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diff --git a/old/68207-0.txt b/old/68207-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 49ae743..0000000 --- a/old/68207-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,4760 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of As the hart panteth, 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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: As the hart panteth - -Author: Hallie Erminie Rives - -Release Date: May 30, 2022 [eBook #68207] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by University of California - libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AS THE HART PANTETH *** - - AS THE HART PANTETH - - BY - - HALLIE ERMINIE RIVES. - - NEW YORK: COPYRIGHT, 1898, BY _G. W. Dillingham Co., Publishers_, - MDCCCXCVIII. [_All rights reserved._] - - - - - TO - A MEMORY. - - - - -CONTENTS. - - PAGE - - THE CHILD 7 - THE GIRL 104 - THE WOMAN 185 - - - - -AS THE HART PANTETH. - - - - -THE CHILD. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - -HE sat just outside the lofty doorway, that opened between the bare -hall and front verandah. The great white columns held a wild clematis -vine, the leaves of which almost concealed the bricks where the plaster -had fallen off. Presently a child came out with a violin in her hand. -She went up to him, and laying her full cheek against his shrunken -one, caressed him. Her blue eyes that went black in an instant, from -the pupils’ swift dilation, had the direct gaze of one knowing nothing -of the world and never fearing to be misunderstood. She was slim yet -strong; her waving hair that fell softly about her face was the color -of sunburnt cornsilk, her skin ovalling from it, smooth and white, like -a bursting magnolia bud. - -“Grandpa, I can play ‘The Mocking Bird’ for you now.” - -“Play it, God’s child; play it,” he said. - -As she leaned against the column and began playing, his face, old and -worn with many griefs, seemed, for a moment, rejuvenated by the spirit -of his lost youth. His heart stirred strangely within him, and he was -minded of another slim, little girl, who came down to the gate to meet -him when the day was done in the long ago. She had the same glorious -hair, and tender, fearless eyes and love for him. But that was more -than forty years gone by and she was dead. - -As the strains became fuller and sweeter, a bird began twittering, -trilling among the leaves, imitating the sounds it heard. - -“Listen. Do you hear that, Esther?” whispering, as he searched for -a sight of the singer. “There it is. It’s a mocking bird,” he said, -pointing to the young thing, as the fluting feathers on its throat -stood out like the pipes of an organ. Its song, accompanying the tune, -never ceased until the violin was tossed upon the bench and the child -was in the old man’s arms. - -“That was beautiful, beautiful!” His eyes were filled with tears of -enthusiasm that fell upon her hair. - -“Your mother used to play that, when she was young.” He spoke with the -weight of profound emotion, that glowed in his eyes, and quivered on -his lips. - -“And did the bird sing with her?” a softer look coming upon the -childish face. - -“I don’t remember that it did, though she was always a friend to the -birds that built their nests about us. She kept the boys from breaking -them up or trapping them. Every spring they sang here in the trees. -They seemed to know that she was looking after them. That must have -been what she was born for. She was always watching over something or -somebody.” He swallowed hard. “I can see her now, bending over her -work, late at night, stitching away, with her fingers on those gray -clothes for the boys in the army--your Uncle Billy and your father.” - -“Was she little, then?” Esther inquired, while with one hand she -clasped his wrist, and with the other stroked his brow. - -“No. When the war broke out, she was just about to be married to your -father, who had been appointed Captain under General Lee. She made a -coat for him and quilted money in the collar. She had a way of doing -things that nobody would have thought of. You remind me of her.” He -folded his hands across his stick and was silent for a moment. “There -is much about her life that I want you to know, and bear in mind, now -that you are getting old enough to understand. She had great hopes for -you, for your music. I’ve been thinking how proud she would be if she -could know that you had got along well enough to be invited to play at -the University--on commencement night at that. I ask nothing higher for -you than that you make such a woman as your mother.” - -They did not see the old negro, ragged to the skin, coming around the -corner of the house, carrying his discolored straw hat in one hand and -mopping his face on a faded cotton handkerchief. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -“G’MORNIN’, Marse Hardin.” - -“Howdy, Sandy. Where did you come from? I thought you’d gone clear out -of the country, for good.” - -“Nor sir, nor sir. You jes’ let a nigger git a taste of dis here spring -water, and he’s charmed, conjured, he kyant stay away if he do go. But -I come back, dis time, to see my young marster--Marse Davy Pool.” - -“How is he to-day?” - -“He daid. Dat’s what I was sent to tell you. Dey guinter bury him up at -de old place.” - -“I am sorry to hear of his death, Sandy. He was the best one of the -boys.” - -“Dat’s so, sir; ’tain’t nobody guine to miss him like his mammy do. -She’s told me to ax you for your hoss and buggy. She’s afeared of the -boys’ hosses, dey keep such wild uns. Marse Davy sold his’n, dat was -the onliest one she would ride behind. She said she wanted Marse Hardin -Campbell’s. It was so trusty and gentlelike.” - -“I was going to use it after dinner.” Mr. Campbell hesitated. - -“Send it on, grandpa. Send it on.” Esther saw the inquiring look her -grandfather turned upon her. “Something will turn up.” - -“Suppose it shouldn’t; would you be disappointed?” he asked. - -“I never count on being disappointed,” she responded, quickly. - -“Ain’t she some kin to Miss Mary Campbell?” The negro’s face lighted as -he asked the question. - -“That’s her daughter, Miss Esther Powel.” - -“It ’peared to me like I seed de favor in her face. Ev’ybody loved your -mammy, honey. ’Twarn’ nobody that didn’t,” he said, turning to look -again at Esther. - -“The horse is in the pasture.” Mr. Campbell turned to the child. “Can’t -you run and show him where the bridle is?” Bareheaded, she bounded -down the steps, and motioned to the old negro to follow. She took the -bridle and swung it over his arm. “Mind the foot log. Uncle Sandy, the -hand rail has been washed away. The pasture is over the creek. There is -Selam now, under the sweet gum tree.” She pointed. “You will find the -harness in the carriage house here.” - -She watched him go over the slope to the creek, then stood gazing -about her in childish contemplation. It was nearly noon. The shadow -straightening in the doorway indicated it. - -Mr. Campbell looked and saw her. His heart warmed toward her -comeliness; moreover she was sweet of nature and had a ready smile even -for those who had not been kind to her. Suddenly she disappeared in -the direction of the carriage house. She feared that her pony could -not pull the heavy vehicle that alone was left to take her to the -University. It taxed her strength to draw the heavy bar from across -the carriage house door. She sprang backward, as she dropped it upon -the ground; then went in to examine the carriage that had not been -used since she was a baby, almost fifteen years before. The clumsy -conveyance had small iron steps that let down--steps that her mother’s -child feet had pressed in climbing to the seat. The wheels were so -heavy and cumbersome that she shook her head doubtfully. The green -satin lining was in shreds; the worn leather seats covered with tufts -of hair, while here and there a dead leaf or twig was tangled in its -coarse mesh. It had required a pair to draw it in those old days. She -had forgotten that. The tongue was held up in its position above by a -girder in the loft. Esther gave it a strong, hard pull; the tongue fell -forward, and as she skipped out of its path the lumbering old carriage -went rolling down the incline, and clouds of dust, as though indignant -at being disturbed, sullenly rose and fell about her. - -Old and dilapidated harness that hung down from the walls swayed slowly -in the general commotion. Esther wiped the dust from her eyes and drew -a long breath, looking defiantly at the result. She looked down. There, -at her feet, lay a bird, fluttering beside its fallen nest. Her face -lost its look of defiance. - -“You poor, little thing,” bending down and cuddling it to the softness -of her cheek. “Don’t die, please, don’t die!” she said, in dismay. “It -will break my heart if I have killed you.” With tears streaming down -her face she ran swiftly to the house. - -“Grandpa, do something for it,” laying it in his hand. “Can you save -it? It’s a mocking bird, too. I shook it out of the carriage.” - -“They have nested there for years,” he said as he drew the wings gently -through his fingers. “They are not broken,” he assured her. - -“Are you sure it will live?” She was looking at him with frightened -eyes. - -“Live? Yes; and have a nest and young ones of its own next year. It is -only stunned. Leave it in the parlor where it will be safe from the -cats and it will be all right soon.” - -A faint rumbling noise broke in upon their voices. They looked up to -listen. It was like the sound of a wagon rolling. “Put it away, quick, -and run to the creek to show them how to cross the ford.” They had kept -close watch over the passers since the winter hauling had cut deep -holes in the bed of the stream. It was a treacherous crossing. Closing -the door upon her charge, Esther ran through the garden, the nearest -way. She sped with the lithe agility of a young fawn, and before the -newcomer was fairly into the stream she was there giving directions. -The mountain stream ran fleet between its low banks, winding in haste -through the valley. Tall sycamores, sentinels in silver armor, stood -beside it on either hand. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -MR. CAMPBELL stood watching. Very soon the front gate opened and a boy -came in, driving two white mules, with red tassels on their bridle -bits. Amazement filled his eyes when he saw that it was a wagon load of -coffins, and on the topmost one Esther sat smiling. As they drove up -near the door, he went out to help her down. - -“Didn’t I tell you something would turn up, grandpa; this wagon is -going right by the University this evening.” She threw her arms about -his neck; her laugh rang out in pure triumph. “Hitch your team, young -man; a boy will come to take it out and feed it.” When they saw -Esther again she was ready for her jaunt. Her violin was in its case; -her fresh white organdie folded with as much care as she gave to -anything--duty and care were unknown to her. Her visit to the University -by such a conveyance would be the extreme limit of indulgence, yet she -had no thought of being denied. - -“I am ready,” she announced at table. Mr. Campbell burst into a laugh, -half of annoyance, yet touched with the ring of true amusement. - -“I really believe you would go.” - -“I’d go on foot if necessary to keep my promise,” she answered quickly. - -“How could the college folks know that Mr. David Pool had to be buried -to-day when they printed my name on the programme?” - -Watching her eyes, he caught their softness, their innocence, and knew -that her eagerness was sincere. - -“Let her go, Mr. Campbell, I’ll take good care of her.” The boy was -a Rudd. Although he held a lowly position, he was not counted of the -common people. Mr. Campbell had the old Virginia pride of race in him. - -“I know you would.” - -Esther looked steadily into his gray eyes and saw a relenting twinkle. - -“Am I going?” Turning to her with a quiet smile: “Yes, you may go.” -He could not see her disappointed when her heart was so determined. -With a little cry of joy she brought her hands together. “I wish you -could come along, grandpa. It will be such fun, and I wanted you to -hear me to-night.” When the wagon came around Esther was helped up with -her case and bundle. Her violin she held tenderly across her arm. Mr. -Campbell went with them to close the gate. - -“Good-bye; you will be in for me to-morrow.” Leaning down, she embraced -his head. “Be sweet, God’s child,” he said, as they drove off. Esther -kissed her hand to him, as he stood by the roadside looking after them. -The cook, at the kitchen door, waved her dish rag for a frantic moment. -The whirl of dust from the wheels soon clouded the view. The old man -turned, and went slowly back to the house with a misty smile over his -features. - -A quaint, pathetic figure that, of Hardin Campbell, with his age, his -poverty and the care of this child. Here had once been planter life in -its carelessness and lavishness. It had been the home of friend and -neighbor and the hospitable shelter of the transient guest. All the -grand folk that came that way made this place headquarters in the days -when Mr. Campbell was reckoned rich. But what he had lost in wealth he -had more than gained in pride, and the child was brimming over with -it. Generous, impetuous, enthusiastic, as she was, this wild young -creature of nature, unhindered, venturesome and full of whims, would, -he hoped, find pride her safeguard. He did not believe in curbing her. -He guided, but did not limit her and tried to keep from her all warping -influences. This was the way her mother had begun with her and he was -only continuing her way for a while--it could not be very long before -he would have to resign his charge. To whom--he did not know and could -not bear to dwell upon the thought. - -About the whole place there was evidence of departed glory. In the -great white buildings which rose from the labyrinth of shrubbery like -grim ghosts of the past; in the rows of cabins, formerly the dwellings -of a horde of happy-hearted negroes, everywhere was evidence of the -bygone prodigal days. The house, of colonial style, with its series -of tall columns standing about the broad colonnade, was partially -screened by the live oaks and was set some distance back from the big -road. These encircling columns were built of brick, with a coating of -plaster, once as white as the teeth of Uncle Simon, the plantation -white-washer, who in former days would put an immaculate dress on -them regularly once a month by means of an elevated step-ladder, -but now Uncle Simon’s labors were done. The neglected columns were -crumbling with age and sadly splotched with the red of exposed masonry. -At one side of the verandah there spread the delicate green of -the star-jassamine, with its miniature constellations flecking the -background. Through the vista, leading to the house, from the big gate -in front, flashed the crimson of a flowering-pear in full blossom. The -blinds of the house that had once been green, were now hanging from -their hinges, weather-stained, giving full view of a number of broken -window panes, in one of which, on the second story, was perched a wren, -whose energetic chattering over her nest hardby was the most decided -indication of active life. - -In the rear of the buildings stretched the cabins. To the right of -them were the stables and the carriage house, with its weather vane of -a flying steed on the top, but for years the most vigorous gales had -failed to spur this steed to action and its tail, at one time proudly -aflaunt to the breeze, had yielded to time and rust, and, like that of -Tam o’Shanter’s mare, knew naught of direction. There was the dreary -stillness of desolation over all things. But still a hospitable glow -was in the summer sunshine and shone as well in the eyes of the old -master. - -Esther took off her hat when she got into the depths of the woods and -drew out her violin. “I will amuse the boy,” she thought, “if I play to -him,” for she had tired of talking against the rumbling of the wagon -and its load. In his way, he appreciated her motive, for now and again -he called back to her, awkwardly commending her, and urging her to -continue. Near the spring they saw the negro washerwomen, with sleeves -rolled to their shining shoulders, bending over their tubs; faded, limp -skirts, bloused through apron belts, and dangled about their bare legs. -A big wash kettle heaped with white linen stood to one side. Around it -a fire was burning low for want of fuel. - -“O--o--h! Yo’ Tagger, Tag-g-e-r; you’d better come on here, ef you know -what’s good for you,” called one of the women with a long, resounding -echo that drowned the answer of the small voice that said he was on his -way. A troop of little niggers came to the roadside pulling a wagon -load of brush and bark gathered through the woods. They looked back and -spied Esther on the coffins. With a wild yell the children, load and -all, tumbled over the embankment, rolling over each other in the dust, -screaming, “Mammy! mammy!” at the top of their voices, scrambling to -their feet and running with might and main down the road. As Esther -drew up to the wash-place, the little fellows were clinging frantically -to the knees of their mothers. - -“It’s a little ha’nt blowin’ Gabel’s trumpet. Don’t let it ketch me! -don’t let it ketch me!” - -“In de name ob de Lawd!” said one of the women, seeing what had caused -the fright; “ain’t you all got de sense you was born wid? Don’t you -know Miss Esther Powel, Marse Hardin’s granddaughter?” The eyes of the -pickaninnies were blinded by the wads of wet aprons they had covered -them with, and the sound of the wheels filled them with terror. “Dry -up!” The big dripping hand pounded on their heads. “Scuse ’em, Miss -Esther, you’d think dese youngun’s been fotch up wid wild injun’s.” - -“Tagger,” Esther called the boy, whose name, Montague, she had been -responsible for. “Don’t you know me? I played for you to dance a jig -for the young men who used to visit Will Curtis before he died. You -haven’t forgotten that, have you?” Hearing her familiar voice, he -slowly peeped out with scared eyes. - -“You little monkey. Dip me some water out of the spring.” She saw a -long, yellow gourd hanging from a striped bough above their heads. “I -want a drink.” He sprang up and snatched the gourd, and before she -could say more, he was holding it up to her, standing on his tiptoes, -grinning, as the tears ran down and stained his dusty face. - -“I am going to play at the University to-night,” she said, hanging back -the gourd. - -“You don’ say? One of dem ’Varsity gemmen’s coming out to see Marse -Will’s folks next week.” Tagger’s mother lived with the Curtises, whose -home was just beyond the spring. “I’ll be bound, you beat ’em all dar -if you does play to-night,” she said when she saw they were leaving. - -Bareheaded, Esther rode on, as long as the shade was over them, tying -on her hat only when they got to the sunny way of the road. A man -plowing in a cornfield, looked up as he stopped at the turn of the row. -He gazed intently, rapping the line mechanically about his wrist. - -“What is her grandpa thinking of?” seeing it was Esther, whom he knew. -“But she’d a gone in spite of hell and high water.” With this aloud -to himself, he drew his shirt sleeve across the sweat on his brow and -trudged back down the row, relieved. - -After two hours or more, through the heat, Esther was glad when at last -she could see the end of her journey. The sunlight lay radiant upon the -stretch of country famed for this honored institution of learning. -Just before her, upon an eminence, spread the University buildings, -the tall spires marking their profile on the sky. The sun’s rays shot -up behind them its last warm flashes. Its heat had already dampened -Esther’s hair, deepening the red tint of its waves against her temples. -The campus was alive with students coming and going in every direction. -The tenor of the glee club, in his striped sweater of the college -colors, humming a popular air, walked leisurely across to where one -fellow was sprawled on the ground, gazing at the wagon with an amused -curiosity on his handsome face. - -“By Jupiter! that’s a pretty child.” The tenor turned to look, as his -friend spoke. - -“Well, if that isn’t a caper! Wonder where she is bound?” Just then a -pert freshman, standing in a group, gave a college yell. Then there was -a chorus of rapturous cheers, in which most of them joined. Before the -noise had subsided, the man on the grass had leaped to his feet, full -of indignation, and dashed off toward the freshman. - -“Silence! you fellows! Have you forgotten yourselves?” A few hisses -were mingled with the applause that greeted him, but the freshman was -quick to say at his elbow: - -“I didn’t mean it for her.” - -“How could she know that?” He walked away saying: “I’ll wager there is -something out of the ordinary in that girl.” - -He was of the fiber that commanded the respect of men at a glance. - -“Andrews always turns up at the right time, you may count on that,” -said one of the students as he watched him sauntering in the direction -of the wagon, his eyes following the child. She was perched like -a white winged bird of good omen on a funeral pyre. Only a nature -adventurous to audacity would do such a thing as that. But he loved -daring personalities, strong motives and even a misadventure, if it -were a brave one. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -GLENN ANDREWS was, by every gift of nature, a man. His sensitive, -expressive face, his brown eyes glowing with a light that seemed to -come from within, his clear and resolute bearing, all gave evidence -of his sterling qualities. All through his college years he was known -among his fellows as a dreamer. His was one of those aloof--almost -morbidly solitary natures, to whom contact with the world would seem -jarring and out of key. The boys had nicknamed him “Solitaire.” He -had a womanly delicacy in morals, his sense of honor was as clean and -bright as a soldier’s sword. - -Those who knew him well loved him, and all of his school fellows -sought for his notice, the more, perhaps, because he gave it rarely. - -Whenever he played with them, it was as one who unconsciously granted a -favor. He was looked upon as a man who would be a sharer in the talents -of his race. This was his ambition. He had strong literary tastes and -was a serious worker. - -Often he champed at the bit through the slow routine of college -life--the genius within him thirsting for action like a spirited horse, -just in sound of the chase. - -After the exercises that night, the pretty faces and scent of roses -filled the chapel with light and fragrance. Everything was in warm -confusion, congratulations blended with tender farewells and honest -promises that youth was sure to break. - -Glenn Andrews, with the dignity that went well with his cap and gown, -was making his way out. The tenor touched him on the shoulder. - -“What did you think of that violin solo?” - -“Fine, my boy, fine! She played just before my turn, and she must have -been my inspiration, for I was surprised to get the medal.” - -“I’m jolly glad you got it anyhow.” - -“Did you find out who she was?” - -“Esther Powel. Her grandfather is a friend of Professor Stark. He did -it to give her a chance.” - -“Well she used it for all it was worth,” said Andrews. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -ESTHER was standing by the rim of a clear pool in the woods, gazing -down into the water. Her big hat was weighted with cockle blooms that -she had gathered in coming through the wheat. In this natural mirror -she could see that a stem here was too long, another there was turned -the wrong way to look well. With both hands to her head she was intent -upon regulating the effect to please her eye. Turning her head first -to one side, then another, she smiled at herself, impulsive, always -in motion, quick as a wren. The water was so clear that one could see -the last year’s leaves lying at its depths. It was deep and sloped -toward the center. Inverted it would look like a mound where children -are told that Indians are buried, when the one can think of no other -excuse for its grave-like appearance. This pool went by the name of -“Indian Well.” Esther had no thought but that she was alone, until she -saw an image, a serious young face, reflected there, with soft, brown -beard and hair, and deep eyes that wore a languid, meditating look. He -stooped and dipped his curved hand into the surface and was raising it -to his lips. Suddenly, instinctively, she bounded to his side, dashing -the water from his hands before he could drink. - -“Don’t you know there is fever in it?” - -For a moment he looked at her in wonder. - -“The fever,” he repeated, “what do you mean?” - -“The germs of typhoid--I thought everybody knew that.” - -“But you see I am not everybody,” he answered, laughing. - -She looked at every feature of his face. “But didn’t you feel like it -the other night?” - -This surprised him so that he had not made an answer when she went on: -“Everybody who has died of typhoid fever around here drank water out of -‘Indian Well.’ This is where they got the germ.” - -“I was never here before. You are very good to warn me.” He looked at -her and she seemed so sweet and beautiful as she stood there, between -him and danger. Whether real or imagined, her motive was the same. - -“Is your home near by?” - -“I live with my grandpa in the white house on the road as you came up.” - -“I didn’t come by the road; I came through by the wood-path from the -Curtises. I’m spending the summer there. What a pity this lovely spot -is poisoned, I am sorry; I might see you here again but for that. It -makes a pretty tryst,” he said. - -“Sorry? Why? You don’t know me.” - -This pleased him. He had found a refreshing creature. At the outset he -had thrilled at the prospect. - -“Don’t I? You played once where I had the pleasure of hearing you. Your -name is Esther--Esther Powel.” - -“Yes, and I have seen your face before I saw it in the water. They -called you ‘Glenn Andrews’ when they gave you the medal.” - -She slowly looked him over from head to foot, and smiled as if in a -trance of joy. It was all so wonderful, so strange--this hero’s coming. - -“But I am still ahead. You will never see me win laurels again, -perhaps, and I expect to hear you play many times.” - -“Don’t be sure. It’s no use for me to play. People don’t seem to care -whether they hear it or not. I play for myself, because the sounds from -my violin seem to express what I feel.” - -“But suppose I care?” - -“Then I will play for you sometime, if we should meet again.” - -“When could I get in your way?” - -“Most any time.” - -“Will you be home all summer?” - -“Yes, and winter, too.” She laughed at his question. - -“Let us sit down and rest a while together. I want to talk over the -pleasure that is in store for me.” - -Little did he think as she agreed, and they sat down on an old log, -how much in later life and amidst different scenes, he was to lament -that circumstance. “I have always loved the country. It is so true, so -beautiful; I love it from the bottom of my heart.” - -He lifted his face, drawing a deep breath; the air was clean and sweet -with the scent of growing things. - -“Everything is beautiful that’s natural,” she said, touching the -beflowered hat. “I never even wear ‘bought’ flowers, because they are -only make-believes. I hate anything that is not sure-enough.” - -“It’s a pretty idea. I wondered where you found this.” - -“Just made it.” - -She seemed to have grasped a good deal for her years. - -“I see you have learned a way of your own in your travels.” - -“Travels! I’ve never been out of this valley, but I have grandpa and my -mother and my dreams.” - -“Your mother. I heard that your mother was dead,” he said, quietly. - -“She isn’t as long as I am living,” was her answer. - -Glenn Andrews looked at her. There was wisdom in the sentiment she -expressed. All the childishness had passed out of her face. - -He hesitated, astonished. “I believe that, in a sense,” he said. “It is -my theory of fulfillment. What could spur us to higher destinies than -the belief that we were carrying out the hopes, the aims of someone we -loved--perpetuating their life through our own!” - -“She wanted me to be a musician,” Esther began with a sudden dimness -in her eyes. “She was one until she had rheumatism in her arms. I’ve -strength and health to build on, something she lacked. My mother was an -invalid all her life after I was born.” - -“Health is the most priceless gift in this world.” - -For a time he forgot it was near the dinner hour. He was caught by the -witchery of the girl and the place. - -He had expected to find nothing here but solitude and shade. The -adventure had been a delightful surprise to him. - -As they got up from the log: “I shall expect you to keep your promise -about the music. Are you going my way?” - -“No; mine is the opposite direction. I will play for you any time -because you want to hear me. Good-bye.” - -Glenn Andrews looked after her, as she went her way. Here was a study--a -promise. All his life he had loved growth. Anything in the course of -development delighted and inspired him. He struck off up the path that -wound out of the woods into the field. - -The scent of high summer was in the gold of the wheat. Running his -hands lightly over the bearded sheaves he whistled an air that was to -recall neither the genius that wrote it nor the hopes of his own work, -but the face of Esther Powel and the friendship thus begun, of which he -would never think lightly afterward. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -THE Curtis home had an ample territory over which extended eight large -rooms and as many half stories with dormer windows. The big mock -oranges locked antlers across the path that led from the gate to the -little square porch where the wood bees droned in and out of the nests -they had bored in the wooden posts. - -Mr. Curtis was a jovial man, round of face, short of stature, and given -to hospitality. He had been all his days faithful to that laborious -outdoor occupation--farming. In his old age the prosperous impression -that everything made proved that he had filled his place to some -account. - -Glenn Andrews, who had been his son’s comrade in life, was an honored -guest. His vacation, usually spent in travel, had been claimed by the -lonely parents this time. He was promised all manner of recreations -and indulgences. They hoped to send him back as hardy as an Indian, -his white face and hands bronzed as the leaves in their turning. Broad -hours and solitude. How welcome they were to him! His place was sacred -in this house, and no one was allowed to disturb or criticise him. He -had set apart a few hours each day for work. He could not devote all -his vacation to rest and pleasure. It was not his nature. A memory of -his strange, lonely boyhood came to him with vivid distinctness, and -the absolute despair, he suffered at the possibility of never being -able to achieve greatness in the world. He wanted to see good results -in his life. The whole intensity of his spirit was bent on that one -purpose. The world he would know, and the men that live in it. His mind -was full of daring conceptions and ideals. - -A wild grace permeated his personality, the strong and delightful -charm which was to make him a conqueror. - -That morning Glenn ate breakfast with the family by lamplight. He went -back to his window afterwards and watched the sun rise. At this season -of the year the beauty of Virginia was at its height. He delighted from -the first in the splendid scenery and moody weather. - -A haze of purple mist was lifting slowly from the mountains between -whose heart the valleys lay. The view was fresh with the lusty color -of midsummer. Exquisite perfumes, breath of young corn and cut clover, -came to him and grew sharper and sweeter as the dawn opened wide. In -nature he could see the warm heart of life, tender, strong and true. -In the distance stretched the wheat fields studded over with yellow -shocks, waiting for harvest-time. Later, as Glenn Andrews passed out on -his way to the woods, he saw the lengthening of the table, the unusual -hurry among the servants, which was a sign that he was to have dinner -that day in a harvest home. Wheat threshing time was on. This lover -of the sun, of long, wandering strolls, took the way he had not been. -It did not concern him much which way he took to solitude. Wherever -they met they made friends--he and solitude. They were so much alike. -Their sympathies were so much akin. Both were full of deep nature, -dignity and intense self-possession; they could not but find comforting -good-fellowship. With solitude he could almost hear the voice of God, -hear it speaking, between him and his hopes. Returning, he stopped at -“Indian Well.” A long time he sat there, face to face with his own -heart and brain. He made notes at times in a small book, which he kept -always with him. The class poet and editor of the college magazine -had a right to drop into rhyme whenever he felt like it, even though -the indulgence might never be known to the world. Glenn Andrews took -out his second cigar, drew a whiff of its scent and put it back in -his pocket. In his self-denial there was the compensation of looking -forward. He smoked it that afternoon over his work. The sun was -striking aslant and was not far from setting. Here was a broad hint to -hurry if he cared to see them harvesting. The engine sent its shrill -whistling call for “wheat” as he leaned over the fence. Dressed in a -hunting suit of brown tweed with tan boots laced from the ankle to the -knee, his broad hat pulled forward to shade his eyes, Glenn Andrews -attracted notice. The field was alive with toilers moving easily, -swiftly, leaning in a hundred graceful inclinations; some were loading -their wagons, lifting and loosening their shocks with a thrust of their -pitch-forks, others unloading them beside the thresher, clipping the -twine that bound the bundles and making a moving bridge of beaten gold -as they fed it. The heated engineer, with his oil-can, stood at the -head of the monstrous steam horse that had never lost its mysterious -power to charm the negro. - -Tagger often stopped to stare and wonder. The machinery belt, smooth -and glittering like a broad satin ribbon, industriously turning on -great wheels, made him dance, barefooted over the stubble, to the music -of its motion. Little imps, such as he, counted this day of the year a -holiday high above all others they had ever known. - -The mule that was driven with a long lasso under the straw as it fell -had a half-dozen or more children to pull every time it went to the -stack. In spite of the dust and the chaff that covered their heads and -half stifled them, they gave a wild dart and leaped upon the heap as -it was hauled away. Sometimes the wind took a whirl and scattered the -straw, niggers and all broadcast along the field. Glenn Andrews’ heart -beat lightly, the air thrilled with sounds, the music of the harvesters -and the hum of the thresher. There is nothing like life under the open -heaven, he knew. Glenn was a gypsy by nature. - -“How is it turning out?” he asked, coming up to Mr. Curtis, who was -counting the loaded wagons that were filled with sacks of wheat, -starting off to be stored. - -“Very good; the yield is something like sixteen bushels to the acre. -I’ll have about eighteen hundred altogether.” Glenn Andrews looked -up and saw a figure coming across the stubble--one that stood out in -delicate relief, slimmer, shapelier than the rest. She was all in -white; Mr. Curtis saw her, too. - -“Here comes the fly-up-the-creek,” he said. “She looks like a hearse -horse with all those elder blooms on her head.” His speech had no touch -of spitefulness. - -“I like her way; she is as wild and lawless as the wind, and as free.” -Glenn Andrews never thought or spoke of Esther without defense. - -“Yes, and as sprightly as they make ’em,” Mr. Curtis began. “She never -went to school a day in her life. Her mother taught her, and her -grandpa reads to her. But play the fiddle--she can play it to beat the -band. She just took it up first. She could catch any tune. A teacher -came along about two years ago who knew a little about the fiddle. -Mr. Campbell is very poor now. He let the lady board with him to -give Esther lessons while she was teaching in the district. She would -not practice, they say, but you never saw anybody learn like she did -without it.” - -“What a pity she hasn’t a chance to keep on.” - -“Yes, but she never will. The old man is failing; I don’t know what’s -to become of her when he’s gone. He worries over not being able to give -her a musical education. You’d never think it, he is so quiet about it.” - -“Has she no near relatives who would take her and help her to get a -start?” - -“Only one, a nephew of the old man, but he married a plain, common -woman. His marriage was a shock to the family. If his was made in -heaven, as some folks believe in, I say the Lord had a grudge against -him. He started out with fine prospects, but he’s had a lot of trouble. -It looks like some folks can’t have anything but trouble and children. -He has a family of six. He ain’t more than thirty.” - -Glenn took a deep breath. - -“With such a weight as that it is no wonder he is sore. I wish the -child did have some way to escape such a future. With a talent like -hers she could rise above the minor cares. The world already has enough -ill-paid drudges.” - -With this he left Mr. Curtis to meet Esther. - -“Can you show us anything prettier than this in your cities?” she -asked. Looking about her she thought it made the hardiest, happiest -scene in the world. - -“No, I could only show you something different--new; to the average mind -it is unaccustomedness that charms. I like this because it is new.” The -world he had known seemed immeasurably far off to them as they stood -together there. Everything about her touched him. Her true, simple -nature, her strong, pure devotion to her own ideals. - -“You haven’t played for me yet.” - -As he heard the engine blowing off the steam, he knew they were -rounding up; its work was done. - -“No, and you didn’t want to hear me as much as you made out; you -forgot,” she said. - -“I would like to hear you this minute.” - -“Then come with me home.” - -“But look at me: my face--my hands--these boots.” - -Esther looked at him quickly. “You are vain.” Slipping her hand in his, -she gently pulled him a little way. “Oh, come on, what do you suppose I -care about dust. We have soap and water.” - -He let her have her way, and allowed himself to be led. - -The sun hung low in the sky as they started off, and was just dropping -behind the mountains when they reached the house. Faint zones of pink -and pearl flushed up, and everything was quickened--glorified by the -softening light. - -“I’ve got a picture in my scrap book that looks like you.” Esther -stared Glenn Andrews full in the face as she spoke. “It is a picture of -Christ.” - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -“I LIKE you in those high boots.” Esther put her foot on the tip of one -of them as she spoke. - -“It was not so much vanity, as respect for your grandfather, that made -me want to appear at my best when I met him.” - -“You see, he didn’t notice them. Why should you care, anyhow, if I -liked them.” - -There was a certain charm in her contempt for risks and consequences. A -waiter was brought out clinking with glasses. - -“This will not only prove your welcome, Mr. Andrews, but aid your -digestion as well,” Mr. Campbell said, as he came out of the hall to -join them. - -Andrews filled his glass that yielded fragrance and soft fire. He -touched it to his lips. “This is excellent. Is it some of your own -make?” - -“The grapes came from my vineyard.” - -“I helped to make it--I strained it,” Esther interrupted, “but I never -tasted any in my life.” Mr. Campbell laid his hand on her head. - -“This is to you--to your art.” Glenn Andrews motioned to her, lifted -his glass and sipped the wine, slowly realizing it was beautiful to -every sense. Esther stole into the parlor, and was playing her violin -before they knew it. They followed her in. It was an old-time parlor -with black, carved furniture, a slender legged center table, polished -as smooth as a mirror, holding a china vase of curious design, in which -leaned one long stemmed rose, as red as the wine that had made their -hearts large and soft. The walls were almost hidden by family portraits -that reached from the ceiling to the floor, set in deep tarnished gilt -frames. The carpet had a shred of tracery suggesting a design--it might -have been only a shadow of gorgeous wreaths that had been worn away by -dear feet that had long gone--the whole faint impression still hallowed -by their tread. - -Esther loved her violin irregularly. This was a time when she really -needed it. They went in very quietly, hoping not to interrupt her. The -soft, tremulous tones that she had not meant to give, showed that she -was excited, unnerved. Just as Glenn was about to utter an apology for -the confusion, his face became serious and silent. He was peculiarly -sensitive to the influence of the violin. He was conscious of a dreamy -exaltation, and the awakening of a new enthusiasm. The music had -burst into a wild, passionate tenderness, as though she was daringly -investing all her dreams with life-throbbing human life--the tone fairly -voicing the longing of her soul. - -It was infinitely touching, infinitely tender. A quick flush went up to -his forehead and died out again, as the music trembled into stillness, -and she lowered the violin, exhausted. - -“You must be very proud of her,” Glenn turned to the old man, “I think -she has a future.” - -“She ought to have a chance for it,” said Mr. Campbell. A glance -from Esther’s flushed face to the suddenly compressed lips of her -grandfather made Glenn understand that that was as near to complaint -as he ever came. He might have been impatient in his days of strength, -but on the coming of adversity this proud man had learned to wait in -silence. He seldom breathed a syllable of the sorrow he bore on account -of his hands being tied. - -“Practice is half the battle; you ought to spend hours at it every -day,” Glenn said to Esther as she tossed her head. - -“I don’t ever expect to study under anyone again. What’s the use going -half way when I know I can never go the other half?” - -“But you will if you only have belief in yourself.” - -Mr. Campbell was delighted as he listened. Here was someone interested -in his little girl. He trusted a kindliness so genuine, an interest so -evidently sincere. - -A child’s soul is easily impressed, responsive to the first panorama -that passes before it. Mr. Campbell hoped Glenn Andrews would come -again. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -THE next few weeks for Esther were transitions between content and -longing. The trees of the woodland, that had been her playfellow, now -had a rival. Of Glenn Andrews she had made a hero, a king. She regarded -him as a being to inspire wonder and mystery. - -His simplest word or gesture spoke directly to the heart. - -They took sweet wood rambles together. He had already begun to realize -that all solitary pleasures were selfish. - -He rather looked forward to their meetings, although he did not let her -think they meant much to him. - -“When do you want to see me again?” was usually his parting question. -If she said “to-morrow,” he could not come until the next day, or -later. To her it seemed that he took a pride in finding out when she -most wanted to see him--only to stay away at that particular time. He -held himself aloof--gave her room to expand. Hers was a nature artistic -to a painful degree--a nature nobly expansive. - -But within the limit of the country, amid entirely commonplace people, -her power of artistic perception had been of little value--rather a -burden than a delight. - -One day, after she had urged Glenn Andrews to go with her to where they -would have a pretty view of a mountain waterfall, he had refused, and -she had gone alone. It was a long stroll, but she was thirsting to see -it. She resented his refusal, and so had gone alone. Glenn watched her -out of sight, then went back to his writing. He was doing some of his -strongest and most vigorous work. - -Esther reached the mountain side, and stood a little way back to keep -the spray from wetting her dress. The breath of it was refreshing. She -took a pride in the mighty roar of the falls. - -Its voice sounded so strong, so real. Its commanding majesty held -her. She repeated a name, its echo was drowned. Flowers, ferns, great -rocks, everything in its track was treated to the same reckless -inconsideration. Only the mist rose higher and higher as though it -would regain the height it lost when the waters made the mighty leap, -and dashed its very heart to pieces on the stones below. - -How she gloried in the daring of the mist. It was so light, and thin, -and quiet, but in its very silence there seemed to be strength. - -It was gaining slowly, but she cheered it as she saw it ascending, her -eyes gleaming with excitement as she watched it. “I know you’d like to -slide down the falls.” A hand was laid upon her shoulder. - -“I’d rather go up with the mist,” she answered Glenn Andrews, as -though she was neither surprised nor pleased by his sudden arrival. - -“I got through my work earlier than I expected,” he began. “When they -told me how far it was, I thought it would be too late for you to come -home alone.” - -If he expected her to thank him for the consideration, he was -disappointed. The wind that the falls generated had blown some of the -waves of her hair across her face. She carelessly brushed it back with -her hands. A strand of rebellious hair, that seemed unmanageable, she -pulled out and threw away. - -“Stop that.” Glenn tapped her fingers lightly. “Haven’t I told you not -to do that? It’s a crime to ill use such hair as yours.” - -Esther obeyed him, but could not resist the impulse to say: “You may -look like Christ, but you can act like the devil.” - -She saw him drop his head and walk a few steps away. - -“You might as well have come on with me if you were coming anyhow.” - -He did not look at her. - -“I told you I would come, if you would wait until to-morrow. It was a -poem for you I wanted to finish.” - -Esther went to his side, penitent; the act had lost its sharp outlines -to her. - -“The words that you said someone would set to music for me?” - -“Yes.” - -“Let me see them, won’t you?” - -“Certainly not.” - -“Oh, do; I’m wild to read them.” Her eyes lost their unconcern as she -pleaded. - -“You know I am in earnest when I say that you will not have that -pleasure. What’s the use teasing?” - -He was drumming on a rock with his boot heel, as he leaned against a -shrub. The stream that caught the waterfall laughed and lathered over -its rocks as it flowed beside them. They were of the most delicate -tintings, pale lavenders, green, and pink and blue. Glenn Andrews was -gazing at them. - -“Did you ever see such pretty shades as the rocks of mountain regions -take on? I’ve often wondered what caused their coloring.” - -With an aggrieved air, Esther allowed the drift of interest to turn at -his bidding. - -“I supposed rocks were alike the world over.” - -“That’s because you only know your own beautiful ones; some day you’ll -see the ugly ones; then you needn’t bother to wonder what made them so. -Just kick them out of the way and forget them.” - -“Is that what you do?” - -“Yes, when they are not too big for me.” - -“I don’t like the hurt, when I stump my toe on these pretty ones. It -teaches me to go around all I can. The jagged ones that I meet some day -needn’t think of being disturbed, if I can get around them.” - -“But sometimes they block the road, what then?” - -“I’d get somebody to help me over.” - -“I hope you will have that good luck all your days, Esther.” - -Glenn Andrews’ voice had a minor sweetness. The thought of contrasting -her vagrant childhood with the world she must one day know, was -singularly pathetic to him. - -Stooping, he picked up a rock and cast it across the waters. - -“Yes,” she said; “I was always lucky, that’s how grandpa came to call -me ‘God’s child.’” - -“We’d better go now; it must be a good three mile walk.” Glenn Andrews -took particular care to note her mood as they went along, the wild -charm of her unstudied grace, the vibrating delight of life. How much -happier she was than if she had had her way. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -IT was the next Saturday before Glenn went again to see Esther. Mr. -Campbell entertained him on the verandah. He sat some time, expecting -every minute to see Esther come bounding out. Her grandfather looked so -worn when he came that Glenn felt it a sort of imposition to allow him -to talk long. Although their topic was of deep interest, his shriveled -features seemed to smooth out as Glenn told him how rapidly Esther had -advanced that summer. - -“It is remarkable,” he said, “how she can take a piece and master it -by herself. What she most needs is encouragement; some one to keep her -interested and stimulated.” - -“I had hoped to let her have lessons under the professor at the -University this year. It had been my calculation a long time until she -was taken sick with fever.” The haggard look came back to his face. -“The doctor fears it will go into typhoid.” - -“You don’t mean that Esther is sick now?” Glenn stammered. - -“She took to her bed the same evening she came back from the falls and -hasn’t been up since.” - -“I didn’t know a word of it. I should have been over if I had known. I -should have come at once to see if I could do anything to help either -of you.” - -Glenn’s steady mouth trembled. A tumult of memories crowded upon him. -He thought of the Indian Well, where their lives first came together. -Suppose she had breathed in the germs that day when she tried to -protect him. - -“Let me stay and help you nurse her, Mr. Campbell, you look tired and -need rest. I am so strong and I have no ties to call me away.” - -“You are very kind;” the rest was left unspoken, for a hand was laid -on his arm. Mr. Campbell made his expression excuse his absence as he -turned and followed the negro girl. - -Presently when he came back Glenn got up hastily. - -“Is she worse?” - -“No, she wanted to know if it was not your voice that she heard.” - -“May I see her, if it is not asking too much?” - -His face was full of sorrow as the old man bowed and led the way. “She -wanted to see you.” - -Esther’s eyes were closed; her head lay deep in the pillow, the waves -of her hair flowing back from the whiteness of her face. “Esther,” -he whispered very softly. She opened her eyes and her lips broke in -a smile. He held out both hands toward her and caught hers in their -double grasp, looking down in her face. - -“How are you? I didn’t know until this minute that you were not well. -I came to take you to the one place we’ve never been,” he told her. - -“I thought maybe you had come to help me over the rock.” She smiled -faintly. - -“Well, be very quiet; don’t worry about anything; we’ll do all that -for you. You know you promised to play the piece you learned last week -for me. Let’s see, it was to be at the spring; that was as close as we -dared venture to Indian Well, where we met.” - -“Don’t give me out.” Her voice was weak and low. “I expect to do that -for your farewell; you must get back to college in time.” - -“How do you know but that I had rather be detained; don’t run any -risk.” This seemed to please her. - -“Is this better than the other life--the life among your friends?” - -“This is sweeter, for I am looking forward to a lifetime with the -world.” She smiled and turned her head to rest it from the one position -she had kept too long. - -“It will be a year before the world can get you; I am glad you have -decided to take another degree, although you seem to know enough -already.” - -“I know enough to realize just how little I do know, but the special -course along lines that I am going to make my lifework is all that I -shall try to master yet. Everything has its turns; I’ll learn it all in -time, I hope.” - -“And then you’ll be great.” - -“More likely dead.” - -“Most great people are.” Her lips suddenly quivered. - -“You take it slow. I couldn’t bear to think of your dying.” - -“You are talking too much now. You and your grandpa take a rest. You -both need it.” - -“He must be tired after five nights and days, but you are company. We -can’t both leave you at once.” - -“I’ll play host now; go to sleep. I’ll be with you all the time.” - -“Grandpa, lie down over there on the lounge.” - -When he had humored her she cuddled down contentedly and went to sleep. - -With a ministering tenderness, Glenn kept watch over her. - -Typhoid fever was full of terrors to him. He hoped that her fever was -only due to the cold she had taken at the falls. - -It was very penetrating. He had ached a little afterward and thought it -was from being saturated with the dampness that day. Suppose the fear -in her case was true. All that beautiful hair would have to be shaved -off. He jealously resented this, caressing her hair as he looked at it. -The doctor came later and said her condition was better and that she -would be out in a few days. - -Glenn drew a breath of relief. He would stay during those few days. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -SWINGING her violin case by the handle, Esther started off through the -cornfield, stopping now and again to pull a spray of morning glories -that wreathed around the stalks to the tips of their tassels. By the -time she got in sight of the Curtis house there were many of these -branches trailing over her. It was still early. The heavy dew had -dampened the dust on her shoes. She tried to brush it off with the -leaves she had gathered, then bunching the blossoms of bright color -together she fastened them on her breast. - -Just as she walked up Tagger was seated on the steps of the back -porch, getting Glenn Andrews’ boots in order for him. “Let me have the -brush a minute.” Esther took the brush, leaned over and cleaned the -mud off of her own shoes. Then she took up one of the boots and began -to polish it. A thrill of delight leaped through her at the thought. -She was working for him. When she put it down the boot looked fresher -and glossier than it could ever look under Tagger’s care. There was a -sniffling sound and Esther looked behind her. Tagger stood scouring in -his eyes with his shining fists, his small body quivering with sobs. - -“What’s the matter with you?” - -“You’ll git my money,” he said through his gasps. - -“Well, for heaven’s sake! you little scamp, I don’t want your nickel.” - -“’Tain’t no nickel,” he blurted out. “He gimme a quarter for turnin’ de -cartwheel and standin’ on my head. Dat warn’t work; dat was play.” - -Esther’s voice echoed through the halls. When she stopped laughing, she -said: “You poor little mite, I hope he will give you the half of his -kingdom. Here, take the brush and earn your fortune.” - -As Tagger took up the other boot, to finish it, Esther unclasped the -bunch of morning glories and tied them at the top of the one she had -polished. Seeing nothing of Glenn, and passing a word with Mrs. Curtis -who was busy in the dining room, she went out to the flower garden. -About her in riotous health and beauty grew flowers that gave no -evidence of care. There was a suggestion of wilfulness everywhere. The -sun had not been up long. It was splashing its rays in the face of the -great, slumbering mountains like spray on the face of a sluggard. Glenn -walked up behind Esther as she bent over a white rosebush in the heyday -of its blooming. - -“You did not waste time waiting for me. This is worth seeing. Don’t you -think so?” - -As her face raised to his, how pure and radiant it looked. The purity -was heightened by the flush. - -“Oh, if I could only do to them as I want to.” She stretched her arms -and brought them together with a sigh. “I’d like to hold them close and -love them as hard as I could; then I’d be satisfied.” - -“You’d crush them, break their stems and pay the penalty of indulgence -by pricking those arms of yours by the wretched little briars hidden -under the beauty that you would spoil,” he said, sharply. - -He wanted her to see a lesson in this. - -“That’s the way with life,” he said, watching her break off one of the -buds which she put in his coat. - -“Come on. You have got enough. I must leave by two o’clock.” - -“I’ve been ready longer than you--my violin is on the porch. We can go -by there to get it.” - -At the start Glenn saw that Esther looked very radiant, but suddenly -the look of exaltation faded from her face. He did not understand her -mood. - -Generally she enjoyed what he recalled to her, visible or invisible, -with the most exquisite feeling. He dearly loved that trait in her. -This was not one of her receptive moods. She did not seem to know when -they got to the spring. - -He indulged in an indolent sprawl upon the grass, and she dropped down -on the roots of a tree by his side. He was an ideal lounger. That -was sufficient contentment for awhile. He was trying to think it out -without asking her. - -“What’s the matter?” he said at last. “Have I hurt you--displeased you?” -That passive gentleness of manner was rarely changed. “Won’t you tell -me?” He placed his hand softly over hers that lay on the ground. Her -lashes, delicate in their tinting, beat together, struggling to catch -the tears that tried to overflow. She pulled away her hand and started -to rise. The child’s heart was almost breaking and the rebellious tears -that came, hot and fast, were dashed away by little, mad hands. - -“Oh, Esther, have I hurt you? Don’t, don’t! I’d rather you would strike -me--anything but that.” He sprang to his feet and bent over her. “Are -you disappointed in me. Have you found too many flaws? Is it because I -must go away?” His soft, sad eyes regarded her uneasily. “If I am the -cause, haven’t I a right to know?” - -“You oughtn’t to have to be told,” she said, with shamed frankness, -when she could command her voice. - -“If I had meant to, I wouldn’t; that is my justification.” - -He touched her hair. “Come, this isn’t you--I always liked that -straightforward way of yours. Don’t spoil our last day. Tell me, what’s -the matter?” - -“That’s what stings--you not only thought little enough of them to throw -them away; you forgot it.” - -There was a complaining note in her voice. It was less anger than grief -she felt. Her head had the plaintive droop of a spoiled child asking -consolation. - -“Do you mean the flowers on my boot; is that all?” Slipping one hand in -his pocket and pulling out a few, bruised, draggled morning glories. -An expression of joy flashed over her wet face. A faint, amused gleam -shot into his serious eyes. - -“Tagger used them for a handle, and I thought their condition decided -in favor of pressing rather than wearing. I saved the pieces you see.” - -“They were all the color of my dreams--I couldn’t help but think that -was the way they would go some day.” - -“If I can help it, they won’t.” - -Taking out a notebook he dropped the flowers between its leaves. Her -girlish illusions were dear to him. He wouldn’t destroy one of them. - -“Here, let me get your violin. Play for me, while I smoke.” - -She took it from him, and he began smoking, as she played for him the -piece he had asked her to learn. He could see the confidence she had -gained in herself. Patience was all that she lacked. - -“There is yet another one I want you to learn for me.” - -“What’s the use? I may never see you again. I don’t know that I’ll -worry with it.” - -The thought of his going away met with resentment in her. She did not -like to picture life with his companionship withdrawn. - -“Fiddledee humbug! I expect to see you again lots of times. Maybe I’ll -spend Christmas day with the Curtises. I might come over awhile at that -time if you would ask me. I am not going home just for a day. New York -State is too far.” - -“I couldn’t divide you, I want the whole day or nothing.” Esther leaned -her elbow on the violin case. - -“I remember the first time I was ever offered a piece of a whole thing. -I was a very little girl. I had a china plate that I always used at my -place at table, and one day a boy broke it in halves and mended it. It -had tiny green dots shaped like a fence row around it, and I noticed -one place where the dots didn’t fit, and then I saw where they had -pasted it together. A little chip of it was gone. It nearly broke my -heart. They all said it was as good as new, but they couldn’t make me -see it in that way. What do you suppose I did?” - -“There is no telling.” - -“It had been the pride of my life, but I took that plate out, and broke -it in pieces and strewed them down the road to cut his feet when he -came by from school.” - -“Suppose the feet of others had got the punishment?” - -“I wasn’t old enough to reason that out then.” - -“Some people would have been sore enough and revengeful enough not to -care if they had. I have known such instances, but I can understand -that your plate would never be the same to you with a part of it gone. -I don’t like anything incomplete myself.” - -“Give me the whole day--I want you all the time.” - -“If you will promise me to learn every piece of music that I ask you -to, I will.” - -“You haven’t told the Curtises yet that you were coming?” - -“No.” - -“Well,” her voice was merry, “that’s a bargain.” - -Glenn Andrews looked at his watch. - -“Great Scott! ten minutes to two. I must go.” - -They stood for a moment hand in hand. Not a sound could be heard save -the water lisping in the spring. He touched her hair. “Beautiful hair!” -he half whispered. “If it had been cut off, when you came so near -having the fever, I should have asked you to give me a curl.” - -His veins throbbed with tenderness--between these two there was a -tie nearer than blood--the tie of comradeship. One couldn’t think of -relations more subtle or pure. - -“Give me your knife,” she said. - -Glenn raised her face, touching her chin gently with the tips of his -fingers. - -“No, no,” he said. “It is much prettier where it is. I wouldn’t let you -cut one off.” - -She turned and closed her violin case with a snap. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -WHEN he had gone, Esther went back to the woods. The thought of his -coming with the Christmas time kept her nature alive and glowing. Her -interest in music became more absorbing than ever. She practiced for -hours at a stretch. This exceptional interest was a triumph that had -given the old grandfather a steadier balance of mind, when during these -years he had tried to fill her mother’s place, nurturing, encouraging -the possibilities that lay in this young soul, ennobling, inspiring a -deeper meaning to life. Glenn Andrews had helped him. He appreciated -that. They saw him occasionally when they went in to her lessons. -Esther seemed to realize that Mr. Campbell was making a sacrifice for -her sake and every week the professor could see the forward step she -had made. - -The college monthly came to her regularly now. It always had poems or -stories by Glenn Andrews. All these she preserved. There was a sort of -reverence in her care of them. They were a part of him--his creations. -In the satisfaction derived from them, she became more impatient as to -her own imperfections. The ripe, rich beauty of autumn trailed by in -all its glory without the love it once had from her. Her walks became -less frequent. She felt a relief when the snow first fell. Snow always -suggested Christmas. She kept such close watch that the calendar was -not needed to tell her when it was near. In the innocence of her heart, -she pictured Glenn Andrews watching the hours go by with the same -impetuous eagerness--he who had gone back to his old solitary life, as -though nothing had dropped in for a moment to change it. - -It was Christmas. A light snow lay over the valley. - -Esther wrapped a hood close about her head and walked back and forth on -the verandah. A low wind among the white boughs made a lullaby for her -longing. - -The nearer the realization, the more impatient she grew. - -At last the sound of wheels, and the brisk stepping of horses charmed -her heart--he was coming. She heard the sound of his voice as there was -a halt at the gate. - -“Oh, it’s you, is it, Mr. Glenn?” - -“Who else did you expect?” asked Glenn Andrews, stretching out his hand -cordially to greet her, enjoying the dignity she tried to assume. He -had speculated as to how she would meet him. - -The fire roaring up the wide chimney was sweeter than music to him. It -had been a cold ride. They were so glad to see him, Glenn thought it -was the next best thing to going home. - -“Get up close and warm yourself.” Esther shivered at the thought of his -being cold. - -“Let me have your coat, Mr. Glenn.” - -“No, it’s too heavy; I’ll lay it over here.” Folding it he threw it -across a divan and drew his chair up to the fire. - -Esther leaned on the edge of the mantle, looking at him. The wind had -blown in her hair, it lashed about her face, and with the old careless -gesture she tossed it back, impatiently. - -“Have you been pulling that hair out again?” said Glenn, with a sort of -proprietary right. - -“No, but I’ve been cutting it off.” - -“You haven’t!” These words held the heat of indignation. - -“If you don’t believe it, I’ll prove it.” - -She stepped over to him as she drew something from her belt and pressed -it in his hand. - -“You know Christmas never came to you from me before.” Just at that -minute Mr. Campbell came in. He settled himself in his own rocking -chair with a sigh of relief, as though he were hypnotized by the warmth -of the room. He talked on and on, selecting topics upon which neither -seemed to have an idea. Esther had made her a lot of pillows out of -some old silk dresses of quaint patterns, and as she sat amongst them, -she was almost afraid to breathe lest she split them. They smelled very -strongly of tobacco, having been so long packed away in its leaves. - -Glenn Andrews felt something soft and slim between his fingers, but -it puzzled him to know what the texture was. He was restless with -curiosity. - -Esther enjoyed his perplexity with quiet amusement, and was sorry when -after a great while her grandfather thought out for himself that young -folks enjoyed themselves better alone. - -Glenn turned slyly to see him close the door after him. - -It was very interesting, this expectancy; he felt something as he did -when a child he had lain awake all night waiting for Santa Claus to -come. - -His heart would leap with impatience at every sound. The old chimney, -drawing its heated breath to keep his little body warm, had added to -his irritation. It seemed to him that the wind could cut more antics -then than a circus pony cavorting for his feed. - -In its sound he constantly fancied he could hear the coming of that -old false ideal that had been the first to fall, but it had not fallen -until many a little prayer had been answered and many a young dream -been realized. Such ideals leave their imprint upon the mind. The -memory of the joy it gave softens and purifies the heart before it -awakens. - -Glenn Andrews leaned over and opened his hand to the light; it was a -watch chain, made of Esther’s hair. - -“That slide was on a chain my mother wore,” she said. - -The sentiment of it made him feel that he stood at the white sanctity -of her soul with its opening and unfathomable depths. - -He raised the chain to his lips and kissed it affectionately. He could -not have thanked her in words. He realized that: - -“Sentiment that is real is not acquired--it flows into the veins like -the breath of the sea waves, completely freshening every sense with its -presence.” - -Glenn took up his overcoat and brought out a music roll with her name -mounted in silver. - -“It is full and you are to learn it all. That’s the agreement.” He laid -it open before her. - -“The very hardest that you could find.” - -“Just what you need.” - -Esther hummed a bar here and there as she turned the pages. She was in -an ecstasy of content. A lilting joyousness of Glenn Andrews’ presence -was in everything she did and said. - -They lingered over the Christmas dinner. Mr. Campbell told yarns of the -olden times when he was a boy on that holiday. He took his pleasure in -their company at the table, and afterwards left them alone again. - -They made an exceptionably cozy picture, sitting together in front of -the wood fire. It was beautiful to see the snow outside, falling in -tiny siftings, displaced by the snow birds’ restless stirring. - -Glenn and Esther were so comfortable. How could it be winter out there. -He smoked and she read him selections from his own poems--the ones she -liked best. He had no idea she could read so well--it must have been her -reading them that made them sound better than he had ever thought them -before. There was a slow unfolding of her woman nature as he watched -her. It was almost imperceptible, yet so much surer than a sudden burst. - -“You’ll keep on with your lessons?” he asked. - -“After this year grandpa won’t be able to afford it.” - -“But it will never do for you to stop now. I was talking with the -professor the other day about your art. He is interested in it. He -wants to study English; maybe he would exchange--if you could teach him. -Do you think you could?” - -“What! I a teacher?” She clasped her hands involuntarily. “But suppose -he’d let me try?” - -“I’ll see if he will.” - -“Oh, will you, sure enough?” She was now seated closer by Glenn, -listening with an absorbing interest. - -“When will I know?” - -“There is a lot of time between now and next September. You’ll finish -out this year, of course.” - -“Oh, yes, except when the weather is too bad for grandpa. He’s getting -old, you know.” - -Glenn could see how he was failing. - -It was about dusk when the buggy drove away from the front steps. The -parting was cordial and yet it seemed to lack something for both. -Perhaps grandpa’s being there complicated the situation. Whatever it -was, in both their hearts there seemed something lacking. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -THE coming of June brought an end to college life for Glenn Andrews. He -had had a letter a few days before, deciding an important question--in -fact, the question of the greatest importance to him just then. While -he was waiting for Esther he read it over again: - - “New York City. - - “My dear Andrews--Of course I hadn’t forgotten my promise nor my - interest in you. It seems a lifetime since I stood in those priestly - looking robes on that old stage waiting to receive my discharge and - hustle or go hungry. You were at the foot then. I remember you; a - solemn-faced chap, but mightily in earnest. I am glad that you are - at the head, and ready for the fight--the thick of it. I always knew - that was the kind of metal you were made of, so it does me good to - be able to give you a boost. You are to be associate editor of the - magazine--give up most of your freedom and take an editor’s chair. - - “You may come right on. I wonder what you will be like after all these - years since we cavorted over that campus. Yours fraternally, - - “Richmond Briarley.” - -What did Glenn care for slavery? His love for his profession would -even up scores. Going among strangers had no depressing effect upon -him. He was singularly fitted for that kind of thing. He believed that -every soul should be alone a part of its existence, away from the -sight, the touch of affection, and seek deeper self acquaintance and -understanding. This was how he came to cultivate his passion to know -and be something. - -Now he was going to try his hand--his life was to be full of interest -and effort, and all the training he had given to his faculties were to -be exercised and tested. Esther joined him presently to go for their -last ramble. - -“You are to lead the way anywhere. I am with you to-day,” he said. - -Glenn felt a subtle sadness at leaving her. This human study had been -most interesting to him, nor would it be the least of his regrets for -what must be given up. The others were finished, he had reached the -last page. - -During the stroll, Glenn told her that the professor had agreed to make -the exchange he spoke of at Christmas. - -“Now you are to promise me that you will keep up your art. Don’t let -circumstances overwhelm you.” - -“I couldn’t keep from trying to go on, if I wanted to, but when you get -away you’ll forget about me.” - -“I don’t think I shall.” - -He was very calm. No matter what he thought or felt, he didn’t intend -to drop a word that might disquiet her mind or disturb their tranquil -sense of comradeship. - -“I expect you to do something some day. You’ll not stay buried down -here all your life. You were not born for oblivion.” - -“I am afraid you will be disappointed in me. But I’ll do my best.” - -She looked down, pulling at the moss on the log. - -His going so far away was her first great sorrow. - -“I don’t believe I would though if I didn’t have next summer to look -forward to; you said you would try to come back then.” - -With her simplicity and daring directness she added. “Take good care of -yourself, Mr. Glenn, for all the world couldn’t fill your place in my -heart.” - -“You think that now, Esther. You seem to see something complete in our -friendship. It is all you want. A day will come when you’ll understand -that it is not satisfying. The mist of morning is on the hills, and -hides the outlines of the landscape; you can see but a little way. -After awhile it will gradually lift, and give you a clearer and broader -view.” - -She shook her head. - -“I know you can’t see it now. The ripening of your nature will show you -the good fruit, and of how little use it was to cry over the pretty -petals when it dropped its bloom.” - -She looked at him, her lips parting as she slowly grasped the drift of -his words. - -“Patience and faith are what you must have.” - -“The patience I would have to borrow, or steal, for I never did have -any of my own.” - -It was going to be the hardest lesson for her to learn. - -She took the knife he was toying with, and asked suddenly: - -“Put your foot up a minute.” - -He was wondering what she would do. - -“I’m going to leave something for you to remember me by.” - -She began carefully to etch a sentence across the upper part of the -leather. - -“Bear harder, cut it--that little scratching won’t last--as long as you -are putting it there.” - -His eyes rested on her hair, that lay like a crown on her bowed head. - -Slowly she cut each letter. “Don’t look until I get through.” - -The fine, sharp blade was doing its work well; there was just one more -word. She made a slip and the keen point plunged through. “Oh, did that -touch you?” Suddenly withdrawing it she saw the blood leap out and run -down his boot leg. Her eyes opened wide; the despair in them was enough -to move him. - -“Oh, Mr. Glenn, what have I done to you?” - -“It’s only a pin scratch; don’t think of it.” He tried to console and -reassure her. - -She began unwinding the soft mull tie she wore. “I know you’ll bleed to -death if we can’t stop it.” - -He had taken his boot off. With tender, trembling fingers she was -binding the cloth to his leg, winding it around again and again, trying -to wrap out the sight of the blood. - -It was no use, in a second the red stain would radiate over the white -surface. - -“What shall I do! oh, forgive me, forgive me!” - -She knelt down and pressed his knee in her arms and bent over it -with tears, the incense of her love mingling with self-reproach. Her -penitence was pathetic. - -He regarded her grief with compassionate softness. This came near -disarming his resolve. He wanted to take her in his arms as he had -never done in his life. As she held the wound close, he resisted the -impulse to flinch. - -“I’m all right, don’t you worry.” - -He read the line on the boot. - -“I wouldn’t take anything for that. It will sweeten the absence, and -I hope this scratch will make a scar that I may wear all my life to -remember you by.” - -“I’ll never forgive myself for it--never!” - -“Don’t say that. It’s a little thing after all. See, I walk all right. -Let’s go home.” Putting one hand on her shoulder they started off, -Esther watching every step he took with fear and alarm. - -“Are you telling the truth. Don’t it hurt you to walk?” - -Turning his face away, he bit his lips. - -“Not much, you know there is always a little soreness, no matter how -slight the cut.” - -He wouldn’t tell that the knee was a very dangerous place to receive a -wound. - -All the way the joint was stiffening and getting more painful. His face -beamed in the effort to conceal his suffering. When they reached the -steps he leaned his head against a column; he was wearied and felt that -he could bear no more. - -“Come, lie down; I’ll fix the bed for you and find grandpa,” she urged. - -“No, come back; I’ll sit here on the step awhile. I must be going -soon.” - -Dear little heart, he would never while he lived forget her. - -“How can you go, hurt as you are?” - -“Sit down here by me, I have but a few minutes with you. I ordered my -horse for five o’clock.” - -Without further resistance she took the seat. She had not forgotten -that his will was the only one she ever met stronger than her own. - -“Forgive me?” looking up to him, she asked. - -“Don’t use that word between us.” He gathered her hands in his own, -partly for fear she might touch his knee. Soon his horse came around. - -“Poor cripple,” Esther said with a caressing accent, stretching her -hand toward his knee, as he mounted. Then she pressed her hands hard -against her eyelids as he said good-bye. When she looked up again he -was gone. She stood sighing as if her soul would leave her body, as he -rode on at a gallop, outlined against the far blue of the hills. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -THE first shock of Glenn Andrews’ absence was a bitter trial to Esther, -who grieved unreasoningly. His going seemed like the end of the world. -It was over, those rare, dear days of smiles and tears, of trifling -quarrels and sweet reconciliations. She wondered how she had ever -thought the sky was so blue, the grass so green. - -Through all of her desolation, however, ran the thought that he wished -nothing so much as for her to advance in her art. - -Would she let the first rock block her way? Youth can forget its grief. -She was so unconsciously true to him, that before she scarcely realized -it, she was back at work, harder than ever. She began teaching the -kind old German musician English to pay for her instructions. - -Heart, brain and soul she gave to her art, not all for its sake nor -hers, but for the man that was the world’s best type to her. - -The devotion with which she had worshipped him was for the time -transferred to the violin that became the absorbing and crowning -ambition of her life. - -Glenn had been gone nearly a year. The summer, instead of bringing him, -brought a disappointment. - -He wrote her: - - “Fate or Providence has put in its oar to the exclusion of my own - interesting plans. I didn’t dare really hope that I should see you - this summer, even while I planned the trip. Providence would never - be so kind as that. I am ordered to Athens to do some special work - for our magazine. They have been unearthing some more wonderful - curiosities there. This is the last note I write before going abroad, - for I sail early to-morrow morning. How much easier it is to learn - things than to unlearn them. I used to think differently at college. - Very many times, more than I will admit to myself, I have closed my - eyes and tried to imagine that I should open them upon yours, gazing - disapprovingly at my ‘steenth’ cocktail. Many times I have been glad - when I opened them that it was not so--at others I have been a little - sorry. There is a deliciousness about your not being with me which is - quite a new sensation. I shall never again pity the old Flagellants. - I know now that there was a certain ecstasy of pleasure for them - which we have taken too little account of. There is a pleasure in - not writing to you, too; I am writing now because I know if I don’t - I shall not hear again from you, and I confess that I don’t want my - flagellation to take that shape. You were growing when I left you. - Have you stopped? Don’t stop thinking--don’t stop striving--don’t stop - hoping. You have no lack of imagination, inspiration, but you need - the cold, cruel leaven of fact. Your symphony needs less harp and - more violin. The Jews are clinging to their old ideals. The Gentiles - crucified it, and have a living gospel. Let them die if they won’t - live without nursing. You don’t want them. (I mean the ideals--not the - Jews this time--metaphors always proved too much for me.) And finally - don’t preach to others as I am doing to you. It’s a bad habit and - never does any good. But remember that there are a few misguided and - dreamy creatures who think you may do something one of these days if - you ever get your eyes rubbed open wide enough. - - “GLENN ANDREWS” - -For the next year his habitual haunts would know him no more. He would -combine with his trip a while in Paris. Casting aside all obligation -he entered into the spirit of the life about him. Paris, with all its -dangers, all its charms, the extraordinary influence of that congenial -life, touched him with a glowing heat of inspiration. He revelled in -his hopes--in his dreams. Here he would write something worthy of him. -His nature was rich in the vivid impressions, intense feelings and fine -thoughts which make life full of real meaning and significance. Here he -saw many sides of it--much of it was meaningless and distasteful, and -repelled all of his finer senses, but “it is in experience that one -sees all that is most vile and all that is most beautiful.” This was an -excellent opportunity. All the while he was maturing--beginning to have -a more tolerant knowledge of his fellow man. His heart was kindlier--the -weight of his judgment lighter. - -Half the world away, Esther was sorrowing for him--the memory of the -disappointment he had caused touched deep fibres in her that ached -and ached and ached. Besides this, she could see her old grandfather -growing feebler with the setting of every sun. His small stock of -vitality was slipping away. - -He knew that the stalk was withered, and soon must fall, yet he tried -to face the truth in smiling silence. Sometimes--when he thought of the -hands that had so longed to have control of his child--the anguish in -him overflowed. They would soon have her in their grasp. - - - - -THE GIRL. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -MR. CAMPBELL did not live through the winter. - -Esther was left to the care of his nephew, living in a remote part of -the valley. - -One morning, when she had rocked one of the children to sleep, she -sat with it in her arms, gazing out on the gloomy day with sad, set -eyes. For the time being she lost all memory of the scene about her. -The laughter of the children, the woman leaning over the bed, cutting -small garments out of coarse cloth. She began to remember all that her -grandfather had meant to her. She recalled his tenderness, the strong -fortress of his great love built between the world and her. It had -crumbled so slowly that she didn’t comprehend that it could ever wear -quite away, until it had crumbled to the ground. True he was dead, but -he had made a defense for her even beyond the gulf. Though stinted in -many things, he had always held to his life insurance. The farm was -worn out--the house old--it would bring little, but the two together -would help her to maintain her independence until she could master -her art. He did not know the years or the money that it required--he -only felt that through the medium of her art she might hold some of -the dignity of position to which she was entitled by right of birth. -Knowing this, Esther yearned with her heart and soul to go forward. -His lofty, beautiful character shone out before her mind without a -flaw. The thought of again taking up the task alone was sweetened and -ennobled by that memory. - -The woman glanced at Esther as she laid aside one pattern, put -the pins in her mouth until she could place another. She was a -saffron-faced, stoop-shouldered woman--one who prided herself on -the drudgery she could do, who welcomed, rather than flinched from -hardships. - -“What are you studyin’ about now?” - -Esther shuddered as she recalled the present. - -“You ain’t thinking about startin’ up that fiddlin’ again, are you?” -the other stopped short to ask. A shadow crossed the girl’s face. - -“Jenny told me you had got it into your head to take lessons again from -that old Dutchman at the college.” - -“I have been thinking about it,” Esther answered calmly. - -“Goodness knows I wouldn’t! I always thought the fiddle warn’t for -anybody but men and niggers.” Her high-pitched voice was piercing. -“Georgy got a juice harp somewhere, and I took it away from him and -burnt the fetched thing up. I have always heard: ‘Let your children -learn music if you want ’em to be no ’count.’” She stopped to get -her breath. “Your cousin John thinks it’s an outrage--the idea of -your taking lessons again. He knows nothing t’all about the man--but -foreigners are a bad lot.” - -“Did cousin John tell you that he opposed the idea?” Esther interrupted -her to ask. - -“He didn’t seem to take to it, any more than your trapsin’ over the -woods by your lone self.” - -“Did he tell you he thought that was wrong?” - -“Well, not in so many words, but I can tell when a thing goes against -the grain with him. He don’t like to hurt you. I tell him he thinks -more of your feelings than your character. I just took it upon myself -to tell you for your own good.” - -The woman’s speech was harsh and to the point. She continued abruptly: - -“You might do your own washin’ and ironin’ too, instead of hirin’ it -all the time. You couldn’t do up a pocket-handkerchief.” - -Esther got up, and laid the baby in the crib; her arms ached so. - -“If you knew how to do anything you might help me with all this -sewin’.” She laid one knotty hand on a heap of it piled beside her. - -“I don’t know how, but I will hire that part of it done, which you -think I should do,” she said gently, looking straight at the woman. - -“When cousin John wouldn’t take any money for my board, I asked him to -let me work for the worth of it. I didn’t ask him to make it easy for -me. He has a big family. I wanted to earn my way.” - -“He does think you try to earn it,” she admitted generously, “but I -think it’s mighty easy for you myself. You ought to be very thankful. -Look at the time you have--the whole blessed evenin’. You have -nothin’ but to help Jenny with the children, and the cookin’ and the -milkin’--what’s three cows to milk? I have seen the day, before the -family was so big, when I could do all the work on the place and not -half try.” - -Esther made a brave effort to control the strong spirit within her. -From the start the other had persisted in misinterpreting her emotions, -misunderstanding her ambitions. She kept guard of herself, for this was -her cousin’s wife. - -“When do you get the mail out here?” Esther tried to change the subject. - -“When do we get the mail?” she repeated with intense disgust. - -“Every time we send to mill, that’s four or five times a year too -often, to get those papers that John will take; readin’ those vile -things is the ruination of the country. I keep ’em from the children -the same as if they were scorpions. As for letters, we don’t get many. -Most people we care about live closer to us than the post office. You -lookin’ for any?” - -“I’d like to get one.” - -“From that college man? I reckon he’s forgot you are in existence.” - -“I shouldn’t wonder,” Esther said, with an indifferent show of pride. - -“He was curious looking to me; the way he wore his hair was abominable.” - -“He’s my friend. I’d rather not talk of him.” - -“That’s no reason he’s too good to be talked about.” - -“As you please.” Reaching for her hat Esther started toward the door. - -“You’d better let ’lone fightin’ for him and learn some common sense. -You’d never get married if men knew how little account you was. When -I was your age I’d been married three years,” she said, proudly. “If -you don’t want to be an old maid you’d better settle down and marry.” -Esther closed the door as she uttered the last word. - -“Marry? What? A plowboy, a pedler, or a washing machine agent?” That -would have been her cousin’s wife’s idea. - -She wondered as she said this to herself what had become of all those -people we hear of who “married and lived happily ever afterward.” A sob -caught in her throat, and she almost ran until she was out of sight -and sound of the woman’s voice. - -Esther Powel at eighteen, and in her young, fresh beauty--this was the -offering she would immolate on the altar of her limitations. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -INSTEAD of resorting to the woods, her old friend, Esther made her way -down to the plum thicket. The honey bees were humming to the heart of -the blossoms. - -Throwing herself full length upon the ground, she lay in a white drift -of them. An hour or more was given to heartrending sobs of utter grief -and abandonment of everything in the whole world. - -The pathos of her starved, unsympathetic existence, living in isolation -among people as heavy as wet clay. All the sentiment, thought, passion, -of her being had no outlet--none of the cravings of her youth had been -satisfied. - -Between her and Glenn Andrews the silence had been unbroken for almost -a year. - -As she lay there looking up, with her arms folded under her head, -her heart almost bursting with a sense of her own helplessness, she -pictured herself accepting the knowledge that she would never see -him again. All the unhealthy fancies born of loneliness and sorrow -possessed her. The day was gray. The steel rim of the sky seemed to fit -the woods. She watched it with a stifling sensation. It looked as if it -would soon bend the trees double and close in, shutting down upon the -narrow space in which she lived. - -She remembered to have seen her grandfather turn an old, worn pan of -granite down upon his early tomato slips. He did this to keep out -the light, until they could get strength enough to stand the hardier -growth--he did it to force them. The consistence of nature’s laws she -did not understand. - -She only knew that to-day for her was very lonely, narrow and dark, -and to-morrow would be another to-day when it came. - -She went back to the house with a dull expression of hopelessness in -her eyes. - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -SO the days passed--the cold, wretched days. Esther was sewing -diligently, making both sleeves for one arm, blundering on everything -she undertook, until it exhausted her teacher’s patience. For some time -she was less a help than a hindrance--yet she was sewing. - -One evening she dropped her work and went out to meet her cousin John. -She often met him when he came home. This time she was unusually -anxious. He had been to mill. - -“Well, you are back; we’ve missed you,” she said. - -Mixed with her love for him was a big proportion of pity. He had such a -hard, stupid kind of life and had never been appreciated. - -“Hello, youngster!” he greeted her, with his stout, strident voice. -“What’ll you give me for a letter--a two-pounder?” - -“It depends on where it’s from.” - -“Paris, France.” - -“No? Really?” - -Holding a package just above her head, he read: “Mademoiselle Esther -Powel, Etats Unis d’Amerique. He’s sending back all your old letters. -This looks as if it might hold a dozen or two.” - -“They are not mine,” she cried, as, laughing, she leaped and snatched -it from his hand. - -“Glenn Andrews,” she repeated, breathlessly, holding the writing before -her eyes. Without a word she stole away, to read it alone. He loved -her, this cousin of hers, this practical, unimaginative man, but he -had never understood her. Her ideas were not his ideas, nor her hopes -his hopes, but he was proud of her in an uncomprehending manner and he -smiled at her aspirations as at his boy baby’s ambition to drive the -mules. A thrill crept down to her heart. It was a book exquisitely -bound, bearing Glenn Andrew’s name. She fondled its pages, ran her hand -lovingly over their smooth surface. The book opened to a folded paper, -on which were some notes jotted down for the violin, an accompaniment -to a song that he had written. - -Turning the leaves, she came to a card; a line on the back of it read: -“You can learn this. Let me hear at New York address after April.” It -was dropped by a poem, “My Little Love of Long Ago.” - -This girl, gifted with all the subtlety of rare natures, understood. -Her face quivered with tenderness as she gazed at it. The world was -full of light--somebody in it took an interest in her. This had fallen -like some faint, soft fragrance in her life. Between laughter and tears -she read the poem: - - “My little love of long ago, - (How swiftly fly the tired years!) - She told me solemnly and low - Of all her hopes and all her fears. - She feared the dangers of the way, - The striving and the work-a-day - That waited far across the sea-- - The loneliness of missing me. - She never doubted me--ah, no! - My little love of long ago. - - “For she had faith in everything, - (How swiftly fly the tired hours!) - A heart that could not help but sing, - And blossomed out amid the flowers. - My loving was its best refrain, - My leaving was its saddest rain. - She sobbed it all upon my knee-- - The loneliness of missing me. - I kissed and comforted her so-- - My little love of long ago. - - “My little love of long ago, - (How swiftly fly the tired days!) - Such little feet to stumble slow - Along the darkest of life’s ways, - While time and distance and the sea, - Or my poor, careless heart, maybe, - Could not have told from spring to spring, - Why we so long went wandering! - Saddest of all is not to know! - My little love of long ago.” - -Esther was radiant with joy. She sped over the ground like a wild young -deer, running to the house for her long-forsaken violin. She carried -it to the back of the orchard. She propped the music up in the low fork -of an apple tree, and wrestled with the opening bars. It was written in -a minor key and was the most difficult accompaniment she had ever seen. -Over and over again she tried to bring out the plaintive harmony that -was there. She had to give it up at last--it was beyond her reach--it -challenged her. This caused her flickering ambition to flash up anew. - -A new resolve glowed in her eyes. To be thwarted in a thing was -touching upon an acutely sensitive nerve. She would not rest until she -had beaten down every obstacle between her and her hope of attainment. -She would free herself of these maddeningly narrow surroundings. - -Glenn Andrews immediately answered her letter, found upon his arrival -in New York. He said: - - “You have lived among the flowers, had great grief, and now the - flowers do not console you. And yet, if you only knew it, nature - is a thousand times better at consolation than human beings. I long - ago gave up looking for consolation from people--I can get it from - flowers. Maybe it is because I don’t live among them. In lieu of - flowers, I take work, and the grind I go through takes the edge off - griefs, joys and ambitions. It reduces one to the dead level of - passiveness, which is not ecstatic, but which does not hurt. So I - might say to you: ‘If the flowers do not console you, try work’--but, - doubtless, you have been working. I know that you are capable of it. - Perhaps time has worn off the brunt of your sorrow and you are feeling - the after pain of loneliness--which is even worse to bear, because - less vivid and more constant. - - “You ought to do something some day with your art. If you only know - it, you are not unfortunately situated as regards your future. Try - and look at it that way. Lift up your head and throw your shoulders - back. Go and look in the looking-glass and make a face at yourself, - and remember you are not an editor, that your nose is not on the - grind-stone and that you have, after all, something to thank God for.” - -Esther had been faithful to the impulse of that day. She slaved with -a resolution painful to see. In that year she had changed, developed -greatly. The kindly old professor regarded her with pride as he sat -listening to her, after she had conquered the music Glenn Andrews had -sent to her. There was a sweep of magnificence in it. - -At the last of the year there came a change. The old professor was -leaving for a broader field. He encouraged her to make an effort for -the highest mark; her next step, in his opinion, should be New York. -Of course, it would take self-sacrifice, he told her; “but what is -sacrifice when one is at the center of the world?” - -New York, which she had feared, and which had always seemed to her so -great and so far. New York that now stood for all the hope in her -life. After the professor had gone she began turning his advice over -in her mind. She could go no further here. She might there. But the -struggle to keep up the pace in New York while she was doing it, would -probably throttle all the ambition and freshness she had as capital to -begin with. She thought of people she loved who had gone. She could not -turn out ill after all their care. She might accomplish something in -spite of the difficulties. Lots of people had. Her impulse was to dare -until, under the heat of its spell, she wrote a line to Glenn Andrews. - -“What do you think of New York for me?” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -“WHAT do I think of New York for you?” Glenn Andrews replied, “frankly -I don’t know. You forget that the one thing necessary to answer your -question is the one thing I don’t possess. That is to say, I don’t -know you as time has made you. What I would have said years ago to the -slip of a girl, I cannot say to the growing woman. You and your art -are the deciding quantities. Have you bodily strength, or only nerve -fibre? Have you real genius, or only mediocrity? Genius, which lives -by self-understanding, can forgive this blunt questioning. New York -takes strength. It is a great monster which grips you by the throat and -shakes you as a dog does a squirrel. The process shakes the life out -of its body and leaves it broken and dead, or else it twists its neck, -bites strong and deep, and is allowed to go. You must draw blood to -make the monster of city life quit--the rich, warm blood of enthusiasm -and applause. And I doubt whether your teeth are strong enough. - -“Success means hard work--long, bitter days and nights of it--drab -days of monotony, black nights of disappointment. It means toil and -tears. This is a maelstrom, and only the biggest branches float on the -surface. The little twigs are sucked down. And it is a place of giant -timber. The oak from the country hillside is only a scrub here. You -must remember this. The bigness of it all makes for heartlessness. When -one meets a beggar on every corner, one soon ceases to feel sorry; and -where failures are so common, there is seldom a helping hand or even a -sigh of sympathy. Only the warmest fire can go on burning brightly with -the ice falling so thick around it. - -“So much for you yourself, and your own view of yourself. As to your -ability, I mean. Your circumstances I do not know. New York takes -money. In comparison with your own home, it takes a great deal. To -succeed in it requires time--years; and unless you can afford to stay it -through, you would better save yourself the discouragement of failure, -for there is no bitterer failure than that which we feel to be purely -circumstantial. - -“I pass over the question of the evil of New York. Evil comes from -inside of us--it is not absorbed. If we are pure, it does not touch us; -it goes by. I believe it would go by you. There are no temptations in -New York any more than there are at home, for those who do not want to -be tempted. You are, no doubt, a far better judge of this matter than -your minister--I am heterodox enough for that. - -“There is another side. No one knows genius so well as itself. If you -have it, New York is the place for you. The greater the body, the -greater the attraction for the great centre. I would not counsel you -to disregard its force, for I believe only true motives move you. And -if you know yourself and believe in yourself, you will find a way to -beat down other difficulties. There are ways of living in New York -cheaply. You might essay the purgatorial round of music lessons; your -violin might earn its own halo--who knows? - -“I take it you would come alone. There are places where young women, -unattended, are made welcome and cared for; and there are places where -earnest workers congregate where there are ordinary comforts at low -rates--these, if you should decide to try the venture, you must let me -tell you of. I should be glad indeed if what knowledge I have of the -city might be of some service to you. - -“In closing this letter, I feel that, after all, I have told you -nothing. You have, no doubt, considered the question in all its -bearings. Such a step is a serious one--far too much so for me to -intrude upon it. Be true to yourself--to your ideas, your judgment, -and your reason. If you do this, you will be true to your art. Do not -hesitate to write me if I can help you, but you must not ask me to -advise you as to coming. ‘What do I think of New York for you?’ I don’t -know! - - “Glenn Andrews.” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -HERE was a man who had lost the romance of life. Not a shred of -sentiment was left. - -Richmond Briarley strode about his den, pulling his smoking jacket from -a pair of vicious-looking antlers above the door, his slippers from the -wings of Cupid poised above the glorious Psyche. - -There was a princely abandon in the luxurious den he called “home.” -Looking about it, one would conceive him to be a man quite beyond -the ordinary--if the trophies, pictures, statuary, bespoke his -individuality. - -“Don’t wait for me, Andrews, go ahead,” he called out from an alcove. - -If his heart was not open to his friends, his finest wines were, and -the one is often mistaken for the other. - -Richmond Briarley had ample, irregular features, hair and eyes the -blackest black, and an olive gray complexion. There was something -stoic in the closing of his lips, set around with circular wrinkles, -revealing the traits peculiar to his type. He hadn’t the least regard -for the past, nor fault to find with the future. - -Coming out, he poured a glass of wine and drank with Glenn Andrews. - -“Have a smoke,” glancing towards a tabourette, strewn with pipes, some -of them disreputable enough to the eye. - -“Take any of them, you won’t be smoking any old, dry, dead -memories--these are all ‘bought’ ones.” - -“I’ll help myself. I was just reading my mail. The boy handed it to me -as I was leaving the office.” - -Folding a sheet of paper on which was written only a name and address, -he took up one of the pipes and began filling it. - -So Esther Powel was in town. It was a daring entrance upon life for -this little hard-headed, soft-hearted Southerner. He looked thoughtful; -the soberness of his youth, rather than the labor of his manhood, had -lightly marked his face. A sudden apprehension seized him for the pure, -sweet life he knew so well. It was almost as much as her life was worth -to come here so pretty and so friendless. She needed protection. - -This thought took possession of his mind to the exclusion of all else. -In the old days he had been the only one who could bend her wayward -will. Her faith in him was the blind unquestioning faith of a child. -Her own feeling for him she did not reason with. She accepted it as a -fact which was beyond her analysis. Under its spell she had grown and -flourished against great odds. Why should she not continue to do so? - -“Briarley,” Glenn went on, filling his pipe, and packing it down with -his thumb. “Suppose you knew a girl who was coming here alone, to study -art, what would you consider the very best way to shield her?” - -“By keeping away from her.” - -“But, suppose she needed some one to look to--suppose she were young and -knew no one. City life is a fiercely hardening process, you know.” - -“I’d get some woman friend to show her all there was to see, and that -might cure her. So-called sin charms because it’s unknown.” - -“Don’t you think a girl’s love, if not unappreciated, is a shield and -an inspiration?” - -Briarley shook his head. - -“Oh! of course, I forgot. You don’t believe in love.” - -“I do, as much as I believe in any other hell.” - -Andrews was silent. - -“Have your fun out, then we’ll be serious.” - -Their views were directly opposite, yet the enthusiasm of each made -ground for respect, if not agreement. - -“While you now admit such a phantasy, Andrews, you get the credit of -living by the head. It is generally understood that you never let -scruples of the heart stand in the way.” - -“I am not a woman; besides, it is a matter of self-denial, and not -unbelief. My love is my profession--long ago I made my choice between -woman and art--if I had chosen woman that love would have ruled my life. -I have given over much for my work; it has demanded sacrifice. I am -just now beginning to prove myself equal to its despotic sovereignty. -Briarley, unless you have tried for one thing all your life, you can’t -conceive how bewildering and sweet a burst of it is for the first time. -Under no conditions whatever would I sacrifice my best aims, my highest -ambitions. It is better to be than to have. That’s my philosophy.” - -“Go on. Every man has the right to work out his own destiny.” - -Briarley filled his glass again. “The way he can get the most -satisfaction is the way he generally chooses.” - -“Satisfaction hurts the soul. There is nothing worse than satiety of -the senses. I would never let myself become thoroughly satisfied.” - -“You couldn’t ask for more than the success of that last book. The -critics rendered you distinguished services,” said Briarley. “I -understand the sale was enormous.” - -“It has sold very well, but that only forces me to wrestle the harder -to keep up the standard of that reputation. If I cared for a woman, my -heart and soul could be loyal to her, but my time and vitality belong -entirely to my art. ‘Women are born to live and love. They only really -live after they love.’” - -Andrews went on as though the other had endorsed his doctrine. “Love -is an uplifting force to genius. A man would be doing a chivalrous act -to win and hold the devotion of a girl in such an instance as I have -cited.” - -“It would be a risk.” - -“Yes, but in my judgment the advantage is much greater than the risk.” - -“It would be a responsibility.” - -“I like responsibility; it braces a man to bear it.” - -“Well, the fellow who carries out your mad project will settle for his -folly.” - -“If he did, I’d stand by him in it.” - -“He couldn’t stand by himself. There’d be the trouble--he’d fall.” - -Glenn Andrews knocked the ashes from his pipe and got up, straightening -his shoulders and smoothing his hair with his hands. His mind was made -up. He did not expect to fall. - -Knowing himself to be his own master, he felt that to lend himself to -anything that would hurt her ideal of him would be impossible. - -“Where now?” - -“To find somebody looking for trouble,” Glenn said, with a smile. - -“Don’t forget the Sunday night concert, Andrews. I’m counting on you. -Here are half the box tickets. Do what you please with them.” - -“I shall be there. Thank you.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -GLENN ANDREWS walked down the street, which had been written on the -sheet of paper in his pocket. - -“No. 23.” He looked up and saw that No. 23 was a hospital. There must -be some mistake. No, that was plainly what it said. - -He stood looking at the door in an anxious manner. - -“Could she be here--ill?” - -He had drawn a charming picture of her, a radiant specimen of perfect -health. His pulse quickened. The curtains parted and a girl appeared -at the window. Her eyes were dim, her face ghastly--the look on it was -neither pain nor age--it was a look of hopelessness. The rich, gleaming -hair made a glory about her head, as the light caught its golden sheen. -That was like her hair. A moment she stood there, looking down the -street, then dropped the curtain. He saw her turn and go sorrowfully -upstairs. - -The light from the hall chandelier was very brilliant--his face cleared. -A better look satisfied him it was not Esther Powel. - -He pondered a minute, then started down the street again. She had -evidently given him the wrong number. - -At the corner he stopped a policeman. “I am looking for a boarding -house on this street--No. 23, West.” - -“Maybe it’s the next street; that same number is a boarding house. All -in this block are private houses except the hospital.” - -Glenn thanked him and went on quickly. She’d made a mistake in the -street maybe. It would soon be too late to call. He did not need to -inquire again, for as he turned the corner he could see Esther Powel on -the steps, looking out upon the square ablaze with light and confusion. - -“It is Mr. Glenn.” With the words she sprang three steps at a time to -the pavement. “How glad I am!” - -And then she stopped, remembered, and held out her hands. - -“How you frightened me. You had me going to the hospital to find you. -That’s the same number on the next street.” - -“Well, how do you expect me to get things right when I feel like I’m -flying every way and can’t get myself together to light?” - -Glenn always found her startling figures amusing. “You will feel that -for awhile.” He hadn’t taken his eyes away from her as she led the way -into the parlor. “You are stunned by the novelties. You will also be -quickened by them.” - -Esther, full-breasted, slender-limbed, rounded. The joy of life was -upon her--the loveliness of full bloom. - -“It’s good to see you again,” he said, “but why didn’t you let me help -you get settled?” - -“It took enough of your time to write that discouraging letter.” - -“You know I didn’t mean it for that. I would do most anything to -further your art. But it is best to do only that for what we are -intended. Nobody could know that as well as yourself. I believed your -decision would be right, whatever it was,” he told her. “Are you -pleased with your advancement so far?” - -“Not pleased--buoyed. I hope to do something some day.” As she raised -her eyes to him they expressed something of the wild, delicate, -throbbing pride. “I did not come to fail.” - -“I believe that, from the good reports I have heard through our old -friend, your professor.” - -“He was very nice to me; it was through him that I knew about the -Frenchman who will instruct me here.” - -“So you’ve arranged all that, too.” - -“Oh, yes; I begin my lessons next Monday.” - -“Smart girl. How are you situated here; are you comfortable?” - -“Comfortable!” she laughed. “I have to come downstairs to draw a good -breath. They stow me away in a sort of a garret on the fourth floor. As -Cousin John would say, there isn’t room to ‘cuss’ a cat without turning -sideways.” - -“I believe your Southern men are more given to profanity than -Northerners,” he said. - -“Oh, but his is so whole-souled that it is only ‘profunity.’” - -“Oh, dear; don’t think that I’m opposed to it,” Glenn interrupted. “I -sometimes find relief in a good, wholesome--” - -Esther held up a warning forefinger. - -“Then you may do mine for me. I shall need it if I stay here long -enough.” - -“Boarding house life is a miserable parody on home, I know. But we can -stand most anything for a while if the incentive is great enough.” - -“All these looking-glasses keep me tangled. I seem to be going towards -myself, from myself, beside myself, but I have been fortunate a part -of the time. Two young men on the train gave me addresses of nice -places to board when they found that I was alone and a stranger to the -city.” - -Instinctively Glenn frowned. “Have you got them?” - -“I saved them to show you.” Taking them from her purse, she handed him -the cards. - -“You don’t want them,” he said, crushing the cards in his hand. - -“Did they ask permission to call?” - -“One did. He wanted to come with me from the station. I didn’t care to -be bothered when I was thinking of seeing you. My! how I dreaded to -see you, though I believe if I hadn’t very soon I’d have started back -South,” she said in her effusive way. “I was afraid the change I’d find -in you would be disappointing.” - -“Was it?” he asked quickly. - -“Yes, because it is for the better. I didn’t want to care as I used to -in the old days.” She was still childish enough to be honest. - -“Why, did you find me unworthy?” - -“I suppose you were worthy enough, but I have learned it is not well -to let one’s affection wrap their tendrils too close about another; it -hurts so when they are snapped.” - -“There is no reason for them to be snapped,” he argued. “The joy of -clinging should make them strong enough to wrap and unwrap, leaving -its sweet effect.” As he was leaving, “Trust men for little and your -instinct for a good deal,” he said. His visit had made him all the more -determined. A profound passion can be displaced only by one greater. He -had had no experience in guiding people, but he had a desperate faith -in his own way of reasoning. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -GLENN ANDREWS took Esther with him to the concert. It was a great -violinist’s last appearance for the season. - -She was happily excited, unconsciously holding Glenn by the sleeve. -The glitter and glory of this wonderful, new world was dazzling. -The violinist, with his long hair and big face of rugged strength, -enchained her the moment the music commenced. - -With the intensity of her growing enthusiasm, she gripped Glenn’s arm. -He was repeatedly recalled. - -“I expect one day to see you sway them like that,” he whispered, as the -curtain went down for the fourth time. - -“Don’t! it is impossible,” she said, sighing. “I am just beginning to -feel that my teeth are not strong enough.” - -“There was a time when his were not, but he wouldn’t let go,” Glenn -said with emphasis. - -Tears stood in her eyes. “Don’t do that, I thought it would inspire you -to see such result, fulfillment; I believe it’s going to depress you.” - -She shook her head. - -“I rejoice with him, I’m glad to see him win; but three long years -before you are sure of anything--even failure--is hard to look forward -to.” - -“Did your teacher say it would take you that long?” - -“Yes, but I had thought that I would double it; take twice the lessons -and practice. After all, I may fail in the end.” - -“Hush, you are no weakling. Of course it’s work, it’s drudgery; that’s -the bracing part of it. You’ve earned the place when you do get it. An -effortless success is only a crueller word for failure; you must not -be impatient. I used to have to remind you of that.” - -Glenn did not know how she would take this; he had had alluring -glimpses of her deeper self, but he must understand her very thoroughly -or he could not hold her, charmed. - -She did not make any reply. - -He was gazing at a box near them and bowed to a majestically handsome -woman, splendidly gowned. He touched Richmond Briarley’s arm. - -“Mrs. Low and Stephen Kent. Kent is an awfully decent chap. He is lucky -to be a protegé of hers. What a lot of good her indorsement has been to -him. I knew him on the other side. I am writing the libretto for his -new opera. You were at the club Tuesday night when he was my guest. -Didn’t you meet him?” - -“No, but I heard him play some of his own compositions. Something was -said about us both joining the club. It’s too literary for me.” - -“I am his voucher. He sails soon and I don’t think he expects to come -into the club until he returns in the winter.” - -Glenn turned to Esther, who was absorbed in the last number on the -programme. - -She spoke softly to him. Gathering up her white silk shawl, he folded -it about her shoulders. - -“We are going in a minute. The lady you see with white hair in this box -next to us is a leader in artistic circles. I want her to know you.” - -The curtain fell as they arose. Linking his little finger in hers -under the fringe, he led her over to the box. There was something in -his manner that expressed beyond question his determination that never -while he had strength should the world darken this child’s soul. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -GLENN ANDREWS was unwearied in his visits, and held to an abiding faith -in Esther’s future, and stronger and stronger grew his determination to -be steadfastly loyal to her. He seemed to have an exhaustless reserve -fund of nerve power. Stinted in sleep, as he was, and overwhelmed by -his own work, yet he made time to look after her. - -With an infinite patience he was cutting a niche for himself, and above -it a name. - -His admirable solicitude for Esther was at strange variance with his -desire to wound her, bruise her, make her think and feel. - -To her he was a mystery unfathomable. The heart within her was so -delicate, it easily swayed from harmony to discord. She was so -sensitive, she must needs be always responsible to the painful as well -as the ecstatic emotions. - -In her habit of telling him everything that happened in her life there -was one thing that she had kept. The nearer it came, the more vivid -grew her prescience of what awaited her. The strain of this fresh -anxiety was consuming her. Would she have strength to hold out? - -She was whiter, her cheeks had not quite that rose bloom she had -brought with her out of the air and sunshine. Under this weight she -went steadfastly on, in silence. - -Glenn saw this. He had told her she was working too hard. He could see -that her health was not up to the mark. When there was a cloud, or the -shadow of a cloud upon her face, he saw it. She should see a doctor. -He told her that repeatedly. Honest as she was, she could not bring -herself to tell him that she was too poor. Already she had battled -through the heat of the long summer, in need of medical assistance. -She was living up to her income, and found it difficult to furnish the -bare necessities and pay for just half the lessons she had counted on. -There was no hope of shortening the three years except by increasing -her practice. This she determined to do, six hours a day instead of -three. - -“I believe you would stay up in that room and mold,” Glenn said one day -as they walked in the sun by the river. “You surely could find time for -an outing once a day for an hour or two.” He was puzzled to know why -she had declined to walk with him of late. It did not occur to him that -lack of time was her excuse. - -“You have your lessons but four days in the week,” he said. - -“Only two now,” she corrected him. - -“Then you have changed your plans!” - -“Yes.” - -“And how many hours a day do you devote to your practicing?” - -“Oh, several; it depends upon my humor and strength.” - -“I don’t think you consider the strength,” he said as he looked at her. -“You are tired now, why didn’t you tell me? Sit here and rest a little -before going back.” - -As they took a seat on the high edge of the river, there was something -like a sob of exhaustion in her breath. - -“Oh, Esther! How could you?” seeing how faint she was. Her cheek fell -in one hand. - -“Why didn’t you tell me you were tired?” - -“The air was so bracing, I kept thinking I would feel better directly. -How stupid of me to give out so quickly.” - -His tender little cares for her comfort, in small things, had often -made her ashamed and afraid she was a burden to him. - -“Did the doctor give you a tonic when you saw him?” - -“I haven’t been to him yet.” - -Glenn Andrews looked away across the blue water. His heart understood. -He knew by her face that the coldest thing on earth was clamping at her -heart. Presently he turned back to her. - -“How good a friend do you count me?” - -“The best I have in the world.” - -“Good enough to ask anything of me--everything?” - -She sat in silence, taking her hand softly away from the support of her -face. - -“Will you answer me?” - -“There are some things that I would ask of nobody that lives.” - -Glenn slightly raised his broad shoulders and lowered them with a sigh. - -“I am disappointed in our friendship. It has failed.” - -She reflected a moment; “I don’t deserve that from you.” - -“Nor do I deserve what you have just put upon me.” It had struck him -like a pang. The sweet sense of her faith--her dependence upon him--had -been the very dearest emotion of his life. It strengthened him, to -feel that she might lean hard upon him. He was not willing that the -pressure should be lessened. - -“I don’t want to pass for more than I am worth. If I have fallen short -of what you expected of me, I don’t blame you for putting me down on -the common level with everybody.” - -If her sorrow had been his own he could not have felt it more deeply. -“Only I am disappointed, that’s all.” - -She was distressed to the soul; his sympathy for her had been so -courageously beautiful, so exquisitely true, that she could not bear -the idea of disappointing him, or allowing him to feel that she -underrated his value. - -“I don’t know men very well, but I know you are not like the others. -Nothing could be very hard to bear, because you are my friend. I -welcome the days which bring you to me. You have been my fortification.” - -“Then prove it,” the soft answer came back. “I know that something -distresses you. Tell me of it, and let me help you.” - -“It’s nothing that you could change.” - -“How do you know? Let me judge that.” - -“No, not now, sometime I will tell you if you can soften things for me.” - -Her keen refinement would not let her talk to him of her poverty. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -RICHMOND BRIARLEY had never asked any questions about Esther Powel; she -was Glenn’s friend, and that was all. - -“I saw Miss Powel,” he said, as he and Glenn sat over their lunch. “I -nearly got past before I recognized her. She has changed. She has been -ill?” - -“No, I think not,” Glenn answered. “She’s been working hard, and she -hasn’t been used to work. I am going away on my vacation to-morrow. -I’ve been wondering if there wasn’t some nice place, just outside -of town, where she might go. She needs the rest, the change.” Glenn -Andrews made no secret of his kindly interest. He and Richmond Briarley -had long been closely intimate. - -“What’s the matter with my yacht? The old thing might sink if it knew -there was a woman aboard, but let it sink. It would give you a chance -to show your heroism.” - -“Would you come along?” - -“Oh, no; I might not get ashore. Really I have other plans, but it is -easy enough to get a crowd. There’s Mrs. Low and Kent.” - -“Both on the other side, won’t be back before winter.” Andrews looked -worried as he spoke. - -“Damn it, I couldn’t do it anyhow; I’ve promised to go to the -Adirondacks.” - -Briarley glanced at him. “Another woman?” - -“Several, Jack and his wife will be along.” Even in the intimacy of -their friendship Richmond Briarley had never asked that much before. -Glenn Andrews alone knew how hard was the sense of finding himself -bound through overwhelming conviction of duty. - -“I was out to dinner with Jack last night. You couldn’t look at him and -doubt such a thing as love, yet Marie was always a little tyrant. It -made me wonder, after all, what kind of a wife made a man happiest.” - -“I can tell you, a dead one.” - -“Honestly I believe he would have gone stark mad if he hadn’t won her. -He worships her.” - -“He’d have come out without a scratch. My observation is that a man can -get over not getting a girl easier than he can get over getting her.” - -“I believe in marriage--it’s the only decent way to live, but I wouldn’t -care for my wife the way he does; my regard wouldn’t have that -self-sacrifice in it. I’d want a woman to minister to my comfort, put -mustard plasters on me when I was sick.” - -“But the wife. What would she get in return?” - -“My name, for the sake of which I would sacrifice the most precious -gift that could come into a man’s life--a woman whom I could have loved -and by whom I could have been loved.” - -“A pretty theory, but, ye gods! the practice.” Briarley laid down -his napkin and leaned back from the table, staring at the other -contemplatively. - -“Andrews, for a man of your logic, you are confoundedly disappointing. -I’d have thought you’d have very fantastic ideals of marriage--of -the woman that was to make your home. You claim that your philosophy -is in straight lines. There are two ways of making a straight line, -horizontal and perpendicular, then they cross. You think it is infamous -to marry for money, and you have tabooed your pet hobby,” he said -with an ironical curl of the lip. “Five years ago, before you had got -your bearings, you might have humored such a whimsical freak of that -individuality of yours, but now you would struggle devilishly before -you would spoil your life.” - -“I have theories, not just to talk about, but to live by. My philosophy -is extraordinarily simple. You can’t have the pie and eat it too.” - -With a reflective survey of his friend, Briarley commenced with a kind -of confidential frankness. - -“If you are to make marriage a commodity, why not be brutally -practical? You are a very decent sort of a chap, and fame, for you, -is on the up grade. You could marry money. A poor married man might -as well be a street-car mule and be done with it. Talk about it being -easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than a rich man to -go to heaven, why it’s easier for a whole drove of them to get through -than for man to get anywhere without money.” - -“You are very good to care anything about it, but I have quite decided -in my mind what I shall do with that problem,” Glenn announced with -resolute calmness. The other lit a cigar, and leaned back in comfort. - -“I’ll swear you provoke me, and I don’t know why I should give a hang. -Self-will sometimes degenerates--then it is stubbornness--but I suppose -every fellow has a right to sign his own death warrant if he chooses, -and failure is a death warrant.” - -“There are some things you know and some that you don’t know.” - -“And a devilish lot that nobody will ever know,” said Briarley, as he -flicked the ashes from his cigar. - -There was a tender spot in his iron heart for Glenn Andrews. He was -too noble, too talented, to lose in sacrifice the possibilities of so -brilliant a future. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -THEY were strolling together in the art gallery. It was the first -time that Glenn had seen Esther since returning from his vacation. He -stopped to admire a picture, for the second time, pointing out its -beauties for her. She appreciated his interpretations, and her acute -understanding grew more beautiful to him. - -“I never look at such work,” he said, “without wondering what it cost -its creator. The gift of art is great, sacred, yet it is one long term -of self-denial.” - -“I know that,” Esther assented. She was beginning to realize its -draining demands. She had brightened a trifle to-day in spite of it. A -little of the old impulsive blooming beauty had come back. The brisk -walk through the park, in the keen, sweet autumn weather might have -heightened that--and Glenn’s return doubtless had something to do with -it. - -“Mrs. Low has a picture in her gallery by this same artist. She has -one of the finest private galleries in the city. You shall see it, I -believe, now that she’s back. I promised her I’d bring you to one of -her receptions. She’s noted for having people who are amazingly clever, -or beautiful or something of the sort. Fortunately I come under the -class, ‘Should auld acquaintance be forgot?’ But you are to do your -turn. She expects it. We will go next Tuesday to her opening night. You -will see a live lord. Her daughter, who married one, brought him home -with her.” - -“Will it make me like you any less?” - -“I should hope not. Rather more, for he has brutal manners, and you -would never think she held a higher place than his stenographer. -But she doesn’t mind that, she has a title. He draws his allowance -from her and his inspiration from elsewhere. I fancy they are rather -contented.” - -“Contented!” Esther lifted a solemn face to him. - -“It seems to me that a marriage without love would crush all that was -sweetest and finest in a woman’s nature. Marriage for love is the -dearest gift to any soul--it is the highest ideal of God’s world.” She -was in one of her intense moods. - -“But if it be for anything else?” He encouraged her to go on. - -“It’s a desecration. Love is not only the holiest thing in the life of -a woman, but it’s life itself for the man. It makes him whatever he -becomes. The righteous altar-vow is a delight and to obey is the cry of -the heart if it speaks the words with the lips.” - -“You know we never agreed upon that subject. I consider marriage merely -an incident in life.” - -“But the one decisive incident of it all,” she returned. - -They had left the gallery and were going through the park. His glance -wandered often from her face to a glad contemplation of the vivid -coloring of the woods. - -“Mightn’t a man marry for honor?” finally he asked. - -“Give me an example.” - -“I am not trying to convert you,” he said, disclaiming all -responsibility. - -“Tell me of a case?” - -His face contracted nervously. “Let’s talk about something else.” - -With a little impatient gesture, “Oh, give me an instance, it will -keep me from imagining things.” She stopped by a rustic seat with an -independent lift of the head and would go no further. She felt that she -deserved his confidence and trust. Upon her face were tears of pained -emotion. She did not know her real place in his life and whenever she -struggled for it her suffering was intense. - -There was a pause. Glenn decided to humor her. Taking a seat beside -her, he began in his tone of tranquil philosophy: - -“Suppose a man--young--under an infatuation, becomes engaged to a girl. -When he is older, his ideas change; he gets over it, she doesn’t. -Although he has a sincere regard and respect for her, in his heart -there is another ideal. He regrets being bound. What should he do?” - -“I hate the word ‘bound.’ Marriage is not to bind, but to privilege. -Without love it would be nothing more than slavery. Every human soul -revolts at that.” - -“But an engagement is like a gambling debt; it has no witnesses. It -puts a man upon his honor.” - -“Might he not have the nobility to assume his vows, without the -fortitude to endure them manfully? That would make each think nothing -of love and little of life. I believe it is impossible for a man to be -true to his wife with another woman’s image in his heart; in spite of -outward appearances the emptiness is there--convention cannot crush out -nature. If he took a vow like that, he’d be false to it; hypocracy is -dishonor.” She suddenly fronted him. - -“What would you do if you were the man?” - -“Oh, don’t make an example of me,” he said in a hard voice. “You know -me well enough to guess what I would do.” - -She turned her eyes to his face; her expression changed. “You would be -true to what you thought was your honor.” - -“I hope I would fulfill any promise I should make.” He had always had -himself in command, yet he was sometimes conscious of a fear that -Esther might have dreamed some touch of heroism in his nature, which -was not there. Her ideal of him had been impressed upon her immaturity. - -“I have a story about a man’s honor,” she said after an awkward -silence, lifting a small paper volume in her hand. “The young man on -my floor asked me to take it and read it. He said it was ‘simply -great.’” - -“‘Simply great,’ was it?” Glenn said, taking the book. “Certainly he is -bold and unconventional enough to presume to offer you a book when you -have scarcely a speaking acquaintance with him.” - -“He brought it to my door one rainy day; I took it as a kindness.” -Reading the French title, Glenn’s eyes took on the glint of steel. - -“Have you read it?” he asked. - -“No, I thought we might begin it together to-day.” - -“Well, we won’t,” he told her, frankly. “It is not the kind for you to -read. When the young man inquires for his book you can send him to me.” - -Glenn was never more savagely angry as he doubled the book and thrust -it into his pocket. He would keep from her that part of the world’s -evil at least. - -“Have I done anything you don’t like?” - -“No, but it maddens me to see anybody try to impose upon you. Don’t -accept any more courtesies from that class; I’ll bring you all the -books that you want to read.” - -“You are very good; I’ll try to remember that,” she promised. He hoped -she would. His care of her was like the fond tending of a flower that -has been unwittingly left in a fetid atmosphere. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -MRS. LOW’S receptions were more cordial and less formal than the usual -social affairs. Glenn Andrews and Esther arrived late. The richest -Oriental splendor surrounded them. There were a thousand rare souvenirs -of foreign lands to please the eye. The colors in the tapestries and -rugs were of that exquisitely tender hue that comes only from age. The -largest rug, covered with inscriptions from Saadi, the Persian poet, -seemed to have caught more of the charm and sentiment of the Orient. -Glenn was calling Esther’s attention to it while they waited for a -chance to speak to the hostess. Red lights glowed warmly through the -iron-fretted lanterns swinging low. A hidden harpist was playing -soft, sweeping strains of sound. Mrs. Low caught a glimpse of the late -arrivals. She met them with hands outstretched, a radiant smile of -welcome upon her face. - -“Ah, Glenn, Miss Powel; charmed, I assure you. Mr. Kent has been -waiting to have this young lady accompany him,” she said, as that -gentleman joined them. - -“You came just in time, Miss Powel. Our friend, Mr. Andrews, has told -me that you have been good enough to take the trouble to learn the -‘Serenade’ that is to be in our new opera. Mrs. Low has out-talked -me and made me feel that my friends should be first to pass judgment -before the critics get a chance.” - -Esther hesitated a moment, smiling. - -“That will be charming,” Glenn whispered to her, inclining his head. He -smiled slightly as his eyes met hers. - -His approval was what she had waited for--that was plain. The next -moment she had graciously indicated her willingness by taking up her -violin that Mrs. Low had sent for before she came. - -The sight of Stephen Kent at the piano and Esther beside him made -the rooms silent in an instant and stilled the unseen harpist. Glenn -Andrews kept close watch upon the crowd as it stood in mute attention. -It was to note how she was received. He had forgotten his share in the -honors. Stephen Kent sang the passionately poetic words; the exquisite -commingling of the voice and violin suddenly awoke in the poet the -thought of what sincerity of the soul there was in those words. - -In the heat of the enthusiasm that followed the encore some one grasped -Glenn Andrews’ hands. “And those lines are perfectly exquisite. I am -wild to hear all of your libretto.” - -“Oh, indeed!” he answered, staring, and that moment it was the effort -of his life to know what she meant. - -“Libretto?” he said to himself. “Oh, when I heard such playing I forgot -I had written anything,” he declared, with a laugh. He was extremely -shocked to discover that he had composed the words. - -“Aren’t you a little crazy?” the expression on her face asked, as Mrs. -Low came up and led him away. She had become devotedly attached to him -during their life in Paris. - -“If that is a fair sample of your opera, it will be most enchanting.” -The hearty words carried with them something of the sincere interest -she felt. - -“You are very kind, Mrs. Low. Your approval is a great compliment to -our poor efforts. You, of course, know its success means a better -future to both of us; the financial part of it being of no slight -importance.” - -“It’s going to succeed; it has the merit and the backing. Give yourself -no anxiety. Kent certainly has done his part well. It is his master -effort.” - -Mrs. Low sank deep in the gorgeous cushions and looked across to where -Esther stood besieged. She was so unspoiled and direct of manner. -There was something picturesquely Southern in her simple gown. - -“Tell me something more about her. Is she in earnest or does she play -with her art for the same reason that a kitten plays with her ball?” - -“Oh, she is in dead earnest, Mrs. Low. She is overworking in her -enthusiasm.” - -Glenn caught Esther’s eye as he spoke. There was a touch of pathos in -the smile. - -“That will never do. You might persuade her to take it more slowly.” -She stopped a moment, looking up with guarded eyes. Glenn Andrews was -not big print to her. The depths of his nature had to be read between -the lines. In her heart she wondered if he would resent the questioning. - -He studied her magnificent repose, that matched his. - -“She has genius. I have become quite interested in her already,” said -Mrs. Low. - -A shade of relief passed over Glenn’s features as he heard this. - -“I have known her for years. The poor child has neither parents nor -friends to restrain or aid her. She has not reached that point in her -art where she can earn a dollar. I have been thinking many ways of -trying to help her. It must be some way by which she feels that she is -earning it. I know her so well.” - -“It is not often that I ask such close questions, but this time it is -because of my interest. What are you to her?” - -Her tone did not imply idle curiosity. He clasped his hands -thoughtfully. - -“Honestly, I don’t know how to answer you. I am her friend, brother, -critic--I suppose. If I had to select one word to express my relation to -her, I should say, chaperone.” - -“Chaperone,” she repeated, with charming grace. “That is a virgin field -for a man’s possibilities, but since I think of it, I had a great deal -rather trust some men I know to look after a child of mine than most -women.” - -“Coming here alone, as Miss Powel did, and with very little capital, it -was hard for her to find herself face to face with the world. But she -has determination. She actually steals hours from her rest. She must -have relief from the strain or it will crush all the life out of her -soul.” - -“Oh, yes; something must be done,” answering his intensity with a sweet -interest. “Couldn’t I help you in some way?” - -He reflected seriously a moment. - -“I believe you could. Suppose you got her to play here four times -during the month and let her believe you had rewarded her by paying -her twenty-five dollars each time. I would give you my check for the -hundred dollars each month.” - -“That will be just the thing. Later she will be able to get some good -engagements at drawing room recitals.” - -“Would you indeed be willing to let me help her through you, Mrs. -Low?” he asked, with some confusion. - -“I am only too happy to be able to add that little to so loyal a -project.” - -“Thank you. Your co-operation means more to me than you can possibly -imagine.” - -“Your friend has been telling me of your work, and how brave you are,” -Mrs. Low said, as she took Esther’s hand at parting. “I shall come soon -to see you. I think I can add a little sunshine to your life.” - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -GLENN saw Esther a few days afterward and found her unusually cheerful. -Her face had a new light, and she had good reason for it. She spoke -with a buoyancy of expression that Glenn had not lately heard. She told -how Mrs. Low had arranged for her to play during the entire winter at -her receptions. This simplified the complex future. She reflected a -little more calmly on her condition. All these months she had tried -to think of some way out of it. She had thought of everything--except -giving up. - -She made friends. She was interested in everything. In her appreciation -and confiding ways Mrs. Low found a degree of satisfaction and intense -pleasure in the reflected happiness from Esther’s life. Glenn -encouraged the tonic of social life for her as something needful to -everybody. Under his own eye, he was willing to let her glimpse at it -in all its phases; the soullessness of it, its petty intrigues and -foibles. The flawlessness of her own mind would itself be a shield. Her -contact with such frivolity would be like that of satin and sandpaper. -With intense interest he watched her career during the season. He was -her severest and most unsparing critic, although he sometimes believed -that it hurt him more than her. Their lives were moving along together -with unconscious accord. There was an undercurrent of deeper sympathy -lying dormant. He was making her a part of his life. He would have -denied it, however, had any man put this truth into words and accused -him. A thousand times he had told himself, reassuringly, that he was -commander still. He reasoned that her art would soon be sufficiently -lofty, sufficiently complete for her to hear any decree that fate might -read to her. New friends, fresh scenes, homage to her art--all these -would help to fill her life. This was a conviction born of his own -philosophy. He fancied he could already perceive a more independent -air; a less frequent turning to him for guidance and protection. This -elusive, half-mysterious charm she had acquired, he misinterpreted. It -was largely due to the different lights that had been thrown upon him. - -She had been repeatedly stunned by chance-heard remarks of his -betrothal. When Glenn heard that Esther’s name was to figure -prominently in the most brilliant recitals of the season, there was a -buoyant sweetness in the frank radiance of hope, the eager expectancy -and passionate faith in her ability. She had been tasting some of the -fruition of her toil. Of this he was proud. - -The night came. It was a fashionable throng that poured into the -Metropolitan. The fascinating twirl of jewelled lorgnettes and the -flashing movement of the vast array of wealth and beauty made the -two wide, innocent eyes that peered out from behind the curtain, -reel--drunk with the wine of enthusiasm; this little atom who was to -win or lose before this great audience of connoisseurs. Win she must. -No girl could shake off the memory of so public a humiliation. The -sight confused her. She trembled a little and slipped back to her -dressing-room. “I feel as though the judgment day were at hand,” she -said. “My heart is bigger than my whole body.” - -“You darling, it was always that.” Mrs. Low gathered her proudly in her -arms, as she spoke. - -“Where have you been?” Esther left a warm kiss on her throat. “Up to -the very same thing you were, looking for a particular face, I know.” - -“I’ll take another survey presently. Of course he will be here. Oh! -what a dream of a gown; you look like a vision from heaven.” Mrs. Low -eyed her closely, fearful lest the misplacement of the slightest detail -might mar the perfect whole. - -“This must be the laurel crowning of your season.” - -Her delicate face was beaming; she felt it rather than hoped it. - -“This ordeal means everything to me. I am not as frightened as I -expected. Honestly, I feel as if I could make music without strings -or bow. Something in the very air charges me with a wild, savage -inspiration. Go, look again, now. I know he is here.” - -Several minutes passed and she did not return, so Esther went out to -the wings while the first numbers were being rendered. - -“Now, my dear!” whispered Mrs. Low, as the call came for Esther. “Do -your best. Glenn is in the right of the centre aisle, half-way back -with the woman in pink. I know you won’t disappoint him.” - -These words came from the gentlest heart in the world, with no idea of -their tragic significance. - -Esther stepped to her place on the stage. - -The bored faces of the leaders of the orchestra brightened. Every -instrument was ready to respond to the first notes of her obligato. -Even in that surging human sea she was conscious of dumbly