and that a peace founded on righteousness might be -won through the strife.” - -“And don’t you think your prayer has been answered?” asked the -listener, interrupting. - -The other dropped his voice: - -“I am not discussing that question,” and he kept on with his recital. - -“Later in the day, Darwin came to me, his face aglow, his eyes bright -with eager delight, and in great excitement. - -“‘I am just two miles from home; if I can get a permit I am going there -to-night.’ - -“I exclaimed: ‘You are mad, man, they are so close to us that the -sentinels almost touch each other, we will have a skirmish inside of an -hour!’ - -“‘I am going when the fight is done, if I am spared.’ - -“I knew him, and he meant it, but I was almost certain he would be -killed. My prediction proved true, we did have a fight; and for a time -they had the advantage, and no one knew how the day would have gone had -not a gallant soldier, too impulsive to obey orders, charged with his -men too close to our cannon. Poor fellow! he died bravely, but his rash -act gave us the victory; they retreated in good order and molested us -no further. Darwin arranged for a leave of an hour’s absence and went -home, but his unthinking haste nearly cost him his life. He barely made -into the mountainway when a scout fired upon him. The scout could not -risk the unknown way of the mountain, so Darwin was saved. - -“He galloped about the gloomy gorges fanged with ledges of rock, and -it was as easy for him to find his way there as in a beaten path. He -fired, now here, now there, until the mountain seemed alive with armed -men. By the time the smoke reached the tree tops here, he was away a -hundred yards. - -“By midnight he had rejoined us; having assurance of his wife’s -well-being, and the faithfulness of Aunt Judy, who nightly slept on the -family silver, Darwin, pretty well fagged out, dropped down to sleep. -I had gotten aroused by his coming, and could not go back to sleep, -myself. - -“I marvelled, as I looked across at the young soldier, to find neither -bitterness nor dissatisfaction on his face, which, even in repose, -retained something of its former bright expression; and it bore no -traces of the weary war, save in a certain hollowness of the cheeks. I -thought that to have to be away from a young wife was enough to justify -a man in cursing war, but he looked happy, as he lay there wrapped in -profound slumber; beside him lay his saber, and the keen wind flapped -vigorously at the gray cloak in which he was enveloped, without in the -least disturbing him. A more perfect picture of peace in the midst of -war, of rest in strife, you could not find. - -“I said to myself, proudly: ‘The man that can wear that look after -continued hard duty, without comfortable quarters, is made of brave -mettle.’ - -“Lying in damp fields of nights was calculated to make us feel little -else but cold and stiffness. - -“The next night, by some means, he went home again to say ‘good -bye,’ he told me, though, I suppose, he had said that when he left -before; but that was none of my business; I was glad he could have the -privilege again. - -“Aunt Judy stood sentinel, and for safe quarters, the wife took Darwin -up-stairs. He had told them how he got into camp the night before. The -good woman-guard had to strain her eyes, for night was coming fast; the -fog, a sad, dun color, was dense, deadly. - -“Pretty soon she heard the sound of horses’ feet; she was all nervous, -for she feared it was ‘dem blue coats comin’.’ With trembling voice she -called, ‘Leetle Massa! dey’s comin’, dey’s comin’!’ Jerry was standing -inside the buggy-house, with Massa’s horse ready for him. Aunt Judy -couldn’t make the captain hear. Her alarm was not unfounded; already -two Federals shook the door, while a third watched the surroundings, -ready to give the alarm; they were pretty certain a Confederate was -visiting here, and were determined to capture him. - -“Quick as a flash Aunt Judy took in the situation; she could hear them -storming at the door; they meant to be admitted, if by force. There -was handling of a faded gray coat--a sacred keep-sake of hers--and a -hurried whisper: - -“‘Run to de mountain, dey’ll follow; do as massa done.’ - -“The next minute horse and rider, as one, went dashing through the -dusk; the scheme acted like a charm. The Federals soon followed in -swift pursuit, and, until it was almost over, Darwin knew nothing of -his peril. He was deeply moved by this heroic act, the while his mind -was filled with grave fears for the safety of the boy. They waited -until ample time for his return, and kept up spirits until the horse -came up, riderless. A great unwonted tumult stirred and lashed the calm -currents of his blood into a whirling storm. - -“This was enough; he started out on his search. The women would go with -him--what more natural--any of us would have let them go. The faint -flarings of dawn lit their perilous way. Of course the women were more -or less nervous; though the whole world was ‘still as the heart of -the dead,’ they were being alarmed by all sorts of imaginary things. -Aunt Judy was pitiful. She bore up under it for the young woman’s -sake, but now and then she would lag behind and cry softly to herself, -for her boy was dear to that old heart. When they began to go up the -side of the mountain, Darwin had to go first to break back the thick -undergrowth. Presently he stumbled and had to catch at hazel bushes to -keep from falling. - -“‘Good God!’ he exclaimed, ‘and he tried to save me from this!’ - -“But his words seemed to die away within his lips, and in dreadful -self-reproach he bent over Jerry, shuddering at the deathly cold of his -face and hands. There, before them, the boy Jerry lay, spent and done. -His head rested upon a bed of blood-withered ferns.” - -Frost gazed at the vaulted expanse a moment, then said: - -“So that accounts for the birth-mark?” - -“Yes, and partially for her being here. Loyal to that noble slave, she -came down and nursed Aunt Judy five weeks, until she followed her boy -to that land lit by the everlasting sun. Listen!” The Major heard the -piano; taking his handkerchief he wiped his eyes. “Pshaw, tears! why I -am as soft as a girl, but that music makes my eyes blur; I am back in -my twenties when I hear ‘Marching Through Georgia.’” - -“Darwin’s child has been badly used since he died. He left her the -small sum of thirty-seven hundred dollars--not much. No, but enough to -keep a girl in a modest way. But she was deluded into going away to -New York in high society, and she got back here without a cent. She is -working now to pay for the burial of Aunt Judy.” - -The other did not ask what became of her money, but the Major answered -as if he had. - -“My wife tells me that a man actually borrowed a part of it; what a -contemptible thing for a man to do.” - -The singing was still heard, and Frost appeared absorbed in that. He -made no answer, but commented: - -“What a delicious quality of voice she has. It seems as though it were -impregnated with the tender harmony that must reign in her soul. But, -pardon me, I must go into Lexington, the carriage is waiting.” - -“Won’t you spend the night, Mr. Frost?” asked the Major. - -“Thank you, sir, I have greatly enjoyed your hospitality, but I must -catch the first east-bound train.” - -The crouching heart within him quailed like a shuddering thing, and he -went away very like a cur that is stoned from the door. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - -HEARTS LAID BARE. - - -They sat in the breakfast room--the family and Cherokee. - -“Did I tell you, wife, that when Mr. Frost was here he brought me news -of Robert Milburn?” - -The tall, graceful woman thus addressed looked from the head of the -table, and showing much interest, questioned: - -“Indeed! well, how was he doing? I grew very fond of the boy when he -was here.” - -“The news is sad; he has gone to drinking,” said the Major, sorrowfully. - -“I don’t believe it; we have no reason to take this stranger’s word; we -don’t know who he is.” Turning to Cherokee she asked: - -“Did you ever hear of Mr. Frost in New York?” - -With a suppressed sigh, she answered: - -“He is an artist of considerable note, I knew him very well.” - -Suddenly Mrs. McDowell remembered that this was the bold man of whom -Cherokee had told her much; so she questioned her no more, for she was -always tender and thoughtful of others. - -The Major did not understand any connection of names, and he again -alluded to the subject. - -“This New Yorker said it was about a girl; but the whole thing, to me, -savors of some man’s hand--one who did not like him well.” - -Here the wife changed the subject by asking: - -“Who got any letters? I didn’t see the boy when he brought the mail.” - -“Cherokee must have had a love letter or a secret,” remarked the Major -cheerily. “I saw her tearing it into tiny bits, and casting them in a -white shower on the grass.” - -“Come, come, girlie, tell us all about it;” then suddenly the lady -said: “How pale you are!” - -“I do not feel well this morning,” she answered; “the letter was from a -friend of other days.” She stumbled to her feet in a dazed sort of way, -and hurried out of the house. - -There was a touch of chill in the air, and the roses drooped; only -wild-flower scents greeted her as she stopped and leaned against -the matted honeysuckle arch by the garden gate. She searched the -vine-tangle through, without finding one single blooming spray. This -was Saturday; no school to-day. She felt a vague sense of relief in -the thought, but what should she do with her holiday. She had lost her -usual spirits, she had forgotten to be brave. The letter, maybe, or -the stranger guest, had made the pale color in her cheeks; the eyelids -drooped heavily on the tear-wet face, and checked the songs that most -days welled perpetually over unthinking lips. - -She had never told of Robert’s treatment of her; of his cold -leave-taking, his altered look, for her to remember always. She had -been bearing it in silence. Bred to the nicest sense of honorable good -faith, she had kept it alone. But to-day she was weakening; she was -agitated, and in a condition of feverish suspense and changeful mind. - -Sunrays shone upon her hair as she leaned against the arch, her head -bowed on her clasped hands, her slender figure shaken with grief. She -heard voices and quick treading on the gravel walk. - -“You haven’t aged at all, though it has been eleven years since I was -here.” - -“Life goes fairly smooth with me; and you have been well, I trust.” -She knew that was the Major’s voice, and in the lightning flash of her -unerring woman’s instinct she knew the other, as he said: - -“I have been blessed with sound body, but life has passed roughly with -me since my mother died. You have heard it?” - -“Yes.” - -“She made home so dear to my boyhood; so real to my after years. She -was ever burning there a holy beacon, under whose guidance I always -came to a haven and to a refuge.” - - -Then they suddenly came upon Cherokee, partly concealed. - -“I told him we would find you down among the flowers, you little -butterfly. Why didn’t you tell me Robert was coming, he is one of -my boys?” and the Major laid his hand affectionately on the man’s -shoulder; then, without waiting for an answer, he left them together. - -Holding out one hand: “I am glad to see you, Cherokee,” and he drew -closer. - -She crimsoned, faltered, and looked toward the ground, but did not -extend her own hand. - -“Thank you,” was all she could utter. - -He went on: “The very same; the Cherokee of old;” he mused, smiling -dreamily, “her own self, like no other.” - -Moving a step within the vine covert she said with a shadowy smile: - -“I wish I were not the old self. I want her to be forgotten.” - -“That is impossible--utterly impossible; I tried to deceive myself -into the belief that this would be done; you see how I have failed?” - -Raising her eyes full to his, but dropping them after the briefest -gaze, she said, timidly: - -“Why have you come back?” - -“I have come back to mend the broken troth-plight; I have come back to -be forgiven,” he answered, humbly. - -“You have come back to find a wasted youth, a tired woman who has -been the victim of a lie, told in the dark, with the seeming verity -of intimate friendship. You have come back to find me stabbed by a -thousand disappointments, striving with grim indifference, learning to -accept, unquestioning, the bitter stone of resignation for my daily -bread. I would scarce venture now to spread poor stunted wings that -life has clipped so closely that they bleed when they flutter even -toward the smallest hope.” - -He fiercely cried, and clinched his hands together, with one consuming -glance at her: - -“I was to blame, Cherokee, for believing that you had promised to marry -Fred Stanhope; Willard Frost is charged with this as well”--he bit his -lips hard. - -“And it was to the same man that I owe the death of innocence.” Her -voice was scarcely more than a whisper. - -Robert Milburn turned upon her a piteous face, white with an intensity -of speechless anguish. He staggered helplessly backward, one hand -pressed to his eyes, as though to shut out some blinding blaze of -lightning. - -“Innocence! great God! He shall die the death----” - -“Ah, you do not understand,” she hastily interrupted. “I mean that I -thought all men were brave, honorable in everything, business as well -as socially; but he was not a brave man; it was a business transaction -in which he did me ill. I had measured him by you.” - -This was a startling relief to him: - -“Thank heaven I was mistaken in your expression of ‘death of -innocence.’ But you humiliate, crush me, with a sense of my own -unworthiness, to say I have been your standard. What made me listen to -idle gossip of the Club--why did I act a brute, a coward?” his lips -moved nervously. - -“Dearest, show yourself now magnanimous, forgive it all, and forget it. -You are so brave and strong--so beautiful--take me back.” - -“Was it I who sent you away?” - -“Oh! do you not see how humiliating are these reminders? I have -confessed my wrong.” - -“But would I not still be a burden; you said I could not bear poverty?” -she asked. - -He looked up with an expression of painful surprise: - -“Don’t, don’t! I know now that love is the crown and fulfillment of all -earthly good. Have you quit caring for me? I infer as much.” - -Hastening to undo the effect of her last words, she said: - -“Forgive me, Robert, what need I say? You read my utmost thoughts now -as always. I have not changed towards you.” - -His sad expression gave place to exquisite joy and adoration. - -“I am grateful for the blessing of a good woman’s love.” - -They passed out of the gate, down through the browning woods, and all -things were now as they, of old, had been. The bracing, cool October -air was like rare old wine; it made their flagging pulses beat full and -strong. In such an atmosphere, hand in hand with such a companion--a -woman so sweet, so young, so pure--Robert could not fail to feel the -fires of love burn brighter and brighter. Her forgiveness was spoken -from her very soul. Rarely has a wave of happiness so illumined a -woman’s face as when she said, “I love you so now, I have never -understood you before.” There was a degree of love on her part that was -veritable worship--her nature could do nothing by halves. Her soul was -so thrilled by this surcharged enthusiasm, it could hold no more. There -is a supreme height beyond which no joy can carry one, and this height -Cherokee had attained. The restraint of her will was overthrown for the -moment, and now the pent-up passion of her heart swept on as a mountain -torrent: - -“Oh, my dearest love, how have I lived until now? What a lovely place -this world is with you--you alone. Kiss me! kiss me!” She grasped his -hand with sudden tightness, until his ring cut its seal into the flesh. -He bent over her head, put her soft lips to his, and folded her in his -arms. “Sweetheart, I shall never go away without you.” - -All this meant so much to Cherokee--these hours with him--these -hours of forgetfulness of all but him--these hours of abandon, of -unrestrained joy, flooded her life with a light of heaven. She -had given her happiness into his keeping; and he had accepted the -responsibility with a finer appreciation of all it meant than is shown -by most men. - -Where could there have been a prettier trothing-place than here in the -free forest, where the good God had been the chief landscape gardener. -Here was the God-touch in everything. Well had the red man called -this month the “moon ’o falling leaves.” Softly they came shivering -down, down, down, at their feet, breathing the scent of autumn. Now, -and here, nature is seen in smoother, softer, mellower aspect than she -wears anywhere else in the world. It was nearing the nooning hour when, -together, the lovers’ steps tended homeward, and when they reached -the house, Robert vowed it would never again be in him to say that he -didn’t love the South and the country. - -With what a young, young face Dorothy met the Major. As she looked up -she saw his wide kind eyes smiling; he leaned forward and laid his hand -upon her, saying, “My little girl, after all, love is life.” - -At these words a tall, slight woman raised her head--a secret bond of -fellowship seemed to have stirred some strange, mysterious sympathy. -The Major crossed over to her; what though time had stolen away her -youth--her freshness gone, there was still sweet love gleaming in her -lined face--it could not be that they were old. Tenderly he took her -warm soft hand in his, and told her how he loved her. The sweethearts -looked on and rejoiced; neither whispered it to the other, but deep in -the heart each said, “So shall ours be forever.” - -“Come, let me bless you my children,” and the Major’s wife slipped a -hand into one hand of each, and drew them closer. Robert’s eyes lit -up; his brave mouth was smiling quietly, while dimples broke out on -Cherokee’s face. - -“I trust the dark is all behind, the light before, and that you are at -the threshold of a great, enduring happiness--but remember that Time -will touch you as your joy has done, but his fingers will weigh more -heavily--it is then that you must cling all the closer.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - -SUNLIGHT. - - -The marriage was to be celebrated in two weeks. Cherokee had too much -common sense to wish an elaborate wedding, when it would necessitate -more means than she possessed. - -The Major and his wife, who was the personification of lovable good -nature, considered together, and graciously agreed to extend to Robert, -for these two weeks, the hospitality of their roof. What a sweetly good -wife the Major had! The graces of her person corresponded to the graces -of her mind. The beauty of her character found a fitting symbol in the -sweet, gentle face--the refined, expressive mouth, that gave out wise -counsel to Cherokee, in whom she felt so deep an interest. - -Cherokee had the dimmest memory of her mother, whom she lost when she -was a child in words of three letters, frocks to her knees, infantine -socks, and little shoes fastened with two straps and a button. The -Major’s wife was so full of charity and tenderness that she did her -best to compensate for the unhappy want of a mother. She now gave her -assistance in every particular relating to the preliminaries of the -wedding. - -There is an old saying that “honest work is prayer.” If thus reckoned, -there was a deal of praying at Ashland now. At the door, most times, -was a large carriage, of the kind which the Major used to call a -barouche, with an immense pair of iron-gray horses to it, and on the -box was a negro coachman, ready at a moment’s notice to let down the -steps, open and close the door, clamber up to his seat, and set off at -a brisk pace along down a winding avenue of laurels, to town. - -As for Robert, it was the union of inspiration and rest that made the -days so wholesome and unique. It was agreed that he and the Major -should be no care to the busy ones; they were to find their own -entertainments. One or two days had been passed in hunting expeditions. -They had bagged quail until the artist fancied himself a great success -as a huntsman. Then there were morning strolls where he could take -his thoughts and ease in the fulness of all the falling beauty and -grandeur of the season. Light winds strewed his way broadcast with -leaves--leaves that were saturated, steeped, drunken with color. What -a blessed privilege for a man with artistic tastes. There was nothing -second-rate about here. The air, as well as the leaves, was permeated, -soaked through and through, with sunlight--quivering, brilliant, -radiant; sunlight that blazes from out a sky of pearl, opal and -sapphire; sunlight that drenched historic “Ashland” with liquid amber, -kissed every fair thing awake, and soothed every shadow; sunlight that -caresses and does not scorch, that dazzles and does not blind. - -Upon one hunting trip the Major took Robert up near Cherokee’s old -home--the woods and fields where her childhood passed. It was well -worth the day’s ride. What various charm lies in this region. The wood -is alive with squirrels too. They stole upon two of these shy wood -rangers, who were busy in their frolic, chasing one another around a -huge hickory nut tree. - -“Ssh!” whispered Robert, as he motioned the Major to lay down his gun. -He wished to watch their antics. They were young ones who, as yet, knew -not the burden of existence whose pressure sends so many hurrying, -scurrying, all the day long, laying up store of nuts against the coming -cold. To these two, life, so far, meant a summer of berries, and milky -corn, and green, tender buds, with sleep in a leaf-cradle, rocked by -soft summer winds; with morning scampers through seas of dew-fresh -boughs. Only glimmering instinct tells them of imminent, deadly change, -and, all unknowing, they make ready against it, in such light-hearted, -hap-hazard fashion. Now they cease their scampering and drop down to -earth, burrowing daintily in its deep leaf-carpet. One rises upon his -haunches with a nut in his paws, the other darts to seize it, and for -a few minutes they roll over and over--a furry ball, with two waving, -plumy tails. It flies swiftly apart, the finder hops upon a rotting -tree trunk to chatter in malicious triumph. His mate sits, dejected, -a yard away, as his sharp teeth cut the hull; she has given up the -contest and is sore over it, though nuts are plentiful, and the yield -this year, abundant. Presently, she creeps past to the log’s other end; -the other looks sharply at her out of the corner of his eye, then, -darts to her side, pats her lightly between the ears, and, as she turns -to face him, drops the nut of contention safe within her little paws. -At once she falls to ravenous gnawing. He looks on, rubs his head -caressingly against her, then darts away to find a new treasure that -has just dropped from above; for well they know none were more rightful -heirs to nature’s bounty. - -The men looked on in silent interest; this was a pretty sight indeed, -and few manage to steal upon it for more than a moment. Their luck was -due to the youth of the pair, who thought they risked nothing by such -delicious idling--nor, indeed, did they; for when the watching was -over, the intruders shouldered their guns and left them to life. The -Major’s next turn was toward the big south wood, whose edge they saw -fringing the top of the bluff. This bluff faces north, a sheer wall of -grey-blue limestone, seamed and broken into huge ledges. All manner -of wild vines grow in the clefts, grape-vines, wild ivy, poison-oak, -trail down into the water. The crown and glory of it, though, was its -ferns. The trailing rock-fern runs all over the face of it, each seam -and cleft is a thick fringe of maiden-hair ferns, wherever it gets good -root. Foxes live in the caves along the bluffs, but the men looked with -keenest search and they could not catch a glimpse of one. - -Thinking of this, the Major recalled to mind a memorable and exciting -chase in which they had run the fox into this very place. He had -distanced them by one second, and they lost the game. - -While they stood there, letting their horses drink, the Major recounted -the things of interest about the hunt. - -“It is such royal sport,” declared Robert, “there is nothing so -invigorating as a lively chase, though as a sport its palmiest days -are in the past. To be a ‘master of fox-hounds’ was once a country -gentleman’s crowning distinction. The chase, when spoken of now, has a -reminiscent tone, an old ‘time flavor.’” - -“Notwithstanding our neighboring young men keep up this pastime of -old days, I go but rarely, now,” said the Major. “Various modern -innovations, from wire fences to democratic ideas, have conspired to -ruin the country--for fox hunting. Unsportsmanlike farmers will not -tolerate broken fences and trampled crops.” - -“I should so enjoy just one stirring chase. I wonder if we could get up -a ‘swagger’ affair, including the girls?” asked Robert. - -“Most assuredly.” - -And on the way home, they planned the hunt. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - -THE PICTURESQUE SPORT. - - - “Resounds the glad hollo, - The pack scents the prey; - Man and horse follow, - Away, hark away! - Away, never fearing, - Ne’er slacken your pace-- - What music so cheering - As that of the chase.” - - -It is dawn. The cool black darkness pales to tender gray. Singeth not -the ballad-monger-- - - - “A southerlie wind, a clouded skye - Doe proclaime it huntynge morning?” - - -Now the long notes of mellow-winded horns come strongly up-wind, -undervoiced with a whimpering chorus from the hounds. The fox-hunters -are out. What a picture! Eleven blue-grass beauties, all roundnesses -and curves, mounted upon eleven Kentucky horses. An equal number of -cavaliers put in, made a fair and gallant sight. The company willingly -recognized as their chief, the new arrival and visitor, whose noble -head and clear-cut features were really quite imposing. Cherokee -started out as his companion, and she occupied, with sufficient -majesty, her place of triumph. She was upon “Sylvan,” a splendid -lead-white horse, who was the pride and pet of her care. What a -horse--what a rider! Where could you find such hand, seat, horse, -rider--so entirely, so harmoniously, at one? It is a rhythm of motion, -wherein grace has wedded strength. Mark the fire, the spirit of the -beast; his noble lift of head, arching neck, with its silky, flowing -mane; his clean flat leg, his streaming tail of silver shining. How he -loves his mistress who sits him so light, so firm, so easily swaying; -she bends him to her will by master-strength; yet pats and soothes -as she might a frightened child. Sweetness and strength! that is all -the magic. The rein is a channel through which intelligence goes most -subtly. Good Sylvan knows and loves his rider--feels her vividly to the -core of his quick sense; will serve her unquestioning to the limit of -his speed and stay. - -The hunters have started in a south-easterly direction, the -musical-winding of horns, wreathing like a thread of gold, through the -heart of the town. - -Listen! they are now at the creek ford; hear the splash and beat of -hoofs. The dogs ahead, are running in leaping circles through field -and wood. A whimpering challenge comes sharply from the left; nobody -heeds it--it is only the puppy, out for a first run, as yet scarce -knowing the scent he seeks. Most likely he is trailing a rabbit--but -no; a bell-like note echoes him. Trumpet, king of the pack, cries loud -and free--all the rest break out in thrilling jangle, and set all the -valley a-ring. Up, up, it swells, truly a jocund noise, under these low -pale clouds, this watery moon, this reddening east. They are headed up -wind, the cool air goes back heavy-freighted with the wild dog-music. -Hoof-beats sound sharply through it. Sylvan is close behind the leading -hound. What sharp, exultant shrilling comes out from the followers’ -throats. All the hunt is whooping, yelling, as it streams through dusk -of dawn. Up, then down, they go; along a gentle slope from whose sparse -flints the hoofs strike fire. A fair world smiles up from either hand, -but they have no eye, no thought for it. The thrilling, breathless -motion wraps them away from other senses; they are drunken with “wine -o’ the morning.” Truly, it is the breath of life they draw, in this -rush through the dew-fresh air. - -Note the leader now, urging his mare; what feet are hers--small, -firm, unerring. Her skimming gallop is as the flight of a bird--her -leap a veritable soar. See! the fox has doubled; now the full cry -rings down-wind. See the dogs tumbling, writhing over that crooked -fence. They had been running always on view--heads up, tails down--so -close upon their quarry there was no need to lay nose to the tainted -herbage that he had crossed. They caught the scent hot in the air. All -the hunters knew it when they heard the last wild burst of furious -dog-music. So hearing, they sat straighter in the saddle, gave the -good beasts the spur; a little while and they would be “in at the -death;” the next field, certainly the next hill-side, must bring it. -So they crash, pell-mell, over the low roadside fence, as the hounds -top the high one bounding the pasture land. But now Trumpet stops -short, flings his nose to wind, and sets up a whimpering cry--he has -lost the trail. The fox has either dodged back under the horses’ feet, -or hidden so snug that the dogs have over-run him. Look at the true -creatures, panting with lolling tongues, as they run crying about -the field, dazed out of all weariness by this astounding check. A -minute--two--three--still the trail is lost. There is babble of yelps -and shouting, each master calling loudly to his most trusted hound. -The leader’s horse champs on the bit, frets lightly against the rein. -Sylvan, too, prances gaily under check. This ringing run has but -well breathed him--the noise of it has set his fine blood afire. Soon -a horn breaks faintly out, is instantly from lip, and all the field -is in motion. The fox is cunning, but Trumpet is cunninger. He has -followed the fence a hundred yards, picked up the trail where the sly -thing leaped to earth after running along the rails, and is after -it, calling, with deepest notes, to man and beast to follow and save -the honors of the field. How straight he goes; his fellows streaming -after can do no more than yelp, as with great leaping bounds they -devour the grassy space. Nearer, nearer he comes to the dark, sweated, -hunted thing that seems a mere shadow on the ground in front of him, -so straight, so skimming is his steady flight toward the bluff beyond; -his den is there. To it he strains, yet never shall he gain. Almost -Trumpet is upon the prize; his hot breath overruns it; it darts aside, -doubles--but all in vain. Quickly, cruelly, his jaws close upon it. The -leading horseman, Robert, snatches it away, and blows a long blast of -his horn. Trumpet stands aquiver with delight, and leaps up for a pat -of the hand, while Robert flings the dead fox at his feet before the -eyes of all the field. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - -WEDDED. - - -It was the seventeenth of October--the wedding day at “Ashland.” Little -ruffles of south wind blew out of a fair sky, breathing the air of -simplicity into grandeur. Up among the ivy leaves, a couple of birds -flashed and sang. But indoors, people were so mightily interested in a -pair of unwinged lovers, that these two sang their song out, and then -flew away unheard. - -Carriages bearing guests to the wedding were already rolling past. -Those who alighted were the intimate friends. No stranger’s curious -stare would fall upon this scene to contrast with its fairness. No -shadow was necessary to the harmony of it. - -Robert stood at an upper window, and his eyes fell upon the matted -honey-suckle where Cherokee had first lifted so sad a face to him--so -sad, that, though the first throb of grief awakened by his mother’s -death had scarcely yet been stilled, he forgot his own sorrow in the -effort to bring happiness again to her--his living love. How his -words of tenderness had made her face soft like the late sunshine of -a summer day. He looked with emotion upon the scene whose vividness -came back with double force to-day. Could all this influence be as -fleeting as it was charming? What would be his verdict at the end of a -year--what hers? - -He was called clever, and “people of talent should keep to themselves -and not get married.” Yet his love had overruled the sage’s counsel. -This feeling for Cherokee he knew could not be called another name less -sweet. Since the first sight of her he had worshipped her from afar, as -a devout heathen might worship an idol, or as a neophyte in art might -worship the masterpiece of a master. And she was proud of him, too; -women want the world’s respect for their husbands. Would he, could he, -do anything to make her and the world lose that respect? No, he thought -not now--he would be away from his old associations and temptings. -“Artists are such funny chaps, they all have the gift of talk and -good manners,” he mused, “but they are generally upon the verge of -starvation; they are too great spendthrifts to be anything else but -worthless fellows. Now I am not a spendthrift, and if I can but conquer -_one little evil_, of which I should have told her, maybe, I will break -the record they have made.” - -Lost for a time in this reverie, he was dead to the passing of the -precious moments. Recalled to himself, he turned quickly to the -clock--it still wanted five and twenty minutes to twelve. - -As for Cherokee, there were no moments of sober reflection. She was -too much in love to calculate for the future, and did not imagine that -so delicious a life could ever come to an end. Happy in being the -help-mate of Robert, she thought that his inextinguishable love would -always be for her the most beautiful of all ornaments, as her devotion -and obedience would be an eternal attraction to him. - -There was but one thing now left undone. She slipped out the side -entrance, down into the lawn where Sylvan was. She laid her soft cheek -against his great silvered neck. “I am going away,” she whispered, half -aloud, as though he could understand. “But you know he must be very -kind and dear if I leave my good friends and you, for him, you brave, -big beast; how I hope your next mistress will care for you as I have.” -She pressed his neck affectionately, the while his eyes mirrored and -caressed her, and, when she started back towards the house, he followed -her with a tread that was pathetic. - -Inside, the rooms, and halls, and stairway, were wreathed about with -delicate vines and roses. All Ashland was in attendance, if not in the -house or on the verandas, then gazing through the windows; or waiting -outside the gate. Even the negroes, as they peered, tiptoe, had a sense -of ownership in the affair. - -It was noon--that supreme moment of life and light. The tall -silver-faced clock rang out twelve silvery chimes as ten maidens, in -wash-white, entered, strewing flowers in the path. These white robed -attendants, standing now aisle-wise, made a symphony of bloom. All eyes -followed the bride as she appeared on the arm of the handsome, kindly -Major, full of dignity, full of sweetness as well. Every heart burst -forth into an exclamation of delight and admiration. There was youth, -sweetness and love on her flushing face. Few brides have looked happier -than Cherokee; few men have looked more manly than Robert Milburn, as -he met and took her hand for life. - -The ceremony was followed by a shower of congratulations. A hurried -change to her going-away gown, and they were ready to take their final -leave. The Major and his wife said good-bye, and then again, good-bye, -with a lingering emphasis that made the word as kind as a caress. - -A few minutes more and they were gone. There was nothing left but the -scattered rice on the ground, and Sylvan, with bowed head--as though -he knew the hand of Cherokee had now another charge; while over all -sifted the long benediction of sunlight and falling leaves. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - -CHLORAL. - - -It was a half hour past midnight. A cab drew up in front of a residence -in New York, and two men bore something into the outer doorway. - -The bell gave a startling alarm, and presently, from within, a voice -asked, with drowsy tremor: - -“Is that you, Robert, husband?” - -“Open the door quickly,” some one insisted. - -“But that is not Robert’s voice,” she faltered. - -“Madam, a friend has brought your husband home.” - -This assurance caused the door to be quickly opened. - -“Good heavens! is he ill? Is he hurt? Bring him this way,” she -excitedly directed. - -The silken draperies of the bed were trembling, showing that she had -just left their folds. After depositing the burden, the cab man bowed, -and left them. - -“It is not at all serious, my dear madam,” the friend began, “but the -truth is--” here he hesitated confusedly, he did not mean to tell her -the truth at all; anything else but that. - -“Oh, sir, tell me the worst; what has happened?” and she leaned -lovingly over the unconscious man; she looked so earnest in her -grief--so unsuspecting--that Marrion was convinced that this was the -first “full” of the honeymoon. “I will help him out of this,” he said -to himself. - -“Robert had a terrific headache at the club, and we gave him -chloral--he took a trifle too much--that is all--he will be quite -himself by morning.” - -“Oh! sir, are you sure it is not fatal?” Cherokee asked, anxiously, -“absolutely sure? But how could anyone be so careless,” she -remonstrated. - -“I do not wonder that you ask, since it was Marrion Latham who was so -thoughtless.” - -“Marrion Latham! my husband’s dearest friend.” - -“I am what is left of him,” he answered, laughingly. - -She extended her hand, cordially: - -“I am glad to meet you, for Robert loves you very dearly, and came near -putting off the wedding until your home-coming.” - -“I am very sorry to have missed it. Have I come too late to offer -congratulations?” - -“No, indeed, every sunset but closes another wedding day with us,” and -she kissed the flushed face of the sleeper she so loved. Too blind -was that love to reveal the plight in which this accident had left -him. Call it accident this once, to give it tone. Cherokee willingly -accepted for truth the statement that Marrion had made. Enough for her -woman heart to know that her husband needed her attention and love. -There over him she leaned, her hair rippling capewise over her gown, -while from the ruffled edge her feet peeped, pink and bare. She was -wrapped in a long robe of blue cashmere, with a swansdown collar, which -she clasped over her breast with her left hand. It was easy to be seen -there was little clothing under this gown, which every now and then -showed plainly, in spite of the care she took to hide it. - -Art was powerless to give these fine and slight undulations of the body -that shone, so to speak, through the soft and yielding material of her -garment. Marrion studied the poem she revealed; he saw she had a wealth -of charms--every line of her willowy figure being instinct with grace -and attractiveness, as was the curve of her cheeks and the line of her -lips. Imagine a flower just bursting from the bud and spreading ’round -the odor of spring, and you may form some faint idea of the effect she -produced. To Marrion she was not a woman, she was _the_ woman--the -type, the abstraction, the eternal enigma--which has caused, and will -forever cause, to doubt, hesitate and tremble, all the intelligence, -the philosophy, and religion of humanity. - -All his soul was in his eyes; Eve, Pandora, Cleopatra, Phyrne, passed -before his imagination and said: “Do you understand, now?” and he -answered: “Yes, I understand.”--Robert was safe at home and was now -sleeping quietly, so Marrion thought he had done his duty. - -“I shall leave you now, Mrs. Milburn; he will be all right when he has -had his sleep out.” - -“Oh, do not leave us, what shall I do without you?” she pleaded in -child-fashion. - -“If it will serve you in the least, I shall be glad to remain,” he -assured her, as he resumed his seat. - -After all, he did not know but that it was best for him to stay. Too -well he knew that to every sleep like this there is an awakening that -needs a moderator. - -Marrion Latham was a tall, splendid-looking man, with a proud, -commanding manner. His intimates styled him, “The Conqueror.” He had -always had a handsome annuity besides the income he realized from his -plays. He had enough money to make the hard world soft, win favors, -gild reputation, and enable one to ride instead of walk through life; -consequently, he had self-indulgent habits, and was destitute of -those qualities of self-endurance and self-control that hard work and -poverty teach best. Yet he had that high sense of honor which is most -necessary to such an imaginative, passionate and self-willed nature as -he possessed. - -While he sat there quietly, Robert became restless. The stupor was -wearing off, and the dreaded awakening came. - -“May I trouble you for a glass of water?” was Marrion’s request, that -would absent Mrs. Milburn for awhile. - -Robert made a ferocious movement, and began thumping his head. - -“Wheels in it,” he muttered. - -“Be quiet, she does not suspect you,” Marrion whispered. - -Cherokee came back to find her husband in the delirious throes of his -spree. With sweet and tender solicitude, she asked: - -“Do you feel better, dear?” - -“I have been desperately ill,” was his almost rational response. - -“Bravo,” was Marrion’s mental comment, “so far, so good.” Now, if she -would only allow him to be quiet; but who ever saw a woman tire of -asking questions, and who ever saw a drunken man that did not have a -tongue for all ten of the heads he imagined he had? - -Cherokee chimed in again: - -“I have been very uneasy about you. You know I expected you home by -ten.” - -“Ten! Fifty would be more like it. I know I took that money.” - -“What do you mean, Robert?” she asked, as she stared at him, amazed and -wounded. - -“He means nothing, he is flighty; that’s the way the medicine affects -one,” Marrion explained. - -“I tell you she is deucedly pretty”--with this Robert calmed down for -awhile. - -“He is surely out of his head, Mr. Latham.” - -“No, I am not,” thundered Robert, “I should feel better if I were,” and -all at once he came to his senses. - -“What does this mean? What am I doing, lying down in my dress suit?” he -demanded, “and it is broad day.” - -“It means that you have kept me up all night lying for you,” whispered -Marrion. - -“The devil you say! have I had too much?” - -Cherokee had gone from the room with the stain of wild roses on her -cheek, for she had at last understood the situation, and its terrible -significance. - -“I will leave you now, old boy, and I hope this will not occur again. -You have an angel for a wife.” - -“Thank you, Latham, stay for breakfast with us.” - -“No, I have an appointment early this morning.” - -At the door he turned and called to Milburn: - -“Oh, Milburn, when you have the headache again, there is one thing you -must not forget.” - -“What’s that?” - -“Chloral,” he answered, chaffingly. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - -A BOLD INTRUDER. - - -That evening Robert did not go down town to dinner, but stayed at home, -by way of doing penance. He sat in his room, reading; suddenly he threw -aside the paper and said: - -“What nonsense to pretend to read in a home like this, I ought to give -all my time to adoration of you; few men are so blessed.” - -“How lovely of you to say that; you are the very best husband in all -the world, I know you are.” - -“And you, my wife, are just what I would have you be.” - -She lifted her face and looked ardently into his: - -“I am so happy; are you?” - -“As happy as I ever wish to be in heaven,” he replied, with great -earnestness. - -“Oh, don’t say that, it is irreverent--sacrilegious----” - -The sentence was cut short by the servant entering and announcing: - -“Mr. Latham, Mr. Frost.” - -Cherokee, in astonishment, asked: - -“Surely it cannot be Willard Frost?” - -“S--h--! he will hear you,” warned the husband. - -“Then it is he.” - -“I shouldn’t wonder, though I do not see what brings him here.” - -“He must have been invited; brazen as he is, he never would have -intruded here unasked,” she guessed. - -“Now, since you speak of it, I did meet him at the Club last night, -with Marrion.” - -“And you invited him here?” Anger and sorrow were blended in the voice -of Cherokee as she asked the question. - -“I don’t think I did, though something was said about his calling. The -fact is, I had been taking a little too much--too much----” - -“Chloral. Yes I understand now, but how could you be friendly with him -after the way he had treated me.” - -There was reproach in her tones, that told more strongly than her -words, of suppressed indignation. Robert noticed it and was visibly -embarrassed. - -“You forget he gave us a thousand dollar wedding present. He is really -a good fellow when you come to know him thoroughly; besides, he is -one of the most successful artists in New York, and can be of great -service to me. I want to get to the front, you know.” - -Cherokee had never told Robert of their meeting, nor that very amount -he had so contemptuously returned to her in the guise of a gift--of the -reception, and Willard’s boast that she would again receive him. She -regretted that now; surely the knowledge on the part of the husband -would have restrained him. - -“You must go to them,” she said at length, “they will think strangely -of the delay.” - -“I must go; surely you will accompany me.” - -“Don’t ask it, Robert; make some excuse; I can’t meet that man.” - -“Nonsense! the embarrassment will be but momentary. You surely won’t -stand in the way of my success; besides, Marrion is there, and I am -sure you will enjoy knowing him better.” - -“Do you really wish me to see this other man, Willard Frost?” - -“I do; how can I expect him to be my friend if you fail to receive him?” - -“You are everything to me, husband, and I will obey you, although I -never expected to be called upon to make a sacrifice like this.” - -In the meantime, the guests awaited in the library. - -“Latham,” said Frost, “you are a first-rate fellow to arrange things so -that I can again meet the lovely Mrs. Milburn.” - -“‘Again meet her!’ then you know her already?” - -“Know her?” the brief interrogatory, with the accompanying shrug of the -shoulders and significant laugh, formed a decided affirmative answer. - -A swift flush of indignation swept across Marrion Latham’s features. -The manner of his companion annoyed him. - -“Why have you never called here before?” he asked, coldly. - -“We had a trifling misunderstanding some time ago. Report had it that -she was somewhat interested in me, and that too, since my marriage to -Frances Baxter.” - -“And it was to gain admission here that you insisted on Robert’s -drinking last night, even after I asked you not to do it?” - -“Oh, no, I like Milburn and want to help him in his art. I was free -to call without a special invitation, though I was not sorry when he -insisted upon my coming.” - -“Hush! here they are.” - -The two men rose. Willard Frost’s gaze went straight to the tall, lithe -figure that came forward to meet her guests. - -Nature had made of her so rare a painting--her’s was a beauty so -spirituelle--that it awed to something like reverence, those who -greeted her. The flush of indignation had disappeared from her face, -but the excitement, the agitation through which she had passed had -heightened her color as well as her beauty. - -The first thing that Marrion said, aside to Robert, was: - -“How is that head?” - -“That’s one on me, gentlemen. Have cigars, it’s my treat.” - -“With your gracious permission,” remarked Marrion, bowing to the -hostess. - -“I am pleased to grant it, if you enjoy smoking,” and she handed them -matches. - -“It is some time since we have met, Mrs. Milburn,” said Frost, with -cold courtesy, while the other men were talking together. - -“Yes, it is quite a long time. Your wife is well, I trust.” - -“I am sorry, but I really can’t enlighten you on that point.” - -“Is she out of the city?” - -“I am told so. The fact is, she has recently taken a decided liking to -a young actor. I understand that she is going upon the stage.” - -Cherokee was speechless. The coolness and impudence of that man had -completely dumbfounded her. - -“She preferred histrionic art to my poor calling,” he continued; “I -have instructed my attorneys to take the necessary legal steps to leave -her free to follow it.” - -Here Robert and Marrion joined them, and the conversation became -general. - -“By the way,” said Latham, when they got up to leave, “I had almost -forgotten my special mission; I came to invite you to a box party next -Wednesday evening.” - -“We shall be most charmed to go,” replied Cherokee, who had resolved to -make herself agreeable. “What is the play?” - -“It is my latest.” - -“We shall be well entertained, if it is one of yours,” cried Robert -enthusiastically. - -“And the name of your play, Mr. Latham?” - -“When Men Should Blush.” - -“An odd title, but he is famous for thinking of things that no one else -ever thought of,” put in Frost. - -“Yes, I occasionally think of you,” added Latham, good-naturedly. - -“You forget that thoughts and dreams sometimes assume the form of -nightmares; you had better leave me out--I might be an unpleasant -incubus to encounter.” - -Latham smiled, and there was the least tinge of a sneer in his smile. - -When Cherokee closed her eyes to sleep that night, she could only see -Willard Frost--the one man in all the world whom she loathed; the -coldest, most unsympathetic creature that ever got into a man’s skin -instead of a snake’s. - -True, he was handsome, but for the red lips that seemed to indicate -sensuality, and the square, resolute jaw that showed firmness of -purpose. - - * * * * * * - -On Wednesday evening all kept their engagement. Lounging in handsome -indifference, surrounded by his invited guests, Marrion saw the curtain -rise at ---- Theater. - -His box was the center of attraction. Wild, fervid, impassioned was the -play--this youngest creation of his brain. The shifting scenes were -gracefully sudden, the denouement clever, and, as the curtain went -down on the admirable drama, he had shown the audience that there was -something new under the sun. - -With some, to write is not a vague desire, but an imperious destiny. -This was true of Marrion Latham; to this man of only eight and twenty -years, heaven had entrusted its solemn agencies of genius. What a -vast experience he must have had, for few people become great writers -without tasting all these fierce emotions and passionate struggles. It -is said that we must measure our road to wisdom by the sorrows we have -known. Whatever grief he had borne had been in silence, and his laugh -was as joyous as when a boy. - -He was of high lineage, and Southern born; he came of a stock whose -word was as good as their oath, and his success did not make him cut -his actors on the street, as some dramatists have been known to do. - -He had arranged a little supper after the play. Cherokee, pleased with -the fine mind of her host, and having determined not to stand in the -way of her husband’s advancement, was the life of the table. She did -not put herself forward or seek to lead; much of the charm of her words -and manner rose from utter unconsciousness of self. - -She was both too proud and too pure hearted for vanity, spoke well, and -to the purpose. If but a few words, they were never meaningless; and -pervading all she said there was that aroma of culture which is so -different from mere education. Should she have had no charm of face, -her gifted mind alone would have made her attractive beyond most women. - -During the supper the talk drifted on woman’s influence. Frost asserted -that no woman ever reformed a man if his own mind was not strong enough -to make him brace up; he would keep on to the end, an erring, stumbling -wretch. - -“You are mistaken,” returned Marrion, “many a good woman, mother, wife, -has borne the cross to where she could lay it aside and take a crown. -Take the drink habit, for instance; once an excessive, always one. Now, -I can drink or let it alone.” - -“I detest a drunkard,” said Frost, laconically. - -“But somebody’s father, brother, or husband, might be strong in all -other points and weak in that one,” Cherokee spoke, just a trifle -severely. - -“And woman has the brunt of it to bear,” said Marrion. - -“I hold that we are nearer true happiness when we demand too little -from men than when we expect too much,” was Frost’s retort. - -Here Robert turned to Marrion: - -“I see, from your play, that you believe in an equal standard of -morals. You propose to be as lenient with women as with men.” - -“Say, rather, I am in favor of justice,” was the manly reply. - -“This doctrine of yours is quite dangerous,” Frost interrupted, to -which Marrion answered: - -“It is the doctrine of Him who teaches forgiveness of sins.” - -“Ah, Latham, you have taken a stupendous task upon yourself, if you -mean to reform men,” laughed Frost. - -“Some men and beasts you can improve, but other natures--like wild -hyenas--once wild, wild forever,” was Marrion’s bright rejoinder. - -“I am not looking for them,” was the answer. - -“Come to the office with me for a moment,” Willard Frost turned to -Robert, when the suggestion for returning home had been made. “There is -a fine painting in there that I want you to see.” - -They were nearly half an hour absent, but, engaged in pleasant -conversation, Cherokee and Marrion did not notice the lapse of time. -When the men came back, the quick eye of Marrion noticed that Robert -had been drinking, and that near the border line of excess. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - -AN ERRAND OF MYSTERY. - - -It was some months afterward. Cherokee, gowned in violet and gold, was -on her way to the Chrysanthemum Show, where she felt sure of meeting -some of her friends. She was walking briskly, when she was importuned -by an old man for help. Dropping some coins into his entreating palm, -she passed on. - -How little we know whom we may meet when we leave our doors, and before -entering them again. Often one’s whole life is changed between the exit -and entrance of a home. - -“Ah, my dear Mrs. Milburn, how pleased I am to meet you here. Are you -out for pleasure?” - -Whose voice could that be but Willard Frost’s, sounding in her ears -like clods on a coffin. - -“Yes, I presume one would call it pleasure, going to the Chrysanthemum -Show and to get some flowers for hospital patients. You know the sick -love these little attentions.” - -“There, that’s an illustration of what I am contemplating. Do you know -I think you are just the person I wanted to meet this morning?” - -“Why?” she asked, indifferently. - -“Because you can do a great kindness as well as give pleasure to some -one who is in need of both, if you will?” - -“You want me to help some one who is in distress?” - -“I do. Will you?” - -“How much does the person need?” - -“Your presence would be more good than any service you could render.” - -“Then I will go and get my husband to accompany us. He is charitable, -and likes to do these things with me.” - -“I have just come from his studio; he is very busy now, and I think he -would prefer not being interrupted. I have been down all the morning -giving a few criticisms on that ‘Seaweed Gatherer.’ That is truly a -work of art. But surely you will not refuse me that friendly service.” - -“Where would you have me go, and whom to see?” - -“A young girl who is dying without a kind word.” - -“A woman--has she no friends or means?”. - -“I am the only friend she has, the pure, noble, unfortunate,” he said, -aiming at tenderness. - -“Indeed, I never refuse to help anyone, when I can, but really I prefer -someone to be the bearer.” - -“Yes, but she has requested me to bring you; this desire comes from a -dying human being.” - -“But, pray what does she know of me; I do not understand?” she asked, -disapprovingly. “You might get yourself and me into a scrape.” - -“She has been a model for Robert as well as myself; you have seen her -at the studio, and she fairly worships your beauty, your gentleness.” - -“Strange my husband has never mentioned her reduced condition. I fail -to recall her,” and she drew back with a sinking of heart; she wanted -to do what was right, always. - -“Oh, think again. I am sure you saw her when you and Robert came to see -my ‘Madonna’; I was working on her then.” - -“Yes, I do recall a beautiful girl who was posing that day. If it is -from her, this request, I will go.” - -“Thank you, thank you; she will be so nearly happy, for she has never -failed to speak of you whenever I have seen her. I shall never forget -how she raved when she saw you, and a question she asked.” - -“What was that?” - -“‘Does her heart fulfill the promise of her eyes?’ she asked me, as -though the answer was of great importance. - -“I asked what she meant. - -“She answered, ‘They promise to make some one happy; to remove all -troubles and cares, making a heavenly paradise upon this earth?’ She -wanted to see you, so that you might swear that this promise would be -kept.” - -“She must be an enthusiast,” Cherokee reflected, losing all sense of -the strangeness of this question for the time. - -They started on in the direction that Frost wanted to go. She felt as -though she was walking through yellow rustling leaves, as she had done -back in her lesson-days, when she was trying to steal away from the -teacher or playmates on the lawn. - -More than once, as she hurried along, Cherokee asked herself if -she were not imitating the leopard, and developing another spot of -foolishness. - -When they reached the place there was nothing strange or unusual about -it. He opened the door and walked in, as though he was accustomed to -going there; then he softly pushed an inner door and peeped in. - -“She is sleeping now, poor tired soul; her greatest blessing is -sleep”--offering Cherokee a chair, “we will wait awhile.” - -She nervously looked about her. Her beautiful eyes, so pure, so clear, -so unshadowed by any knowledge of sin, knew nothing of the misery that -had been in the enclosure of these walls. - -Presently a frail, crooked woman came in, abruptly. Cold and bitter was -her gaze: - -“Why did you not come sooner?” she demanded of Frost, sternly. - -“It was impossible; am I not in good time?” - -“Yes, for you a very good time--she is dead,” and a short, quick gasp -came from the withered frame. - -“Do you mean it?” he said, looking at the woman who seemed quite -overcome, in spite of her hard, cruel face. - -“Go and see for yourself,” and she pointed to the room he had entered -before. - -Cherokee stood silent, and bowed, as became the house of mourning. - -“No, if she is dead, we need not go in,” Frost said, quickly. - -But the old woman recoiled a step: “I understand you are ashamed of -her.” - -“No, not that, but it is now too late to grant her request.” - -“I would know it, and it would do no harm for me to know that you could -keep your word.” - -“Then we will go in; you lead the way.” - -Cherokee hesitated, and the miserable woman, seeing this, cried in -sudden excitement: - -“Is your wife afraid of her, now that she is dead?” - -Willard Frost, at the mention of wife, started. He had, after all, -forgotten to explain that to Cherokee. - -“Do not heed her wild fancy,” he whispered, as he motioned her to go in -front. - -Instinctively the hag folded her wasted hands; most piteously she -raised her bewildered eyes, imploringly, to Cherokee. - -“Won’t you please go in, for if she can see from the other world to -this, she will be pleased.” - -“If it pleases you, I will go in for your sake.” As they entered the -waiting doorway, Frost walked to the low lounge--he was more deeply -moved than he cared to show. There, before him, lay the pulseless clay, -the features horribly distorted, the hands and limbs terribly drawn. - -“This,” he said to Cherokee, “was caused by paralysis. Nature was once -a kind mother to her.” - -He shook his head, musingly, and ran his fingers over the sleeper’s -hands. At first he did it with a sort of tentativeness, as if waiting -for something that eluded him. All at once he leaned over and kissed -the hands--he seemed moved by a powerful impulse. Through his mind -there ran a thousand incidents of his life, one growing upon the other -without sequence; phantasmagoria, out of the scene-house of memory. - -He saw a vast stretch of lonely forest in the white coverlet of winter, -through which a man followed a desolate track. He saw a scanty home, -yet mirthful, and warm from the winter wood. Again he saw that home, -when even in the summer height it was chilled and blighted. Then, -there, he saw a child with red-gold curls, and he wondered how fate -would deal with that baby--a laughing, dimpled romper, without a name. - -These are a few of the pictures he saw. - -Cherokee, ever gentle in her ministries, spoke kind words to the old -woman, whom she supposed was the mother. - -She had come too late for another good; the dead do not answer even -the most loving, the sweetest voices, and this girl had joined the -mysteries. So, what was left but to offer prayers and tears for the -living? - -While Cherokee talked, the woman sat very still, her face ruled to -quietness. At length she said: - -“She is better dead.” - -The comforter looked surprised; what a strange way for a mother to -speak. - -“Let us go, now,” urged Frost, impulsively. As they passed out, he -placed money in the woman’s hand. - -“Put her away nicely.” - -Motioning him back, the woman caught his arm and whispered: - -“By the right of a life-long debt, I now ask for peace.” - -“Is that all?” he sneered. - -“And I hope you will be a better man,” she added. - -They were on their way home. A flush crept slowly up Willard Frost’s -face, then, heaving a sigh and quickly repenting of it, he tried to -laugh, to drive away the impression of it. - -It had been dismal within, but it was lovely without. The gray -transparency of the atmosphere lent a glamour to the autumn hues, like -flimsy gauze over the face of some Eastern beauty, and the seductive -harmony of the colors acted like magic music on the spirit. - -“That dead girl was once the most exquisite piece of flesh I ever saw. -This is truly a legend of the beautiful. She supported herself by -posing for artists, as long as her beauty lasted,” so Frost began his -story, “but six months ago she was stricken with paralysis, which so -misused her that it took the bread from her mouth, and but for me they -would have starved. - -“I had great sympathy for the girl, and from her face I had made many -hundreds, so I considered it my duty to look after her in this dark -hour of affliction.” - -“That was just and noble,” said Cherokee, forgetting for a moment the -record of the man. - -He went on: “She loved me devotedly, though she knew I was married, -and during her illness she fancied she would be perfectly happy if she -convinced herself that I was not ashamed to present her to my wife.” - -“Then it was your wife she wanted to see, and I was to be presented -under false colors,” she demanded, rather sternly. - -“It would have been all the same to her, she never would have been -wiser.” - -“Mr. Frost, I believe you would do anything, and let me say, just here, -my courtesy to you is not real. I do it because, strange to say, my -husband likes you.” - -Just then they reached her stopping place. There was considerable -commotion on the car, Frost caught her arm: - -“Wait a moment, until they put that drunken brute off.” - -Suddenly, Cherokee wrenched herself away, and stepped quickly, -unassisted, to the street. - -In front of her was the man they had assisted from the car. A gentle -arm was passed through his: - -“Come, Robert, we will go home together.” - -She never looked back, although Willard Frost stood and watched them, a -mingled smile of pity and triumph upon his sinister face. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - -TIMELY WARNING. - - -Robert sat in his studio, when presently the door opened. - -“My dear Latham,” cried the artist. - -“Well, Milburn, how are you?” - -They were, at last, alone together. Involuntarily, and as if by an -irresistible impulse, Marrion began at once: - -“Robert, I must speak to you on a delicate subject. You are my friend, -a man for whose interests I would all but give up my life,” and his -mission flashed across the other’s mind. - -“What are you driving at?” - -“At the question whether or not you will stop to think.” - -“I most frequently stop and forget,” was the good-natured reply. - -“That is too true; you surely do not realize how you have behaved the -past few months.” - -“Well, and what of it? I should like to know whom I have hurt besides -myself.” - -“Everyone who cares for you.” - -“But, look here, Latham, I am able to take care of myself.” - -“It is a little remarkable you do not prove that statement.” Here he -assumed a more dignified manner. - -“You mean my drinking; well, I pay for it, and----” - -“If the matter ended with the price, there would not be so much harm -done,” retorted Latham. - -“Very few know I ever touch a drop.” - -“But those who know are your nearest and best friends, or should be.” - -“Oh, well! the best of us are moulded out of faults;” the other eyed -him fixedly. - -“And these faults have a tendency to produce blindness. I believe you -fail to see that your morbid cravings for drink and fame are making -your domestic life trite and dull--more than that, miserable. You are -losing sight of home-life in this false fever of ambition, and,” he -added gravely, “grieved, ashamed I am to say it.” - -“This is startling, to say the least of it,” Robert exclaimed, as he -nervously thrummed the desk by his side. “Here I have been imagining -myself the model husband. True, I drink occasionally.” - -“You mean, occasionally you do not drink,” Marrion interrupted. - -“Look here, Latham; if this came from another than you, I should say it -is none of your ---- business.” - -“Say it to me, if you feel so disposed. I only speak the truth.” - -“But I must be walked with, not driven; bear that in mind, old boy.” - -“I want to ask you, Robert, if you ever observed that the desire for -distinction grows upon us like a disease?” - -“I believe it does, since you speak of it.” - -“You know it, for you have been gradually growing weaker in everything -else, since your ambition has been set stark mad over that contest.” - -“Why should not I let everything else go? Think of it; who ever paints -the acceptable ‘Athlete’ is to be acknowledged famous, even more famous -than he ever dreamed.” - -“How do you know that?” - -“How do I know it? By the fact that it gets the mention honorable in -the palace of art, which is a great step--a veritable leap I would -say--towards fame.” - -“What good are words of applause echoing through the empty walls of a -ruined home?” - -“Ruined home,” Robert repeated, “preposterous! My wife has all the -money she wants; dresses second to none in the set in which she moves. -What more could a woman want?” - -“A husband and his love,” said Marrion, emphatically. “Would you say -you had a wife and that wife’s love, if half the time she was in no -condition to care for your home?” - -“That is not a parallel case. Drinking in a man is not so bad, it is a -popular evil; more men drink than sin in any other way.” - -“And all the other sins follow in its train.” - -“You know, Latham, I am moral in the main. I need a stimulant; it is -something a brain worker must have. Besides----” - -“Besides what?” - -“I am not happy since I became so ambitious,” said Robert, gloomily, -and, continuing--“I cannot stand the bitterness of self-reproach. When -reason is wide awake, remorse fastens its fangs upon it. I--” His head -fell heavily upon the table, and he lay there in silent suffering. - -“It is your yielding to temptation, more than your ambition, that hurts -a refined nature like yours; but as long as you can feel sorrow you are -not wholly bad.” - -“I don’t know, Marrion, for brooding over this unfortunate habit I have -all unconsciously drifted into, sometimes drives me almost mad; it is -then that the tempter gets in his work. Something tells me there is -but one way to get swift relief--drink and forget.” - -“But what of the wife? Does it speak to you of the wearing ache of -her waking--of the lonely hours of her watching alone, while your -conscience rests in soothing sleep?” - -“Yes, I think of her love, her patience, but the best of us have our -faults, and a woman should not demand from the busy, anxious spirit of -man all that romance promises and life but rarely yields.” - -“You have been blessed with one who demands nothing; she suffers in -silence. Her very gentleness, her patient womanliness should win you -to right. But, my friend, she pines for your attention--those little -things that would tell her she was appreciated. She is like a tendril, -accustomed to cling, which must have something to twine around, and -make wholly its own.” - -“I never give her a cross word; I leave her to do as it best pleases -her.” - -“There, that is the mistake. The secret of the danger lies in that one -act of yours. How many have I known, lovely and pure like your wife, -who have suffered their unguarded affections--the very beauty of their -nature--to destroy them.” - -“That is true; I have known many such cases,” admitted Robert. - -“Then, in the name of God, pull yourself together, man; brace up, I -will help you all I can.” - -Robert raised his head: - -“Marrion, I have never esteemed you half so much as I do now; your -interest is unselfish and sincere, I know that.” - -“It is, Milburn, and I am glad you take it as I meant it. It has been -said, the loves and friendships of life are its sweetest resources. -All else--special achievements, creative genius in any form of -manifestation--ministers to them. To live in an atmosphere of sympathy -is to live in an atmosphere of heaven, and often it is true that a man -must hold his friends unjudged, accepted, trusted to the end.” - -The artist reached out his hand, and the other quit speaking. - -“There is my hand and promise to leave drink alone when I have finished -my picture. Even now, I would give the world to look straight into -God’s good face and smile with the glad lips my mother used to kiss.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - -A PLAINT OF PAIN. - - -Cherokee was sad; what wife is not who has a drunken husband? Drearily -broke the winter days, and drearily fell the winter nights. One by one, -she often watched the neighboring lights go out, and human sounds grow -still. When the phantom-peopled dark closed around her companionless -hours, then would come the frightful waiting--in the watches of the -night. - -Waiting in that awful hush that stifles the breath of hope; then, day -after day of longing; can you imagine it? Forever busy at the one -unending task of dragging through the weary hours, from the early, -painful waking of dawn, alone with sorrow, to the tardy, feverish, -midnight sleep--alone with sorrow still. - -Like a good woman she sought to hide her husband’s faults, and keep the -watch alone; but Marrion was like one of the family; he was there at -any and all hours, and she could not keep the truth from him; he was -sorry for her, and had such a sweet, gentle way of ministering. To the -anguish of her face he often made reply, “Yes, I know how you feel -about it, and I will try to help you if there is a way.” - -Cherokee had somehow learned to expect everything from him. She looked -to him for advice and assistance. At first she could see no harm in -his guidance--his help. But Marrion had that vivid, intense nature -which gives out emotional warmth as inevitably as the glow-worm sheds -its light when stirred. She had discovered this, and had endeavored to -cool the relationship, but the tingling feeling was there, and in both -herself and him she had detected a sense of mutual dependence. - -His voice and step thrilled her, and her smiles were brighter when he -came about. He always had an amusing story, a ready reminiscence; for, -having been the world over, he had gleaned something from everywhere -that had possibly escaped the eyes of others. - -To Cherokee he seemed the most original person, acquaintance with him -being like the doorway of a new life--to another world. Such was the -dangerous channel into which they had drifted, neither discovering -their peril until escape seemed almost impossible. - -“What shall I do?” she questioned herself, so many countless, maddening -times. Her determination arrived at again and again, was to fly from -the glowing thistle that might stunt all Life’s roses, and make them -come to the dropping at half blow. About Marrion Latham she was insane. - -“Insane?” you say. That’s a harsh word isn’t it? But in love are any -of us particularly sane? Something said to her, “try to realize that -happiness is not for woman, but as years go on you will not mind that. -Only be true to your sense of right and you will find sweet peace, and -a great content will be sure to come at last.” - -She felt that the best plan for her was to take her husband away from -his associates, herself away from hers, and let time and change bring -about a reformation, and, in spite of the warning, she hoped that the -old fond love would come to them again. - -There is no period in life when we are more accessible to friendship -than in the interval which succeeds the disappointment of the passions. -There is then, in those gentler feelings, something that keeps alive -but does not fever the affections. Marrion had influenced himself to -believe that such was his interest in Cherokee, but he was never more -deceived. - -Cherokee’s trouble in regard to her husband, and her fear of the -growing regard for Marrion were not her only annoyances; occasionally -she met Willard Frost. - -She could not avoid treating him politely, her duty towards her husband -forced her to do that; but she regarded him with veritable repugnance. - -One evening, Robert had invited Marrion to dinner, and the latter had -arrived before her husband. As he and Cherokee sat waiting, the maid -entered with a package. It was an exquisite surprise. Though it was -well into March, winter’s keen blast had not so subdued the spring -warmth as to keep it from bringing into quick bloom the pansies and -jasmines. - -“Robert knows how dearly I love flowers; he has sent them on to make me -happier and announce his coming, the dear boy,” she exclaimed with a -touch of her old time impulsiveness. She kissed them, and questioned if -they had brought back her lost faith--her girl’s joy in loving. - -“I wish I could keep them alive always,” she sighed, sweetly. - -While she began to arrange them in the vase, her maid, whose eyes -appeared like leaves of dusty mullein, stared at her because she had -kept her waiting. - -“What shall I say to the messenger?” - -“Tell him there is no answer.” - -“Here is his card, madam.” - -Cherokee stared wildly, as if a serpent had wriggled around her feet. - -“It is from Mr. Frost--this gift,” and she ventured an imploring glance -into Marrion’s face. - -“What would you do with them?” he asked. - -“Do? What can I do but send them back.” - -As Marrion watched her admiringly, and saw her take each flower and lay -it carefully back into the box, he felt that his quiet friendship was -tottering above a molten furnace. - -“I trust you approve of my course, Mr. Latham?” she queried, as Annie -took the box away. - -“It would make me perfectly happy if I were the husband.” He -supplemented the impulsive words with a decided blush, in which -Cherokee could not choose but join. Then he cried: - -“Why didn’t we meet before, you and I?” - -She didn’t answer this, for, hearing steps in the passage, she ran out -to meet her husband; whether he was drunk or sober she never failed in -her little tenderness, that should have brought to him an over-payment -of delight. - - - - -CHAPTER XX. - -A CROP O’ KISSES. - - -It was six o’clock, and the lowering sun had singed the western sky -with a scallop of faded brown. - -April, with her wreathed crook, was leading her glad flock about the -hem of the city’s skirt, winding a golden mist away into the country’s -lushways. Nature’s voice sounded: “Oh heart, your winter’s past.” - -But it was not true with Cherokee, as she sat by the window waiting -for her husband. The room was quite still; she was only half admitting -to herself that it had come--the divide; in her hand she held a dainty -pair of white gloves; in one of the fingers there was a crumpled -paper--a note, maybe--but this she did not know, though what husband -would believe it? - -Presently he came in, and she greeted him as usual, though he had been -cross that morning. - -“I can’t imagine why I am so tired all the time, it seems I do very -little,” he said, as he dropped wearily down on a couch near by. - -“It is not so wonderful to me that you are tired, you are overworked,” -she said, sitting beside him, “once in a while you should call a halt.” - -“I mean to sometime, but not yet, I cannot stop yet.” - -“Have you secured your model for the Athlete?” - -“Not yet, they are hard to find. I must have a man with solid and -graceful curves of beauty and strength, and they are not picked up -every day. Few men are of perfect build.” - -“Mr. Latham has a fine physique, why don’t you get him?” - -“What an idea! Do you suppose for a moment that a man of his means -would hire himself out by the hour for such a price as I could afford -to pay? Don’t let me hear you speak of it again, he would positively be -insulted.” - -Presently Robert’s eyes were attracted toward the floor: - -“What is that?” he asked, pointing to a white something. - -“I did not know I dropped them,” and she sprang hastily, as if to -conceal what it was. - -“Bring it to me. What is it?” - -She bowed her head low and made no answer. - -“Look here, Cherokee, I will see what it is,” and he laid his hand on -her arm. - -She raised her eyes to him and began bravely enough: - -“Robert, it is best that you do not see----” - -“What, you refuse? It is not necessary for my wife to keep anything -from me.” - -“Even if it could only annoy you?” - -“Yes, if it half killed me, I would insist upon knowing.” - -“I don’t mean that you ought not, that I--Oh!” - -“Come, Cherokee, don’t get so confused, you can’t make a success of -deceiving me. I presume I know it anyway. Anna said you had received -flowers last night from Frost--I guess that is the love letter that -came with them.” - -Suddenly her gentle eyes looked startled; she was humiliated. - -“I would not have believed that you would question the maid about the -conduct of your wife.” - -He watched her for a moment in troubled silence, but did not speak. - -“Robert, do you think this is a manly, honorable way to act?” - -“It is--is what you deserve,” he answered coldly. - -“You are mistaken; while Anna Zerner was making her report, did she -inform you that I returned Mr. Frost’s flowers?” - -“No. She did not tell me that; I supposed you kept them.” - -He looked at her squarely. - -“Nothing has ever shaken my faith in you, Cherokee, until now, and -this I must and will understand. Take your choice between force and -persuasion.” - -A deep wave of self-conscious color rushed over her face; suddenly she -grew very pale, and her whole attitude toward him stiffened. - -She laid the little white gloves in his hands, saying: - -“I did not care to worry or accuse you.” - -He shrank back, and they eyed each other fixedly. - -“I call this a mean, contemptible trick,” he said, bitterly, “and now -what are you going to do about it?” - -“I have done all I intend to do,” she said, calmly. - -“And pray what’s that?” - -“Mended a rent in the fore-finger.” - -Robert felt abashed at this, though there were still some ugly lines -between his brows. - -“Let’s kiss and make up,” he said, and as she wound her arms about him, -his whole manner changed, softened into melting. - -“I did not read the note in the glove, if you believe me.” - -“I do believe you, for it was not a note, but a programme of -‘Ogallalahs’;” then he laughed. “And the gloves belong to Marrion’s -sweetheart; he left them at the studio and I just----” - -“Oh! that will do,” she said merrily, as she supplemented his -explanation with kisses. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI. - -A HOPE OF CHANGE. - - -They were christening Marrion’s new spider, Robert and Cherokee. - -“We will drive an hour or so longer, if you are not too tired.” - -“I am not at all tired; let us go on,” she insisted. - -“I will show you where Latham’s fiancee lives,” he carelessly proposed. - -“When are they to be married?” she asked, scarcely above her breath. - -“I don’t know the date, but she will get one of the finest boys on -earth. They will have this magnificent country home to spend their -summers in, and that is such a blessing--the air out there is so pure -and sweet and healthful. It is a great pity that everybody can’t get an -occasional taste of country life.” - -“I did not know we had come so far, but here we are in the woods--the -real country. I can almost hear the frogs calling from slushy banks, -and the faint, intermittent tinkle of cow-bells stealing over pasture -lands. I do love the country!” she exclaimed, fervently. - -“So do I,” laughed Robert, “but the country has its tragedies, too. For -example: my old-maid Aunt once made me weed the onion bed on circus -day. I would have had to ride a stick horse to the town, four miles -away, where the tent was pitched, but children would do almost anything -to get to a circus.” - -“Yet you did not get to that one?” asked Cherokee, gaily. - -“No, and for fifteen years I treasured that against my Aunt.” - -“And I should not wonder if you hold it still.” - -He dropped his voice to the register of tenderness and said, sadly: -“I hold nothing against her now. The dear old creature had sorrow -enough--she died unmarried.” - -Then they came to the home he was to show her. - -After that there was a lull in the conversation. - -If Cherokee had but known that the plighted troth was broken--had gone -all to pieces, in fact--she might have felt some relief for that dull -ache she felt. Suddenly she turned to her husband: - -“Robert, I have a great favor to ask?” - -“What’s that?” - -“Let’s take a vacation. Change would help us both.” - -“I am too busy, Cherokee, I cannot leave my work now. People are -never contented. Those in the depths of the country sigh for the city -excitement, and those in the city long to be soaked in sunshine and -tangled in green fields.” - -“I suppose it is selfish. I shall not ask you again,” she answered, -resignedly. - -“If things were different, nothing would please me more than to take an -outing by mountains or seaside.” - -“Neither for me,” she answered. “I would rather spend the summer down -at my old home in Kentucky; you know my cousin owns it, and no one -lives there at present. I should like to go back where I could sit -again beneath a big, low moon, and hear the reapers sing--where I could -see the brown gabled barns, and smell the loose hay-mows’ scented -locks.” - -“If that’s all, you can go to any farm and see as much.” - -“That isn’t half; I want to see my mother’s grave, with its headstone -that briefly tells her record, ‘She made home happy,’” and then she -said, with a little sigh: “There is still another reason--I would have -you all to myself a whole season.” - -“Would you really like that?” he asked, brightening. - -“More than anything.” - -“Then I promise you, you shall go.” - -As they drove up to the stoop, upon their return, they saw Marrion -waiting. - -When he assisted Cherokee to the street, he fancied he never had seen -in her manner so much softness, so much of that sweet, wonted look that -goes with domestic charm. Her fine, regular features expressed nothing -sadder than a pleased pensiveness. - - - - -CHAPTER XXII. - -THE HOME IN THE SOUTH. - - -They had gone to the country--to Kentucky. The wind seemed to blow -out of all the heavens across the greening world. With what light -touch it lifted the hazel, bent to earth at morning. How gentle to the -wind-flower--its own spoiled child. - -Quiet brooded over the wide, gray farm-house. All the doors stood -open to the soft air, and Cherokee had gone into the garden, where -the commonplace flowers were in disarray. Her straying foot crushed -memoried fragrance from borders all overgrown; wild thyme ran vagrantly -in happy tangle everywhere. She did not like to see such riotous growth -where once had been borders, clean and kept. - -The breeze came to her like the soothing touch of a friendly hand; -the tall elms, nodding, seemed to outstretch their arms in blessings -on her head, murmuring, in leaf music, “Be kind to her.” The effect -was subtle as the viewless winds that in their very tenderness are -uplifting. Those same trees had bent their strengthening shade in those -other days, when she was but a learner in the infant school of sorrow, -and scarcely able to spell its simplest signs. She rambled through -the laurel greenery, her soul full-charged with its own feelings, nor -able to restrain their passionate flow. Pretty soon Robert joined her, -saying: - -“I have a surprise for you; my model is coming to-day.” - -“Why, who on earth?” - -“Bless the dear old boy, it is Latham.” - -Striving to be strong, she said, softly: “I trust you are hopeful, now.” - -“Yes, I am greatly helped up. He will likely not be here until the -night train. I am going for a short hunt,” and shouldering his gun he -walked towards the woodland. - -When Cherokee had watched him out of sight she went into the house. So -Marrion was coming into her life again--the wound must be cauterized -before it had time to heal. She wearily dropped her head upon the broad -window-sill. - -The train had already whistled for the station, and Marrion was on his -way to the farm-house; he could see the red roof and chimney tops, half -hid in leaves, as he passed down a road where wild elders bloomed by -rail fences. - -The glimmering water-line flowed on westward between broad fields of -corn and clover. Down in the deep wood he crossed the stream; here he -got out, unreined his horse to let it drink, then he lay down on the -cool brink and let the living water lave his lips. - -This was surely a place of delight. The creek was no sluggish stream, -crawling between muddy banks, but a young water-giant, turbulent and -full of crystal bravery. A vernal harmony of subtle sweets loaded all -the air, while the winds echoed their chant of rejoicing that mingled -with the waters’ sweep and swell, and away up among the tallest trees -the forest organ was playing the anthem of resurrection. - -Somehow there stole over him a spell of rhythmic motion; the scene was -wholly intoxicating. It seemed that he had escaped from the soulless -tumult of the blistering street and found himself in a virgin world. -Wood-birds bathing in the ripples left them dimpling with delight as -they, twittering, flew away. Ivy dangled wantonly about him, while -trailing moss seemed grasping him with its waxen tendrils. - -Overhead, in the intense blue, where soft clouds drifted like mantles -that angels had thrown away, a wizard haze quivered and quivered. The -great dark shadow of the present was lifted, and light beamed in where -light might never be again. He forgot, for the moment, that he held two -lives in the hollow of his hand; he forgot that just ahead of him lay -the untried road where he would surely stagger, maybe fall. - -Arousing himself from the reverie, he reined his horse and drove on. -The remainder of the road was even prettier than the first part had -been. Riotous bees stole sweets from blooms before unkissed, and the -blossoming peach shed warm its rosy flush against pale drifts of apple -boughs. - - * * * * * * - -Sundown was stealing through the land as he reached the door where -Cherokee met him. Latham’s greeting was grateful, apologetic, most -painfully self-reproachful. - -“I want you to know it was in his interest that I came.” - -“Yes, I know that,” and her face strangely softened. - -“I just couldn’t refuse him, though I knew it might cost----” - -“Hush,” she warned, “we must bear it,” then her eyes fell; she held her -breath, and this electrical sympathy between heart and heart told her -that she had betrayed herself to him. - -Only a moment he hesitated, the next he laid his hand on the back of -the chair she had just taken. - -“Cherokee, I have a question to ask you; it is best that all should be -clear between us, for I want to be your friend--want you to come to me -feeling that I would protect you in all things except----” - -“Except that I will allow you to advise me.” - -“Then tell me, what is Willard Frost to you?” he asked, with quick -breath. - -“Nothing at all, I only tolerate him because Robert says he needs his -influence,” she answered, solemnly. - -“Well, I can’t understand how a man like that could help anyone, and I -was shocked when I heard of your going with him to visit that patient.” - -“Marrion, I thought my husband wished me to go.” - -“On the contrary, he was hurt. It was not the mere fact of going; it -was how it looked to the world, such things are so often misjudged. -Forgive me if I talk plainly, but a woman can defend her virtue easier -than her reputation. Frost is publicly over-fond of you. He names your -beauty to low men at clubs, and that is calculated to injure you.” - -“Yes, I wish he lived in another part of the world. He has done me more -harm than everybody else in it.” - -Then they talked of other things. - -“How glad I am that you will pose for the Athlete. Robert will surely -win now, for I don’t think you have a counterpart presentment on -earth,” she declared. - -“To the world’s advantage, no doubt; but tell me,” he said, suddenly -changing the subject, “are you happier here?” - -“Happier than I have been for some time”--her voice trembled. - -In her expression Marrion caught an attempt at excess of content and he -wondered at it, for he knew so much of her inner life, though he had -never questioned her. In that life he found a great deal to keep her -from being glad. He felt a sudden twinge of conscience, too, for he -knew that much of the satisfaction he saw upon her face was assumed, -lest her sad looks might be construed into a reproach for his coming. - -“And how is Robert doing?” he paused, looking at her with half-pitying -fondness. - -“When he first came he did remarkably well; we spent a short time -with our friends, the McDowells, at Ashland. They sent over and had -everything arranged here before our coming, even the dinner served the -day we arrived. Robert was, or seemed to be, highly pleased with the -way we live in this part of the world. During our stay at Ashland, we -went with our friends to one of the Governor’s Friday receptions; it -was an affair of State, but under Southern auspices seemed almost our -own. A congenial, pleasant party, each endeavoring to make you feel at -home. Fresh, pretty girls served the ices, and chatted merrily a moment -or so, then passed on. - -“Robert looked at this dazzling South-scene, and in its stead fancied -the gray-robed eastern zone dropping stiff, scentless, pensive-hued -flowers. I use this illustration to you because you appreciate things -high-sounding. But the joke on him and his metropolitan training was -this--the first thing he remarked on was the unusual brightness and -pretty gowning of the attendant waiters, ‘But the cool effrontery -of their conduct,’ he said, ‘roused my ire and almost took away my -presence of mind--why they even dared ask me if the evening had been -an enjoyable one, and hoped to see me there often.’ He told us how he -wiped the perspiration from his brow, and told himself the confounded -impudence and intrusion ought to be swiftly checked, but for the life -of him he couldn’t think of an effectual way of doing it. We asked -him what he finally did. ‘I just took it all, and smiled back,’ he -answered, with a crestfallen air. - -“What was his astonishment when we told him he was smiling at the -Governor’s daughters, and the queens of the social world. We quite -enjoyed his discomfort, but he could not reconcile the difference in -our ways and the ones he had known. - -“Of late he seems to be falling back in his old ways,” she went on, her -voice sinking lower yet. “I hope your presence will be strength in his -weakness”--she sighed deeply, but the expression on her face was one of -kindly resignation rather than hopeless grief. - -Marrion started; every syllable of that sweet tremulous voice seemed to -unnerve him utterly. - -“I don’t want it to make your days darker, at least”----then he added: - -“It is better not to be too good to men,” and there was in his voice an -accent of kindly warning. - -Cherokee listened pensively the while; she could see the path to be -trodden by Robert’s side, uphill, rough, bristling with thorns. - -“I have tried to do what is my part, my duty always.” - -“And let me tell you how grandly you have succeeded.” - -Thrilling and flushing she heard this compliment. - -“We are Rebels, both of us; perhaps you are partial,” she suggested. - -“I do admire you, that you are a Southerner, and more because you are a -Kentuckian, but surely you would not accuse me of running my political -prejudice into individual instance; I want to give you justice, that’s -all.” - -He met her eyes wide open to his, and he read, even then, something -of the genuine unalterableness of her estimate of him. It was not -necessary for her to return a word. - -“Speaking of our home, Kentucky,” Cherokee began, “why is it that -writers quote us as illiterate and droll? It rather makes me lose -interest in stories, or books, when I see such gross errors, whether -they are willful or not.” - -“It is but a crop of rank weeds--this class of literature, people have -no right to represent others they know nothing of, or discuss a subject -to which they have scarcely been introduced. My characters are actual -men and women. I have one they cannot fail to appreciate; you will see -yourself as others see you,” he said, in softer tones. - -An ecstacy of hope lighted her face. - -“Will my husband appreciate me then?”--she regretted the question -before she had voiced it. - -“Will he appreciate you then? Listen, don’t think that I speak to -praise my own powers as a playwright. I have been a moderate success, -but I don’t regard myself as a genius. The play will be a success on -account of the leading character which I hope to draw true to life. -Robert loves you now, but when he sees my play he will worship you -then.” - -There was that in his earnest, enthusiastic face that told her Robert -would not be alone in his devotion. - -“What do you call your play?” - -“I’ve not determined yet; though I’ve thought of dubbing it ‘A Womanly -Woman, or My Heroine.’” - -“Don’t do that, for I am anything but a heroine.” - -“No woman was ever a truer one. What title would you propose?” - -“You want something that would suggest my real character--my striking -characteristics?” - -“Most assuredly.” - -“Then, remember, that I am always stumbling along, allowing myself to -be deceived and duped into doing silly things, and sometimes, as you -have just told me, compromising things; weigh all these and call your -play ‘A FOOL IN SPOTS.’” She laughed merrily, but there was a certain -earnestness in her jest. - -“But where is Robert?” Latham suddenly asked. While avowing his -devotion to his friend, he had not until now thought of asking this -question, nor had it occurred to Cherokee to explain his absence. - -“He took his rifle and went out for a hunt,” she said, after a moment’s -silence. “He begged that you would excuse him.” - -“I find ample excuse in the pleasure of being alone with you.” - -“Don’t say that; we must do nothing but what will profit and further -the end he seeks.” - -“Trust me, I hope to be strong; we must see a little of each other.” - -“This is surely best,” she answered, with suppressed emotion. - -“And yet, and yet,” he added, as if speaking to himself, “I have much -to communicate to you, but loyalty to my friend forbids confidences, -though it is not wrong of me to say I want to see you perfectly happy.” - -Her lips moved nervously. - -“Oh, how sweet your words, and uplifting, I shall keep heart, and work; -I have much on my hands, as you see,” and so saying she pointed to a -litter of correspondence on the table. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII. - -A STRANGE DEPARTURE. - - -The old home rose coldly gray ’gainst the darkness of a threatening -sky. But yesterday the scene had been one of almost unearthly sweetness -and placidity. Ideal summer seemed to have enthroned herself never more -to be dislodged, but the morrow brought a storm, phenomenal in its -force and destructiveness. - -At first one could see, away to the west, but a broad gash of crimson, -a seeming wound in the breast of heaven, and could scarcely hear the -rising wind moan sobbingly through the trees that with knotted roots -clung undisturbed to their vantage ground. Electricity, very like an -uplifted dagger, kept piercing with sharp glitter the density of the -low hanging haze. Gradually the wind increased, and soon, with fierce -gusts, shook the trees with shuddering anxiety. An appalling crash -of thunder followed almost instantly, its deep boom vibrating in -suddenly grand echoes; then, with a whirling, hissing rush of rain, the -unbound storm burst forth, alive and furious. After an hour there was a -temporary lull, the wind no longer surged with violence, rain fell at -intervals, a sullen mist obscured earth and heaven. - -Robert was preparing to confront the weather when there came a loud -knock on the door. Throwing it wide open there stood, in bold relief -against the back-ground of dense fog, a sturdy, seafaring figure, -dripping like a water dog. Rain was running in little rivers from his -soft slouched hat, his weather-beaten face glowing like a hot coal, the -only bit of color in this neutral-tinted picture. - -“Come inside, the sight of a fire on such a day as this won’t hurt -you,” said Robert, cheerily, motioning his visitor toward the kitchen -where a warm fire blazed. - -“Much obliged to you, sir,” returned the intruder, stepping onto the -door-mat, and shaking the rain from his hat. - -“Another time I’ll come in,” and once more shaking the rain from his -dripping garments he fumbled for something in the farthest end of his -capacious pockets. - -“Here’s a note--they’ll be waiting at the station for you, sir.” These -words followed in the uncontrolled audibility of a man’s voice. There -was a rustle of paper, and the next minute Robert told the man: - -“That’s all right; I’ll be there by eight.” - -The light all gone out of her face, Cherokee turned appealingly to -Marrion: - -“What does this mean--where is he going?” - -Shaking his head, sadly: - -“I can’t tell what he ever means of late.” - -Closing the door with an impatient bang, the husband was saying: - -“I can’t wait for breakfast; I am going away.” - -“Isn’t this rather sudden--what is so important as to make you go -without your breakfast?” she questioned. - -“A matter that concerns me alone. Don’t worry if I am not back by -nightfall,” and before she could reply he was gone. - -Cherokee bit her lips to conceal a quiver; turning almost appealingly -to Marrion, she urged: - -“Won’t you please go, too?” - -He did not answer. - -“Please go, and look after him.” - -He was calm almost to coldness, and he replied, tentatively: - -“Robert would have asked me if he had wanted me along.” - -“Oh, dear friend,” she murmured, brokenly, as she sank into a chair, -“how much better it would have been if I had never known loving or -wedding.” - -Marrion looked through the windows into the bleared, vague, misty -world, the familiar landscape was unrecognizable in the clinging fog. -He understood, as she did, what had taken Robert from his work. He did -not look at her, as he returned: - -“I hope he’ll quit this, sometime.” - -“Sometime,” she repeated, “pain and struggle will give place to death, -and then the soft shroud of forgetting will help me bear this grief.” - -“But I am looking forward to the change to bless this life,” he tried -to impress upon her. “He will get through this great work which he -considers the effort of a life, and pretty soon he will leave off the -old way, and then his past will be atoned for by a future of tenderness -and devotion to you.” - -“But, dearest friend,” she broke in, greatly agitated, “help me to live -in the present, I am weary of waiting. I hunger for repose. Memories -crush me while longing has worn my youth away. I know my one longing -is hopeless--hopeless as though I should stretch these hungry arms to -clasp the sun above us. I have given up hope at last!” Meeting his -troubled look her face showed traces of tears. She handed him a paper -and pointed to a bit of verse. - -He read to himself: - - - “I know a land where the streets are paved - With the things which we meant to achieve; - It is walled with the money we meant to have saved, - And the pleasures for which we grieve-- - And kind words unspoken, the promises broken, - And many a coveted boon, - Are stowed away there in that land of somewhere, - The land of “Pretty Soon.” - - There are uncut jewels of possible fame - Lying about in the dust, - And many a noble and lofty aim - Covered with mould and dust - And oh, this place, while it seems so near, - Is further away than the moon; - Though our purpose is fair, yet we never get there-- - To the land of “Pretty Soon.” - - The roads that lead to that mystic land - Are strewn with pitiful wrecks; - And the ships that have sailed for its shining strand - Bear skeletons on their decks. - It is further at noon than it was at dawn, - And further at night than at noon; - Oh let us beware of that land down there-- - The land of “Pretty Soon.”” - - -Marrion laid the paper by, and summoning all his powers of self-control: - -“I spoke of his reformation just now,” he began, as if reading her -thoughts. “Answer me one question; if he never reforms, have you ever -thought of changing your life?” - -“You mean separation; the world or a convent?” she began, gently, -growing calmer as she went on, “I had thought of that, I must out with -the truth. I went away once, but a good friend advised me to go back. -She told me living for others was a long way towards being happy.” -Looking on the floor she got out the remainder of her sentence, “and -now I intend to stay.” - -As she spoke the words to Marrion there came upon her a terrible sense -of emptiness and desolation. Obeying a sudden impulse, she arose to -leave. - -“I shall go to my room now; I must think awhile alone. I am glad it’s -such a sad sort of a day; if it were bright I couldn’t stand it.” - -Marrion followed her to the door, raised her hands to his lips, and -suddenly breaking away as if unworthy to pay such homage cried: - -“I could kneel to you, true, grand woman. Your resolution is full of -the gravest, tenderest meaning. You think of him only; his reputation -is dearer to you than your own happiness. This nobility of your -character is the very touchstone and measure of your womanliness.” - -She paused on the threshold a moment, then hurried away. - -The whole day Marrion spent in sympathy with her. If he could find but -some way to make Robert promise never to touch another drop of drink, -he knew he would be safe; for he was one man who never made a promise -but to keep. - -Of ever securing his promise, he sometimes despaired, but not for the -world would he hint it to Cherokee. - -As the day wore to a close the wind came in fitful gusts; a pale moon -glittered faintly among the ragged clouds that drifted across the sky -like sails torn from wrecked ships. Cherokee sat by the window watching -for Robert. - -In that warm latitude the soft, dewless hours are spent in lightless -rooms or on piazzas. The daffodil tints of the higher sky were -reddening to a guinea gold. There was no other light except the moon. -Marrion sat just outside, smoking; he was allured again and again by -a strong sense of Cherokee’s beauty of face and pose, enticed by some -spiritual vivacity, and hazed by cares. - -The moon, still pale and languorous, shone from the lately racked sky -on the tree buds, so warm in tone that their color became an old ivory, -and the limbs and branches black carvings and traceries. - -Faint mists rose in wreaths and floated in gossamer folds about the -trunks of the trees, and at times above their forms. The whole scene -had a meaning of sad regrets. - -Cherokee broke the silence: - -“I wonder what keeps Robert so long; it must be nine o’clock.” - -“Don’t be uneasy, he is doubtless with some congenial companion.” Then, -almost before he knew it, Marrion asked: - -“Did you know that Robert was dissipated before you married him?” - -He felt himself tremble, as if he intruded where she knelt. As -intimately as he had known her, yet he never before had dared approach -her inner life so nearly. - -“Tell me all,” he said. “If ever a heart could open to a friend, now -must that door unclose.” - -“No. I didn’t believe it; I should have never married him if I had -known. I made a mistake. A Southern girl should only marry one of her -kind; he alone could understand and appreciate her nature.” - -It was not prompted by accidental harmony, this answer, she felt he had -a right to know all: - -“When I first loved Robert, he was a splendid masterman, and so tender -of me. He seemed the breath of my body; his heart, not mine, beating -within me. I fancy now that his love was only a reflection from the -flame that burned in my soul, for if it were not true surely that love -would have reformed him.” - -“No, he does love you, and you will yet be happy together.” - -She was hungry for his assurance, and her “Heaven bless you for your -sympathy,” was spoken earnestly. - -“But I wish he would come. Suppose he has gotten into that quick-sand -in the creek bed.” - -“Suppose he has swallowed the gun.” - -“Don’t speak so lightly,” she corrected. - -Marrion thought as he noted her anxiety: “Blind devotion is the -sainthood of woman.” - -“Now, here he comes. I hope you are happy,” but a chill gripped his -heart as he saw it was a stranger, whose walk indicated haste. - -“Ain’t this here whar Mars’ Milburn’s wife stay?” - -“Yes, what is it?” asked Marrion. - -“What is it?” Cherokee repeated, coming forward, “has anything happened -to my husband?” - -“I’d bin out possum huntin’. I comed up de road, and I mighty nigh -run over sumpin in de paff. I got down and he looked powr’ful like de -artist I seed at de station.” - -“Marrion; my God, he is dead!” - -“Wait and I will find out.” He put his arm around her to support her. -The stranger kept on talking: - -“I tried to tote him, but he ’peared like two men; he’d weigh mighty -nigh three hundred pounds, and den I didn’t know as I oughter move him -till de coroner and de jury set on him.” - -Marrion could not stop him. - -“He ain’t bin dead long, marm.” - -“That will do,” interrupted Marrion. - -“I will go and see; it may not be Robert; it may be someone else.” - -“Let me go with you,” she pleaded. - -“I don’t know nothin’ better fur you ter do than stay whar you is,” put -in the negro. - -So Marrion hurried away to look after his friend. There was no sound in -the gloomy wood--which was painful--any kind of noise would have been a -relief. The thick foliage baffled the slightest light, and it was with -the greatest difficulty that they groped their way, keeping in the road. - -“Stop! here he am!” cried the negro, who had been piloting the way. “I -thought he couldn’t o’ bin dead long, fer he ain’t cold yet.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV. - -OF THE WORLD, UNWORLDLY. - - -It was true that Robert was dead--dead drunk, and to drink was his -purpose in leaving Marrion at home. He had been held in check until -he could not--he felt it was impossible--work any longer until he had -gotten under the influence of drink. - -It was more than a week before he was able to resume his work. Marrion -put his best efforts forth to sober him, but all resulted in failure. -This annoyed him more than he dared tell Cherokee. He felt that Robert -had not the proper appreciation; for here he had given up his work and -pleasures for a time, that he might aid in the artist’s advancement. It -surely seemed a thankless task. - -One day, when patience was exhausted, he poured forth his very soul in -one long, fervent--swear; took up his hat and started out for a walk. - -As he tramped, wondered, swore, he strolled on toward the stream. He -always was a dream-haunter of the woods, realizing that communion with -nature strangely ministers to heart wounds and breathes sweetened -memories. - -Suddenly his steps were arrested by the spectacle of Cherokee lying at -full length upon the grass, one arm lay across her eyes, the other was -stretched on the ground. She had never looked prettier. He sat down -by her and took her hand. A thousand thoughts chased themselves with -lightning speed through his brain; meanwhile the pressure of that hand -continued; he leaned over, took her arm away, and looked down into her -face. - -Whether it came to him suddenly as a revelation, or grew upon him like -a widening light--that knowledge of a love that wronged his honor--it -had come too late. Had he been asleep, or mad, that this should have -conquered him unawares. - -Where was his experience of human nature--his worldly wisdom--his ever -abiding sense of honor--that he should have allowed a love for another -man’s wife to enter his thoughts and take possession, and that man his -dearest friend! - -It seemed but yesterday that this woman was to him only as dear as a -friend might be, without wrong to his or her own faith. Now he knew she -was more--a thousand times dearer than all life lives for--dearer than -all save honor, if, indeed, he questioned, that were not already lost. - -Yet no, there was no wrong. His love was worship, instinct with -reverence, he could not for that very love’s sake destroy its object. - -“You want me to go away and leave you alone, Cherokee?” he asked. - -“No, Marrion, no! I am too much alone, and that makes me hungry, -desperately hungry, for companionship,” she stammered. “But, tell me, -how is Robert?” - -“No better; I am almost ashamed to ask you to be brave any more, for -I’ve hoped so long without fulfillment.” - -She answered: “I ask myself how long this banishment is to last--this -exile from joy.” - -“Everything here has an end; the brighter side may come at last.” - -“No, it will never come, it is all a mistake; even life itself.” - -“Oh, don’t say that, Cherokee; I am with you. Don’t you care for----” -Here he stopped, but she understood, and her answer, said in silence, -was the sweetest word of all. - -“I must speak this once at any cost--Great God! and forgive me, I love -her so,” he whispered, as he seized her listless form, so unresisting, -and wildly kissed her brow, her lips, her hair, her eyelids--sealed her -to him by those caresses that were prompted by love’s unreasoning fury. - -The whole earth revolved in one vast throb of song, and the wind, -entuned, seemed to catch the music in its chase. Nothing under the sun -could equal those moments with them. - -At first they were so happy; then there came a desire--which comes to -those of deep and tender sensibilities when their felicity becomes so -acute that it verges upon pain--the desire, the involuntary longing, to -die--an abandon of self--a forgetting. - -In this moment of delirium he was the first to speak. - -“I have known from the first that we were meant for each other.” - -She did not answer; she was so thoroughly intoxicated just then, -that if he should have dared to give her blows her heart would have -arraigned him at its bar, with weeping paid the costs, and swore the -blow was kind--she loved him so. - -“I say that we were meant for each other,” he repeated. “Love like ours -should be the first law of the universe, after love of God.” - -“I am thy neighbor’s wife,” she answered, slowly. - -“I now admit no ties except the one that fate has made between your -heart and mine.” - -“Think, Marrion, of what you say. Is it a sin for us to love?” - -He could not answer at once--all the iron in his strong nature was -broken down. His emotions, so long withheld, and now uncontrolled, were -more than he could bear. - -He looked long into her trusting countenance. He was seeking by a -violent effort to master himself; but it was only by the heaving of his -breast, and now and then a gasp for breath, that he betrayed the stormy -struggle within. Though his nature was full of the softer sympathies he -could not call them to the front--he was but man. This was the crucial -test. - -There is in some affections so much to purify and exalt, that even an -erring love, conceived without a cold design, and wrestled against with -a noble spirit, leaves the heart more tolerant and tender if it leaves -it in time. - -“It may be wrong,” he said, at length, “but this is our fate--our -fate,” as if waking from some hideous dream. - -“We are creatures of destiny, I have fought this love but it would not -die. The very loneliness of your existence appeals to me; but for that, -I might have conquered.” - -“And your tender care and help have often reconciled me to my lot, and -extinguished many bitter feelings in me.” - -“You trusted me, Cherokee, and I believe there is a kind of sanctity in -your ignorance and trust--there is a soul about you as well as a body. -Is it with that soul you have loved me?” - -“Yes, Marrion, I love you better than life now.” - -“Then our love can surely not be wrong. Depend upon it, that God -Almighty, who sums up all the good and evil done by his children, will -not judge the world with the same unequal severity as those drones of -society. Surely He requires not such sacrifices from us; no, not even -the wrathful, avenging Father.” - -His tone was one of infinite persuasion. - -“God understands what you are to me--youth, beauty, truth, hope and -life.” - -“You forget your friend, my husband,” she warned. - -“No, I do not forget. He is a man for whom I would all but die, but I -love you better than anything else.” - -“And that is more than he does,” she broke in, sorrowfully. - -“Cherokee, be mine in spirit? I plead as an innocent man pleads for -justice.” - -“Stop!” she cried, “let me speak. You have a profound and generous -soul to hear me. Let me ask you not to tempt me; we have gone already -too far.” - -“Not too far when it is with me that you go.” - -“Yes, Marrion it is, unless we could go all of life’s road together. -I love you, that you know, but I come to you now, begging you not to -tempt me, but to help to make me strong, and to follow the road of -sacrifice and duty. My heart cries out to you, but let me not hear. If -you love me, prove it, and leave me.” Her voice died in a wail, it was -a loving, weak soul’s despairing cry. - -Marrion stood for a moment immovable, then he took her hand with -reverential homage. - -“Cherokee, you have raised all womankind in my eyes. I did love -you--now I worship you. Your open frankness is so unlike the irresolute -frailty, the miserable wiles of your sex. You have touched a chord in -my heart that has been mute for years. To me you are a garden of roses, -you have bloomed even under blight. Beholding you now, I am enabled to -forget that the world is evil.” - -“Blessed be that influence,” she murmured, sweetly. - -“Yes, God’s blessing upon it,” he repeated. And he thought of what -pangs her high spirit must have endured ere it had submitted to the -avowal it had made. She had been honest enough to confess that she was -weak--that she loved him, but that very confession was as a tower of -strength to him. - -“Cherokee, my idol, what will you of me?” he asked, in tender manly -tones. - -“I want you to promise, Marrion that you will always like me; let us -be what human nature and worldly forms seldom allow those of opposite -sexes to be--friends; having for each other that esteem which would be -love if the hearts were unadulterated by clay. Your memory will be my -nearest approach to happiness. I shall never be happy unless Robert -reforms; then the old love and joy would come again.” - -There was on her face an expression, in her voice a tone, so appealing -that it inspired him to say: - -“I will save him by my life if need be.” - -She looked at him with an admiring, grateful gaze: - -“Your friendship is even better than love.” - -“That is both,” he answered. - -“You will promise to go away at once, or I cannot live near you and -without you.” - -“Yes, Cherokee, I promise,” he said firmly, and continued: - -“To-day for a short interval we have belonged to each other. Heart has -spoken to heart. To-morrow you are only my friend’s wife. Not a word, -not a thought of yours or mine must destroy his trust. Our past will -lie buried as in a deep grave, no tears bedewing it, no flowers marking -the spot.” - -So sorrowfully, even despairingly, were the words uttered that it -seemed Cherokee’s turn to comfort. - -“Think of me as almost happy since I know that you love me so,” she -said, smiling through her tears. - -“Tears from you for me,” he cried. “Bless you, bless you; may you -think of me as one whose loyalty to another is loyalty to yourself,” -he murmured. “I must go away and meet you no more. Pass a few busy, -taskful years, come and go a few brief seasons of stimulating activity -and wholesome intercourse; then I can hold out my untrembling hand to -Robert’s wife, and forget the lover in the friend; now let us part.” - -She stepped forward and extended her hand; he kissed it and pressed -it warmly, and then the dream was ended. A matter of a moment, true -enough, but death itself is but a moment, yet eternity is its successor. - -Cherokee took the path to the house; her eyes held a troubled light as -they looked back, Marrion was standing where she had left him, in a -hopeless attitude. His head drooped low with a slow motion of despair, -which seemed almost tranquil in its acceptance of destiny. - -A low, late sunshine crept through the swathing blue, softly bright -upon him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXV. - -TEMPTED. - - -For a time Marrion Latham stood in a sad reverie; then he slowly went -back to the house, following the path Cherokee had taken. - -He entered the house unobserved, and went directly to his room, from -which he did not emerge until the clock told him that the hour was -eleven. He was going to leave; upon that point he was decided. The -midnight train would take him to the city. He took his grip, and crept -out stealthily without a word, for he could not now own what was -forcing him to leave. Of course it would seem strange to Robert, but -written lines could not clear it up. It would take more than a note to -explain such an offense as this would seem; it could only be made plain -in person. It needed the voice, the eye, the spirit breathing through -the words to make them effective. - -He had decided to wait until the artist returned to New York. As he -stepped out on the piazza he noticed that the blinds of the studio were -open and the window up. - -“I will take a last look,” he thought, as he went up to the window. - -“Cherokee, Cherokee,” but his whisper was too deep, she did not hear. -There she stood before the painting, her arms wide open as though -ready to enfold the image; then she drew back, and her low sobbing was -heard--not despair, not sorrow, not even loss flowed in those relieving -tears--they came as a balm, allowing the pent-up force of suffering to -ooze out. - -The very purity of her adoration was pitiful to see. Marrion stood -outside and watched her; wrong as it might be to stay he was tempted to -bide the result and remain. - -Everything around was still; the wind, even, ceased to dip into the -lustrous gloom of the laurels. He could scarcely hear the stream below, -drawing its long ripples of star-kindled waves from the throat of the -forest. Not a human sound interposed one pulse of its beating between -these two silent souls. - -“I must, I must touch her--just to say good-bye again.” - -But through the gentle silence there throbbed a warning. He battled -with it; the mad desire grew upon him, the stress, the self-torture was -getting beyond control. Reckless inconsideration told him to enter. - -The palpitating misery that swayed through every wave of his blood, -cried in almost an ecstacy of terror: “Go in, she is yours.” He knew he -could not resist what love counseled if he remained much longer, and he -hung his head for very shame. - -When a proud man finds out he is but a child in the midst of his -strength, but a fool in his wisdom, it is humiliating to own it even to -himself. - -While every passion held him enslaved, he felt a vague desire to -escape, a yearning, almost insane, to get out from his own self. - -“Why should you not have her, when you love her so dearly?” the tempter -asked. - -But he knew the voice and shrank from it. Then he murmured inwardly: - -“Great and good God, I turn to you,” and before he knew it, his -unaccustomed lips had framed a prayer. - -With a feeling of renewed strength he took one last look at her and -walked away. He had scarcely time to catch that midnight train. He -was leaving heaven behind, but he was doing what was best for all. -There was something in that, and Robert must never know what his poor -services had cost him. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI. - -LOST FAITH. - - -“For your own sake, if not for mine, Robert, do not begin drinking the -first thing in the morning,” Cherokee pleaded. - -“I must, I must; my nerves are all shattered. I will stop when I have -won the laurels of art,” and he poured the fiery poison into the -sugared glass. - -“Does Marrion know breakfast is waiting?” he asked. - -“I suppose not.” Cherokee felt her voice trembling, she was almost -certain he had gone; there was a dreariness about the place, an utter -loneliness, that made her feel that she would not hear his voice that -morning. - -Robert touched the bell, and when the servant answered, he bade her: - -“Tell Mr. Latham breakfast is ready.” - -“Mr. Latham went away in the night,” the servant answered. “I suppose -he won’t be back soon, as he took a grip with him.” - -In sudden temper Robert cried: “You don’t mean it, has he gone home?” - -“I don’t know, sir, he went towards the station about a half hour -before the New York train was due.” - -“That will do, leave us,” he ordered the maid. - -“Now, Cherokee, tell me why Marrion has left me?” - -“Mr. Latham may prefer to make his own excuse,” she answered, quietly. - -“Never mind that assumed dignity; I know the reason as well as you -could tell me. This letter I found on the studio floor gives the -villain away,” and thrusting it at her, he demanded: “Read it aloud.” - -She nervously unfolded it and read: - - - “MY DEAR LATHAM: - - I presume you know I too was painting the ‘Athlete.’ My model is a - failure, a disappointment. Come to New York at once, and pose for - me at your own price. - - Yours, anxiously, - WILLARD FROST.” - - -When she finished the letter she could not find a suitable answer, so -she did not answer at all. Robert did not like silence, he liked to -have things explained, cleared up. - -He looked at his wife with grave severity, and demanded: - -“You knew this was what called him away.” - -“I did not,” was her truthful and emphatic reply. - -“Oh, God!” in a frenzy, “just to think how I trusted him; his word and -honor were dear to my very soul; but now--now I hate him, I curse him; -if I ever prayed, I might pray that the train would be wrecked and dash -him to his eternal, just reward.” - -“Robert, Robert!” the gentle voice pleaded, “hold him not guilty -without defense; he is still your friend.” - -“Hush! tell me nothing. It is a plain case of villainy; he has been -bought off; he has robbed me of my future,” and Robert quit the table -and went at once to his room. The insanity of drink held festival in -his delirious brain. - - -The next few hours found him in a deplorable condition. The reaction -from his fit of inebriety had been a severe shock to his system, not -especially strong at best, and this, together with Marrion’s sudden -flight, preyed sharply on his mind, and he suffered a sort of nervous -prostration. - -“My picture! my masterpiece is unfinished! it can never be finished -without him!” was the substance of his raving. - -Never before had Cherokee seen such woe in his countenance. She knew -the painting was almost completed, and that he could finish it from the -picture he had of Marrion, taken purposely to aid him, even when the -model was there; but to mention anything so as to manage a way out of -the pit into which he imagined he had fallen merely infuriated him, and -did no good. - -“Marrion must come back to me; send for him; tell him I cannot win -without him,” he cried, scarcely above a whisper, he was so weak. Never -before had the one desire of man’s life been strained through his face -and speech like this. - -Cherokee was deeply moved, yet she could not understand how he could -charge Marrion with double-dealing and treachery, with conduct so -entirely at variance with the whole tenor of his gracious life. How -could he think that Willard Frost, that crafty, remorseless villain, -could purchase the manhood of Marrion Latham. If Robert had only known -how much that friend had suffered and borne for him, he would have -worshipped where he now condemned. - -“Cherokee,” he called from the bed, “what am I to do?” - -“Rest and then go to work; your picture is almost finished; it already -shows the touch of a master-hand, and it is perfect so far as you have -done. Marrion had other reasons for going away from us; believe me, he -will make it all right.” - -She was ever gentle and tender toward him, and worked quietly, yet -constantly. - - -The task of reforming a man takes a great deal of time, more than a -life has to give, frequently, but she had been strengthened by the -promise from Marrion to aid her, though now she must bear it alone. - -She looked in the glass, and in the depths of it she found not the face -that once smiled at her--ah! that other face, its wild-rose bloom had -faded; the lips that used to tremble as if with joy alive are thinner -now and they do not tremble; they are firm and somewhat sad. The hair -that used to slip from its confinement, and in golden torrents fall -about the wild-rose face, is somber-hued, and stays where it is pinned. - -Ah! she knows what youth means to a woman, and that is denied her. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII. - -THE CUP OF WRATH AND TREMBLING. - - -With the first mail that Marrion Latham received after reaching New -York was a letter which bore the postmark of the small railway station -in Kentucky from which he had lately departed so hastily. He opened it -first, for it was the most important to him. The letter ran: - - - “MR. LATHAM: - - I have trusted you above all other men, yet you have proven to - be my most hurtful enemy. I was surprised that you would sell my - friendship, my future, and, above all, your own manhood to Willard - Frost. - - From this time on I am done with you--we are strangers. Enclosed - find check, as I prefer not being in your debt for services - rendered. - - ROBERT MILBURN.” - - -Marrion laid the letter down with a moan; but the cruel injustice of it -aroused no resentment--he was only stunned by it. After awhile, he felt -tired and sick, so he lay down across the foot of his bed and finally -went to sleep. In his sleep nature had her way--was no longer held in -check by his will, and so, when his weary brain, his sad, unresting -heart cried out they could no longer endure, she came and gave them -rest. - -Two hours afterward found him somewhat refreshed, but he was sorry to -have awakened; he should have liked to sleep--that was all. That most -vexing question kept repeating itself to him. “Why are the best motives -of our lives turned into wolves, that come back, ravenous, to feed upon -our helpless and tortured selves?” - -Willard Frost’s letter had made so slight an impression upon him that, -until this reminder, he had quite forgotten it; had carelessly dropped -it down, never thinking of it again until now. - -It looked hard, that he had come away to save that home, and then, -to have the head of that home confront him with a pen picture of a -scoundrel placarded “Marrion Latham.” - -It was an unexpected experiment, and an astounding shock. With hands -clasped behind him Marrion restlessly paced the floor, trying to -determine what was the best thing for him to do. - -He could board the next train and go back; but no, Cherokee had his -promise that he would stay away. Besides, she had borne and sacrificed -enough for Robert. - -He could write; but how could he express it on cold paper; he could -wait a few days and see him in person, for he knew Robert expected to -return when the bloom of the year was passed. That would be soon, for -it was now time for the woods to be full of ghosts who gather to make -lament, while winds sob in minor key, and trees are bowed in silent -woe, and leaves, like tears, fall fast. - -This was best; so he decided upon it to wait and see him in person. - -His new drama lay on the desk before him; it was in this one Cherokee -figured. What better way to forget the slow, creeping time, than to go -to work; he had often said he wished he were poor, for the poor have -small time for grieving. - -He did go to work in earnest; each night found him brain-weary after a -hard day’s arduous task; it was the best thing he could have done. The -very first morning he saw an announcement of Milburn’s return to the -city he dropped him a line: - - - “MY DEAR MILBURN: - - I have an explanation--an apology to make--then let us be on the - old footing; for without you I am a lonely man. Appoint a place - for an immediate interview and let me assure you that Frost had - nothing to do with my leaving you. - - I return check. - - Yours very truly, - MARRION LATHAM.” - - -He dispatched this message, and paced the floor in a fever of anxiety -until the answer came. Quickly he snatched the envelope, as a starving -man breaks a crust of bread. - -This is what the letter said: - - - “My time is now entirely occupied. - - Respectfully, - ROBERT MILBURN.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVIII. - -A DROP OF POISON. - - -Frost was succeeding in bringing Robert Milburn into open disrepute. -That he was, will appear from his statement of the case to a few -friends who had accompanied him into the bar room of ---- hotel. - -“I was saying, gentlemen, that it is such a deuced pity to see Milburn -waste his talents, but the fact is, these self-destructive excesses -must result in a total wreck. Am I not right?” - -The man appealed to nodded approval. - -“That’s what you are.” - -“I say when a man gets so that he can walk up to a bar and take a drink -alone, it’s about time to put a bridle on him.” - -“That’s a fact,” assented a third; “and that isn’t all of it.” - -“No,” put in Frost, “I saw him driving up and down Fifty-eighth Street -with the Morris woman the other day, in the early afternoon. I just -told him what I thought about it.” - -“What did he say?” - -“Oh, he flared up, and said it was his own affair.” - -“Well, I always thought Milburn a pretty square kind of a fellow,” said -a quiet man who stood leaning against a gilded column. “In that deal -with ‘---- Syndicate’--you recollect it, Frost--he could have beaten -the life out of you, but he stood to you when I know he was offered -double commission to come off.” - -“Ah! nobody is saying anything against his honesty,” returned Willard, -sharply, “he’s square enough, but it is his infernal recklessness. Now, -yesterday, I sauntered into his office to remonstrate. I said, ‘Robert, -old boy, you are getting yourself out of everybody’s good books; why -don’t you brace up? The first thing you know, you will be dropped like -a hot nail.’ I asked him why he couldn’t be a little more modest about -it, for instance, I suggested, ‘when the spirit moves you to take -Morris out for an airing, why won’t a moonlight night and a by-road -answer the purpose as well as Fifty-eighth Street and the middle of the -afternoon.’” - -“And what did he say to that?” - -“He held out his cigar case to me saying, ‘You are wasting your time, I -don’t care to be respectably wicked, and I choose to go to the devil in -my own way.’” - -“Look here!” interrupted the quiet man, “I fancy I know Milburn better -than most people, and he has a clean life behind him; moreover, he -thinks you are the only man on earth. I can’t understand how he can -deliberately throw himself away, as you say he is doing. There is a -very strong motive of some kind. He is not a man to take to dissipation -for its own sake.” - -Frost’s eye twinkled as he turned abruptly and fronted the speaker. - -“Then you think he has a provocation?” - -“He must have; I’ve observed him pretty closely, and there is an -underlying streak of good metal in his character that will crop out at -times. Say, Frost, have you tried to help him?” - -“Always.” An oppressive little silence followed, and Frost frowned as -he tugged away at his mustache. “But I can do little with him of late.” - -“It is all very bad--very bad,” said the quiet man. - -“Though if he did a world of wrong, injuring every human creature that -came between him and his pleasure, he should not be forsaken by you--he -sticks to you.” - -Every line in the clear whiteness of Frost’s face was cruelly, -craftily, and closely compressed, while he stood looking at the man -whose words were the fine point of a sword with which, in delicate -_finesse_, he ran him through the body. - -Frost bent his head in his most courtly fashion. - -“Milburn may not be all at fault; you know he has a pretty wife!” There -was a secrecy in his smiling face, and he conveyed an air of mystery to -those words that struck the other forcibly. At the same time the thin, -straight lips, and the markings in the nose, curved with a sarcasm that -looked handsomely diabolic. - -“Come, what will you have gentlemen?” - - - - -CHAPTER XXIX. - -ROBERT’S TRIUMPH. - - -“Excellent claret, Latham, have a glass with me,” said the artist, -Willard Frost. - -“Thanks, not any; I have ordered a meal--been out rowing and it makes a -fellow deucedly hungry.” - -It was by the merest accident that Marrion Latham and Willard Frost had -taken seats at the same table, in one of New York’s restaurants. - -To the right of them, some distance away, there was a decorated table, -covers laid for twelve. Pretty soon the party came in and took their -seats. - -“By Jove!” exclaimed Latham, “I wonder what’s up. There’s Robert Emmet -Cooper, Fred Ryder, D. Kohler, and who is the one at the head of the -table? Well, upon my word, it is Milburn.” - -“What does all this mean?” inquired Frost. - -“That dinner is given to Mr. Milburn,” said the waiter, “he is one of -the acknowledged artists now.” - -“What! you don’t tell me his ‘Athlete’ has been accepted by the -Commissioners of the Art Palace?” - -“That, sir, is what the judges decided.” - -“Strange I had not heard the good news, but I am certainly proud of his -success,” exclaimed Marrion. - -“Well, I am not. I despise him, the accursed Milburn,” Frost hissed -between his teeth. “He crossed me in every path; my luck quails before -his whenever we encounter. I say luck, for he has no genius.” - -“There are a number of people mistaken then, for he is rapidly gaining -reputation.” This was harrowing to the vanity of the other. - -“Yes, and it will do him more good than he deserves, but he had a big -advantage in this.” - -“Not advantage, Frost, more than that which hard work and skill -bestows.” - -“Umph! You need not defend him, for he hates you, Latham.” - -“That doesn’t keep me from rejoicing with him.” - -“Well, tell me, when did the drop in the temperature of your relations -occur?” - -“About two months ago we had a slight misunderstanding.” - -“About his wife, I presume?” - -“About none of your business, if you will pardon brevity,” Marrion -answered, curtly. - -“You need not mind a little thing like that. I am in the same boat.” - -“What do you mean?” - -“I mean that I am in love with her, too; I admire her as cordially as I -hate him.” He drained the fifth glass of his genuine Medoc, and went on: - -“Did you ever see such a ravishing form; I’ll swear she is divine.” - -Marrion appeared not to hear him; he turned his head away as if the -other were not speaking. He heard the wit and gaiety of his club -friends. Meanwhile, everybody’s old acquaintance, the devil, had been -spending a time with Frost, by special invitation. He could only view -the other’s triumph; and there he sat, helpless, consumed with impotent -rage; a look of ungovernable fury distorted his features, already -flushed with madness and wine. His upper lip curled at the corners, and -his eyes blazed like those of an enraged tiger, as he muttered: - -“Robert Milburn, you shall pay dearly for this victory.” Then he turned -to Marrion and said: - -“I wonder if he would feel so elated if he knew how much his wife -thought of me?” - -The other turned sharply and faced him: - -“Scoundrel! dare to utter a word against her, and I’ll crush the life -out of your body.” - -Frost gurgled a fiendish laugh: - -“I know you are jealous, but do not be hasty; I can prove what I say.” - -“Then, sir, you will have to do it, and if you have lied, look sharp, -for a day of reckoning will surely come.” - -“She is at my studio every Friday at three o’clock. You know which -window looks in upon my private apartments; watch that, and you will -see her pass. Remember the time.” - -“That will do,” returned Marrion, coldly, as he arose to leave. - -At that moment his attention was attracted toward the banquet scene. -Milburn had been called upon for a speech. As a general thing he was -a man of a few words, but when he was inspired there was no more -eloquent talker than he. He made an individual mention of those who had -substantially aided in this distinction he had attained. - -Marrion listened, hoping that he would kindly speak his name, but what -a tumult within stirred him to pathetic, unspoken appeal, as the speech -ended without the slightest reference to his model. - -As the enthusiastic friends thronged about him, Marrion could not help -showing that he rejoiced with them. - -His unexpected appearance in their midst created a decided sensation. -He extended his hand warmly to Robert, and said most cordially: - -“Let me congratulate you, too.” - -With a look of intense loathing the artist waved him away, and folding -his arms said coldly: - -“Excuse me, sir.” - -Some one of the party whispered: - -“Don’t mind that, Latham; Milburn has imbibed a little too freely.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXX. - -SHADOWING HER. - - -It had been some months since Cherokee and Marrion had met. But -he still loved and was guarding her reputation. The little bit of -treachery, villainy, or whatever Frost might have meant, he proposed to -see through. - -It was an awful day, that Friday, rain had been falling since early -morning. But nestling his beardless chin into the broad collar of his -storm coat, he walked the opposite side of the street from the studio -of Willard Frost. - -In breathless amazement, he saw a woman pass by the very window. -She walked back and forth a time or two, and then she and Frost -stood together. The gown was violet, with gold trimmings; he had -seen Cherokee wear a dress like that; but he felt there must be some -mistake, or everyone is of dual existence. By this one woman he -measured the goodness of the world; if there was no truth in her, then -it followed with him that there was no truth in the world. - -When the woman, heavily veiled and warmly wrapped, came down the step -and turned down the street, he followed her. All that had passed was -like a dim bewildering vision. All that he saw in the streets of the -city--the faces he beheld--all was like a monstrous nightmare. It did -not seem that anything was real. - -He still shadowed the woman who went directly to the elevated train, -and when they came to the station where he knew Milburn got off, he -anxiously watched the woman. - -She got up, and, without looking to right or left, hurried out of the -coach. It had stopped raining, but she raised her umbrella and went on. - -Marrion walked behind her until there was no one near, then he stepped -up: - -“I must speak to you,” he said. - -She turned upon him an unmerciful stare. - -“How dare you, sir?” - -“Forgive me, but I must understand it all,” he exclaimed, excitedly. - -“But what right have you, Mr. Latham, to shadow me, or question?” - -“To save Robert Milburn’s home--that’s what. I should think you, who -owe so much to his friendship, would not dare to do this.” He caught -her by the hand: - -“Come with me where we can talk it over alone, or you will never regret -it but once, and that once will be always.” - -She consented reluctantly, and they walked off together. - -So complicated are the webs of fate, that this step, though hastily -taken, gained a secret of the most vital moment to him and to Robert -Milburn. - - - - -CHAPTER XXXI. - -GONE. - - -It had blown hard in the night, but the wind had dropped at dawning, -and now the rising sun tinted the cruel fringe of storm wrack as it -dwindled into the west. - -A low, gray sky, eaten to a jagged edge as by a fire torch, hung over -the harbor. - -Eastward, this sky line was broken by the spout of foam when two waves -dashed each other into spray. A heavy surf beat upon the shore. Marrion -Latham stood watching the small boats swoop up and down the emerald -valley, dipping away nor’ward under easy sail. He loved the water, and -when anything annoyed him, he had often found relief in its lullaby. -This was one time its surging sighs had not soothed him. - -He must see Robert, for his home was in peril. He turned from the water -front. Slowly and deliberately he walked, every step was an effort. -He could not forget that this man, for whom he felt so much concern, -had refused to take his hand, had refused him a chance for personal -justification. All this he thought of, and while love and wounded -pride were both struggling for mastery, he reached the door where he -had once been a welcomed and an honored guest. - -“Is Mr. Milburn in?” he asked of the maid who answered the bell. - -“No, sir, he left this morning for Boston; will you leave a message.” - -“Oh! no. I shall wire him, if you will give me his address.” - -He tried so hard to speak lightly, but lamentably failed in the -attempt. Without being conscious of it he had spoken in almost an -imploring tone. - -So Robert was out of his reach; what should Marrion do now? He could -not think; he had gone through so much excitement lately that his brain -felt in a confused tangle, he was unable to calculate coolly; one thing -he knew, that his mental agony was beyond endurance. In thought, word, -and deed, he had been true to Robert, but that the other might never -know until the history of man is carried from time to eternity, where -none can erase or alter it. - -“Who was the gentleman?” Mrs. Milburn asked, when the servant returned. - -“A friend of yours, but he wanted to see your husband. It was Mr. -Latham.” - -“Say, rather, an acquaintance of mine,” was the reply. - -Cherokee felt that she had no such thing as a friend. She who had been -petted and admired saw the change now; the cordial hand held back, -the friendly, confidential glance replaced by frowns of almost fierce -suspicion and reproach. She observed a gradual but marked difference in -her friends’ demeanor toward her. Her greetings were received coldly, -though sometimes with scrupulous politeness. Groups began to melt -insensibly away at her approach, or her advent was a signal for dead -silence. - -The young women were frigid; the old ones were more so, and -systematically cut her dead, and were often heard to say: “They had -always thought there was something very queer about this woman.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXXII. - -STORMING THE LION’S DEN. - - -It happened that the very day after Robert’s return, he had accepted, -for the first time in some months, one of the many invitations which -Willard Frost had extended. He had usually declared himself in his -notes “Already engaged,” or “Sorry illness makes me forego the -pleasure, etc.” - -Designing Frost, therefore, continued his invitations until Milburn, -from that fatality which seemingly regulates and controls us, accepted -the proffered invitation. Frost’s apartments were gorgeous. He had made -money as well as married it. - -“Gentlemen,” he said to his three guests, “let me show you the first -success I had,” and he pointed to a baby face on the wall. - -“That study I sold for two thousand dollars to a man who had lost a -child about that age, and he had no picture of it; this he fancied -looked very much like her.” - -“It is a marvelous face--so beautiful. Where did you get your model?” -Robert asked. - -“It is my own child.” - -“What! I did not know you had ever been married until----” Robert -paused in awkward confusion. - -“Until I made my recent ‘fiasco,’” laughed Frost. “Well, whether I have -or not, the child’s mother died at its birth--that was lucky.” - -He saw how the others looked at him when he made this heartless speech, -so he added: - -“You remember those old stony hills of New Hampshire? Well, I was -reared there, and perhaps that accounts for so much flint and grit in -my make up.” - -“But mine host,” Robert began, “where is the other rare treat you -promised--your latest portrait, that wears a hectic flush and nothing -more?” - -The others, who were listening to the colloquy burst into ripples of -merriment. - -“Ah, so I did promise,” and he seized his glass, and emptied it at a -gulp. - -A gust of cold mist, mingled with fine snow, puffed into the brilliant -rooms, and stirred the stifling air that was saturated with exhalations -of spirits and tobacco smoke. - -“And you really would like to see my creation--‘A Nude Daughter of Our -Land.’” - -“Nothing would delight us more,” they declared. - -He summoned the servant and ordered him to draw the curtain aside. - -The eager crowd caught his words at once. - -“Yes! yes! yes! draw the curtain.” - -Robert watched eagerly, while the other guests shouted in his ear. - -“Let us see! brave man, let us see!” - -As they watched the canvas the drapery fell to one side. - -“My wife! Great God!” - -Robert felt the horror stricken tremor in his own exclamation. There -played on Willard Frost’s face a satanic smile, while a momentary -exultation thrilled him. - -“She kindly posed for this, my greatest effort,” returned Frost, still -smiling. - -Robert controlled every muscle in his countenance; no fire broke from -his steadfast, scornful eyes; but there was a kingly authority in the -aspect--the almost stately crest and power in the swell of the stern -voice--which awed the lookers on. - -With that locked and rigid countenance, with arms folded, he stood -confronting the other artist, who advanced toward him with menacing -brow. - -“Willard Frost, this is a lie! and I demand you to prove it. You -villain! you dastard! you coward! Fall on your knees, you cur, and ask -God to forgive you, lest you are suddenly called to face your black -account.” - -Frost strove to be scornful, but his lips trembled, and his voice died -in hollow murmurs in his breast. - -“Answer me, I demand proof!” cried Robert, looking upon him with a -crushing and intense disdain. - -“I know, Milburn, you will hate me; but acknowledge, we are at last -even,” said the other. - -“No! I do not believe it! By the eternal powers, my wife would not -stoop so low as this model indicates. I must have proof.” - -“Then, sir, you shall!” and Frost’s eyes flashed a lightning glance of -triumph. - -“Gentlemen, I do not like to bring you into this little unpleasantness, -but what do you know of this?” - -“We know that Mrs. Milburn has often been to the studio, and we, -moreover, have seen her when you were at work on the picture. But the -man surely knows his own wife; this is a speaking likeness.” - -“Besides, here’s a note where she asked that the matter be kept a dead -secret.” - -Robert looked at the paper, it was her handwriting; bearing no date, -unfortunately, or he would have known that this was written when she -was a girl, about an entirely different picture. - -“Is that her hand, or forgery?” - -This question, uttered triumphantly, and regarded by all three as a -climax, fell flat. - -He met their merciless, inquisitorial gaze, now riveted on him, -unflinchingly; while they fidgeted, cleared their throats, and -interchanged significant looks, he stood motionless; only an unwonted -pallor, and tiny bead-like drops gathering to his forehead, betokened -the intensity of the struggle within. - -Looking again at the note, he handed it back to one, saying, in a voice -deliciously pure: - -“Then I am Christ, if she is Magdalene. She is forgiven.” - -The companions were taken back, they had expected a more complete -victory for their host. - -Presently, as if his nature had nursed this crushing, profound -humiliation until it almost burst forth in fury, he madly rushed toward -the picture. - -“Whether she did or did not pose for it, I shall rip the infernal thing -from center to circumference.” - -An indescribable uproar arose, as he opened his knife and approached -the picture. Frost’s clinched fist rose in the air, and he shouted -angrily: - -“Do it and die!” - -“I am no coward; I am not afraid of your threats,” he returned coldly. - -“But it is madness!” the other roared, “I am surrounded by friends; you -have none here.” - -“By heavens he has!” said a voice behind them. - -“Marrion Latham!” came from every tongue. - -“Yes, and the most unwelcome guest you ever entertained. This is all a -base, cowardly lie, and I came to tell you,” he hissed to the others, -as he caught Robert by the hand. - -“My friend,” cried Robert, “forgive me the injustice I have done you; I -could kneel and beg it of you.” - -“I am not warrior, priest or king--only brother,” he said earnestly. - -“You contemptible cur; dare you say Cherokee Milburn was not my model -and my--” - -“Yes, I do dare; even the first thing you ever led her into was a -deception, and the baby face that swings above you there on the wall is -the same face you hid away when misfortune overtook her--to die in the -slums--and that one was your own child.” - -“But I say, emphatically, that this is a picture of Mrs. Milburn--the -other has nothing to do with this,” cried the enraged artist. - -“And I say, with the same emphasis, it is a d---- lie; the face was -made from Mrs. Milburn’s picture, and the form--you paid another five -hundred dollars to sit for it.” - -“And pray, who is this individual?” questioned Frost, carelessly. - -“Yes, who is she?” cried his companions. - -The tumult became so great that an ordinary tone could not be heard at -all. - -“Who is she? Who is she?” - -“Men, have patience, I am in no hurry,” said Marrion, as he leveled a -revolver at the party. - -“Now, Robert, old boy, let the good work go on.” - -“Bless you, Latham, by your help I will,” and he plunged the knife into -the canvas. - -Frost uttered a tremendous oath, and shouted: - -“I’ll kill you both for that!” - -“Now, to complete the scene we should have the real model here--would -that please you?” said Marrion, aggravatingly. - -“Yes, produce her if you can.” - -He walked to the door and opened it; no one spoke; all seemed riveted -to the spot. - -Who should walk in but Mrs. Milburn’s maid, Annie Zerner. - -“You bought her, Frost, but she sells you.” Then turning to the woman, -Marrion asked: - -“Did you pose for this man’s picture?” - -“Yes, sir, and----” - -A fierce glance from the artist, Willard Frost, kept her from ending -the sentence. - -“D---- you! I’ll finish you.” - -“Wait!” cried a firm, but sweet voice. Willard Frost stepped back in -dismay. The doorway framed the form and beautiful, indignant face of -Cherokee Milburn. - -[Illustration: “‘Wait!’ cried a firm, but sweet voice.” Page 229.] - -She had seen her maid, dressed in her clothes, join Marrion in the -street and had followed them. She could not doubt Marrion Latham’s -honor, and her woman’s instinct--that almost unerring guide which God -has bestowed upon the sex--told her to follow. - -One glance at the assembled party, and another at the empty frame and -the canvas that lay beside it, and she comprehended the situation. - -“I know you, Willard Frost,” she said, with a calmness that surprised -herself as well as all present. - -“I trust you have a good opinion of me,” sneered the baffled scoundrel. - -“I have doubted you,” she went on, not heeding the interruption, “for -two years, but I never thought you capable of such as this.” She paused -and pointed to the canvas upon the floor. - -“Under a false pretense you first deceived me; you borrowed all the -money I had that you might make me easy prey to your designs,” she -continued, her voice gathering fulness, and swelling with indignation. - -“Worst of all, with a wickedness that devils might admire and imitate, -you sought my husband’s ruin, by tempting him to drink. You succeeded; -but that your success fell short of your expectation he and I have this -devoted friend to thank,” she turned and laid her hand upon Marrion’s. - -“You! always you!” shrieked Frost, “you have baffled me for the last -time.” - -There was a flash--a loud report--and Marrion Latham, clutching at his -breast, sank heavily to the floor. Without waiting to note the full -results of his terrible work, Willard Frost rushed out into the night. - -“Oh! my God! my God! save him!” burst from Cherokee’s white, groaning -lips, as she raised her eyes and cried in fierce despair. - -“God save you and your home, is all I ask,” he gasped. - -Robert, too, knelt by his side, crying: “How could the foul traitor -deal such a merciless blow? Friend, brother, live to see the result of -your work. You are my savior,” cried Robert. - -“Then death is unutterably sweet,” dropped from Marrion’s lips. He -gazed imploringly at Cherokee; his power of utterance was gone; he -could give no answering pressure to the fond hands, yet his last words -had filtered like a single drop of sweet, through all the sea of woe. -While the dear ones bent above, they felt that in that stroke fierce -fate had spent her last shaft. There was no drop of worm-wood left in -this bitter, bitter cup. - - - - -CONCLUSION. - - -The wounded man was removed to Robert’s home. The attendant physician -looked grave; he was dealing with a tremendous enemy that assaulted -with sapping and draining of strength, with poisoning of the blood and -brain. But he was young and fresh in his wrestle with evil in disease; -he had the latest words of science; he knew how to work, so he called -up all his powers, and neither slumbered nor slept. - -He left the room for only brief intervals, and allowed no one in there -except the servant. Occasionally the patient slept, and then he rested, -too. A whistle from a rushing train far out in the night, or carriages -rolling home from late pleasures, were welcome sounds to break the -stillness, though how foreign to Robert and Cherokee they seemed. Full -of solicitude, full of anxiety, they came to the door at all hours to -ask of the patient’s condition. Time and time again they were turned -away without a comforting answer. - -At last, one day, the physician told them he would live and be -himself in health again. Sweetly fell these words, like dew on dying -flowers--their hearts’ throbbing chords were softly soothed. - - * * * * * * - -They were sitting together in their own room. Robert’s face had greatly -changed. - -“Cherokee,” he began, “it isn’t long ago that I promised, before God, -to love and cherish you always. I have learned that that didn’t mean -just to-day, or a year from to-day. It meant this: that we must make -the fulfillment of our sacred promise to each other the supreme effort -of our lives, so long as we both live. I know I have erred, but I -promised Marrion on that terrible night that I would be a man. It is -two years, to-day, since he risked his own life to save you and me. -Tell me, have I kept the faith?” - -He held out his hand in a half pleading gesture; she put her’s on his -shoulders, and throwing her head back with the exuberant happiness of a -child, said, with enthusiasm: - -“You have! you have! and I do--do love you.” She glanced over his -shoulder into the mirror. Was the bright face she saw there her very -own? What had become of its sallowness, its lines of care, its yearning -melancholy? - -A wave of golden consciousness sweetly swept her face. In the fulness -of contentment, long withheld, Cherokee’s glad youth had come back to -reward her husband. - - - - -+-------------------------------------------------+ -|Transcriber’s note: | -| | -|Obvious typographic errors have been corrected. | -| | -+-------------------------------------------------+ - - - -***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A FOOL IN SPOTS*** - - -******* This file should be named 65018-0.txt or 65018-0.zip ******* - - -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: -http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/6/5/0/1/65018 - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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