searching -for Glenn Andrews. As she stood slightly swaying with the first few -strains, she saw him--his head thrown back with a superb gesture--his -features all alight from the ideal soul within--his dreamy, mystical -eyes full of expectancy. He was in a state of rapturous anticipation. -In the “woman in pink” she recognized as being the one with whom -society had intimately coupled his name. - -What a heart-thrust! She blanched at the thought of it. And of all the -nights of her life, this one--her very own--was most cruel. - -There was a rush of resentment through her being, stronger, for the -instant, than everything. She could not resist its influence; discord -followed discord until the orchestra was forced to stop. - -The scene before her whirled so fast that it made her dizzy. She felt -blindly across the strings for a harmony which she had lost. Glenn -Andrews was conscious of a curious tightening at the throat as he saw -her pitiful struggles. His heart almost stopped. She was failing. This -was maddening. He had had many disappointments in his life, but this -was one he could not face. Abruptly he rose and rushed out into the -aisle. The humiliation was too bitter. - -There was a little ripple of excitement. Esther saw him going; but -still did not realize that his seat there had only been a coincidence. -She hated, she adored him. The moment seemed supreme of all the moments -of her life. - -A feeling of longing unutterable came over her--longing to recall him--a -feeling that rose to ever fuller power until her whole being vibrated -with the desire. She tightened her grasp of the instrument to steady -her convulsive trembling. Glenn stopped. A new thrill was creeping -through the music. Her eyes evinced a conquering fire born of internal -despair. She was playing now as if inspired by some power above and -beyond all things of earth. Through it all ran the shrill, sweet -strains of her long-pent soul. Glenn stood immovable, with his eyes -fixed upon her. - -The sublime passion throbbing through the music was a sound that a -human soul could not resist, as if the player’s whole nature were -speaking to him. It pleaded, commanded, until it smote each tense chord -of his life--compelled completest harmony. He followed with eager looks -every gesture of her bow. His lips broke into a proud smile, revealing -all he felt. It ended in an echo, transcendent, sovereign, supreme. The -violin fell at her feet. The very air was saturated with the incense of -applause. - -He awakened as though from a dream to share in it. He grew almost -hysterical as the audience begged for an encore. The curtain rose. -Esther, flushed with her success, almost gasped as she reappeared. -There was a rain of flowers, falling from everywhere. Glenn felt his -heart beat after her in an ecstasy of longing. The curtain rose again -and again. He had never known the height or depth of their natures -before. He adored her--Esther, whose growth in beauty, power, glory he -had watched with boyish tenderness. All that he had admired, and had -not dared to hope for, were united in her. From the depths of his being -there came to him the first over-mastering passion of his life--in a -love that he had forbidden himself. - - - - -THE WOMAN. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -Glenn sent his congratulations with a lot of flowers. He did not trust -himself to call. That was not indifference, but too much feeling. The -following week he sent her a few lines: - - “My dear Esther; - - “It will be impossible for me to take you to the musicale, but I have - arranged to have Mr. Kent call for you, and I feel sure that you will - be in good hands.” - -This note of mild regret made her a little cross, as it was the first -time he had ever consented to have her go out alone with another man. -There seemed nothing else to do but submit, wash a tear of vexation -from her face, and be ready to go when Mr. Kent called. - -From Glenn Andrews’ point of view this privilege was an endorsement -of the man he had selected. She was his treasure and he could never -entrust it to any man in whom he had not the staunchest faith. Later he -learned through Stephen Kent that they had gone together and the affair -had been as pleasant as usual. That was satisfactory. He would have -them go again together. - -Ever since the concert Glenn had tried to think only of his work. His -calmness at such a crisis at first led him into the belief that it -would be easy to hold himself in check. The revelation that had come -to him upon that night had been the work of a strong thing but for a -moment. What he was now he would remain. How little did he dream of -what a sharp conflict he would have in the strife to conquer himself. - -He could not stay away too long--he looked upon it in a measure as his -duty to see how the infrequent visits were affecting her. - -It was not until he was taking up his hat to leave that he approached -the subject of Stephen Kent as her escort to the next musicale. - -“He will be very glad to have you go with him.” Glenn pressed her hand -in his and he saw tears in her eyes. - -“Esther!” He laid aside his hat, drew her down beside him on the divan. -He could not leave until he had traced those tears to their source. -“What does this mean, tell me?” - -“Oh, don’t ask me that!” She folded her hands before her as if in mute -emphasis. - -He was not suspicious, but this made him afraid--he felt as if something -had struck him. - -“Did Stephen Kent dare to hurt you. If so, it’s my fault--I introduced -you to him.” - -“Oh, Mr. Glenn, let it go, but nothing would induce me to go with him -again.” She felt the color go out of her face as she became conscious -of his fixed gaze. - -“Where has your frankness and freedom gone?” He drew her toward him and -compelled her to meet his eyes. - -His voice was full of power. - -“You must tell me what Stephen Kent has done.” - -“You like him; I am afraid you will be angry, disappointed.” She made -no effort to free herself. - -He could not draw a confession from her as he sat some minutes waiting. -“Have you that little confidence in my friendship?” - -“I don’t want to make you feel that you have not the friendship of that -man.” - -“Then you know that I haven’t.” - -“I know that he told me horrid, false things of your life abroad, and -tried to make me lean upon him instead of you. He tried to persuade -me to do all the things and go to all the places that you had warned -me of. If I had known by nothing else that would have made me know it -would be wrong--wickedly wrong.” - -“Wolf!” He could scarcely hold his grasp for the trembling of his hands. - -“I’ll settle with Stephen Kent,” he said, aloud. “He must answer to me -for this.” - -Glenn Andrews’ face looked manlier than ever in its rage. - -Esther’s heart stood still for a moment, then beat wildly in its fear. - -“Don’t risk yourself for me. I’m so sorry I told you.” - -“Now I shall take care of myself and of him also. Don’t be fretting -about the outcome. This is the last time you need be annoyed with it.” -He stroked her hair, and there was a calming tenderness in the way he -did it. - -She could have borne the indignity alone if only Glenn had not brought -the subject up. She had never meant to tell it to anyone. - -Glenn left the house and went at once, only to find that Mr. Kent was -not at home. Several days in succession he called with the same result. -He wondered what impulse would lead him to if he should meet him by -chance. Delay could scarcely weaken his determination to even up this -score. - -When Glenn went to the regular meeting of the club a few days later, it -was a little shock of surprise that the name of Stephen Kent was up for -membership. With a delicate tact he avoided any part of the proceedings -that was not forced upon him. When it came his turn to cast his ballot -for the man of whom he could have said a week ago he was all honor, he -started, trembling violently as he let fall from his hand--a black ball. - -The results of the ballot came as a great surprise to every man of -them except the one who had turned the course. Questioning, no doubt, -went round the room and there was a ripple of comment passing among -the groups after the meeting was over and the members were going out. -At the foot of the stairs one man met Stephen Kent and told him the -result, which he had come over to learn. The disappointment in his -face was intense as he took a few steps more, taking out his penknife -to cut his cigar, and met Glenn Andrews. - -“Look here, Andrews, what does this mean? They tell me I am -blackballed.” - -“They told you the truth,” he said, coolly. - -“Well! that’s damned strange.” Kent’s answer had in it the sting of -humiliation. - -“If I knew the man who did it, I would thrash him within an inch of his -life. The sneak!” - -Glenn Andrews’ eyes were dilated and flashing. - -“Stephen Kent, you don’t have to go very far to find him. I am the man.” - -“You; and may I ask why?” - -“Because your dishonorable conduct to Miss Powel proved to me that you -are not a gentleman.” - -He was fearless in speech and action. His exultant manliness made the -other cower. - -“A man generally knows the lay of the land. She is pretty free.” - -“Free, my God!” Glenn Andrews’ face flashed fire. “You are a liar!” - -The next moment the two grappled. A crowd gathered around in wild -excitement. Before they could be parted the battle had been fought. -With the first lift of his hand, Stephen Kent’s penknife had slipped -across and cut the radial artery of Glenn Andrews’ wrist. Regardless -of the flow of blood, he had dealt the blow that laid the other at his -feet. - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -IT was several days before Glenn felt able to resume his work. He kept -away from Esther until he could give himself a chance to recover from -the acute anaemia from which he suffered. Finally, when he called, he -found that she had left that place, and her address could not be given -him. - -He was worried and bitterly wounded. - -This girl, wild of heart, full of all sorts of emotions, full of -unreasoning impulses who had once been easy for him to understand, had -gained a complexity and subtlety new to him. - -Yet he could do nothing now but treat it as a recurrence of her old -fits of childish petulance. If, by some unaccountable chance, there -was any finality in this step of hers, and her motive was to break -off their old blameless intimacy, he would watch over her from afar. -There was no malice in his heart for her. Nobody could make him believe -a story, the truth of which would be unworthy of her. Yet the dim, -persistent sense of dissatisfaction which he tried so hard to stifle, -under a rush of work and recreation, would not vanish. Time, which he -filled with the fever of his literary passion, together with keeping -in touch with a few old friends, had become so strained, so intense, -that in spite of the firm strength he had, the inordinate will, sheer -physical weariness conquered, the tense nerves for a time relaxed. - -It was in the latter part of April that Richmond Briarley happened to -stop in a flower store to order a palm for some friend. At the counter -stood a slender girl. There was something very unusual about her or he -would not have given her a moment’s thought, nor the second look. - -Her hair swept back in deep waves from her brow, under the wide, soft -hat. The dark blue of her eyes seemed to gently motion as she looked at -the delicate orchids the clerk held across to her. - -“That’s what I want.” - -Then she turned away as he went to wrap them for her. She felt a sudden -swelling of the heart, as she faced Richmond Briarley. - -“How do you do, Miss Powel,” he said in acknowledgment of her -recognition. - -“I have quite lost track of you since our friend Andrews has been ill. -You’ll be glad to know his doctor now thinks he may pull through.” - -“Mr. Glenn ill--dangerously ill?” She was white to the lips. - -The look on her face he would never forget while he lived. - -“Where? Where?” she said, eagerly clasping her hands. “Let me go to -him.” - -“He has someone--you can do nothing. She does everything.” - -He said very little beyond the bare statement, but his answer added to -the pain of her wound. - -There was nothing she could do. This was the bitterest, cruelest -thought--she was not needed--she who would have died to spare him pain. - -Richmond Briarley knew what it meant; his heart was touched for her. - -“I’m going to see him now, if you care to send him a word.” - -“Tell him how sorry I am, and would you take these flowers to -him--orchids are his favorite flowers. I was going to wear them to a -musicale to-night.” - -“Certainly I will take them.” - -“Wait just a minute.” - -She took the pencil of her chatelaine and wrote her new address on the -box; her fingers were trembling, so she doubted if he would recognize -her signature. - -She smiled a little as he lifted his hat, when he bade her good-by. -Pride was a matter of principle with her. - -What she suffered in the days that came after could not be told. - -It was early in May before Glenn was able to be out again. - -To see Esther was one of his first visits. She greeted him with a -grave, solicitous face. - -“I am glad you are better. I didn’t even know it until you had passed -the crisis.” - -“Whose fault was it?” That old perversity had not been subdued by -suffering. - -“Oh, don’t; not to-day, anyhow.” She put her hands up and gently turned -down the collar of his coat. “Come, now; lie down on the divan. You’ve -overdone your strength.” - -His fingers in her folded grasp were trembling. - -“I’m not equal to my work yet,” he said, as he stretched out among the -pillows, closing his eyes wearily. - -“I wouldn’t have come if it had not been your birthday,” turning his -head, revealing the painful clearness of his profile. - -“I remembered you had someone who loved you; to think of it always -before--now there’s nobody.” - -Sitting beside him she stroked his forehead very tenderly. - -“You were always thoughtful of me.” - -They were silent for a time. - -“Sometimes I longed for the warm, sweet touch of your hand on my head,” -he said at last; “it throbbed so, and ached.” - -“Oh, dear, why didn’t you send for me?” - -“You forget, I didn’t know where to send.” - -She paled under the answer. “But you had someone you wanted more.” She -said this with an impulsive touch of resentment. - -“She was the best one I ever had. Professional nurses are not always as -solicitous or as kind.” - -“Professional,” Esther repeated to herself, betraying no sign of the -relief it gave her. - -The soft wind moved the curtains and let a flash of sunlight in. Glenn -looked out; the air was full of spring. - -He could not but think of the old days, the paths upon which they had -strolled now lay green and solitary through field and woods. - -For a man who loved to steep himself in the sunshine and open air, he -but seldom indulged himself. - -“Esther, get your hat; it’s too fine a day to be indoors. I’ll take you -away, out to Van Cortlandt Park.” - -“Are you able to stand the trip? Don’t go just for my pleasure.” - -“I shall enjoy it more than you will,” he said. “It’s what I need. -Haven’t I always told you how selfish I was.” - -Without another word she obeyed him, delighted at the prospect. Van -Cortlandt was beautiful. They took a little boat and went out on the -lake. So precious was the silence--the solitude--the shadow of the -willows, that Glenn allowed Esther to take the oars he had taught her -to handle and stretched himself full length in the boat. The water -trembled under the sweet wind that blew fresh upon him. - -Esther was in one of her rapturous moods, gazing with wide, dilated -eyes upon the spring woods opening out to screen the unresponsive -world--leaving them alone together. She could see it all reviving him -like wine. - -“Esther?” The name and touch thrilled her. - -“When they told me I might not get well, I thought of you--I had -something to tell you.” - -“Tell me now.” - -“That was if I had to die.” - -“Oh, don’t speak of your death!” Her voice thrilled with a passion she -herself did not understand. - -“What I said as a child is still true. Life could not be sweet to me -with you out of it.” - -“Nonsense! With a great future flashing before you.” - -“Could any fortune be sweet, or any gift it brought a woman be worth -having, if the one for whom she cared were not there to share it with -her?” - -“A woman’s love is essentially spiritual in its nature. It does not -depend so much upon sight,” he said. - -She had dropped the oars. They were drifting dreamily. - -The sun had gone down below the horizon, leaving purple shadows on its -rim. The willows sent their seductive motions across the face of the -waters. - -She looked at him as though to draw him nearer and enfold him in her -stretched-out arms. The warm impulses of her heart were warring in -their wild effort to be free. Silence was the language of youth and -love to him--they needed no words. - -The force and the sweetness, the purity and power of his nature as she -interpreted it, was the complete realization of her beautiful dreams. - -“Have you ever forgiven me for spilling your blood and leaving a scar?” -Her thrillingly delicate touch on his knee swept him with a swift, -vigorous delight. - -“Forgiven! I’ve blessed you. That is something from you that I shall -carry with me through life. And there’s another I want--a memory. You -never have called me by my name.” - -Looking into his fine, clear face, she felt the love flowing softly -like a fountain in her heart. “Glenn,” she whispered his beloved name. - -“Esther! dearest!” Drawing her toward him, he kissed her on her lips as -he held her close in the clasp of his arms with the intensity of his -commanding love. Her hat had fallen off; he caught the dank fragrance -of her hair. - -Something fluttered in her breast--something new and strange and strong. -She did not understand that she had left girlhood behind and become a -woman. All the woman in her was quickened by his kiss. - -“Oh, how I love to feel your heart beating against mine.” - -Her words, her kiss, touched his soul to its depths. He was startled -at the depths he had stirred. - -“Heart! dear heart of mine!” She was in a fit of adoring fury. Her lips -met his, again and again. She loved him so humanly and yet there was -only the tender throb and thrill of the sensitive nature in all its -refinement. Sweet emotions shot through her breast. - -“Love me, no matter what comes, Esther, love me.” - -He too felt some hurting power bound through his blood, and wrestle -with his reserve--his equilibrium. - -His low voice, his soft eyes, held her; not a tone, not a look but it -caressed her. - -The soft shadows, the limpid waters, the open air--with it altogether he -felt a strange softening. - -“You never said sweet words straight from your heart to me before.” - -“Why words? Instinct, nature, tells us when a thing is true. That great -silent power often stands between the soul and what it loves. It is -too deep for speech. Did you ever drop a pebble into a well to sound -its depth? If it is shallow, you hear it when it strikes the bottom. -But if you wait and never hear a sound, you know it is very deep.” - -Her sweet, low laugh rippled out over the waters. - -“Your laugh is like that of a child in a happy dream. I hope it will -always keep that sound.” - -Straining her to him a moment, he then put his hands to his face to -shut out the dangerous sweetness. - -“Nobody but you will ever understand what my nature is, because they -have never so nearly felt it.” - -“That’s true,” he said, “the only difference is that I know what is -best for us and what is not.” - -“To make music, one must have genuine feeling for it; that is true of -love. There has always been a sympathy between us, but never before so -deep as now. The greater the love, you know, the stronger the sympathy. -Natures so well tempered, so sympathetically adapted, very seldom can -endure; neither can afford to indulge in the beauty of one he loves, -for he may lose his own seekings in sharing hers. Ideal love is not to -be satisfied.” - -He said this with such an expression of grief and sentiment that no one -could doubt his belief in his own philosophy. - -This was life indeed. If he could only hold it forever. He wanted to--he -longed to--might he not desecrate this beautiful soul, by intruding his -upon it for so short a time? - -A sudden chill went through him. The horror of their ideals being -endangered made him draw back. He had never entirely lost sight of the -delicacy and nobility of the relation. He was her friend--her protector. - -Slightly moving his position, he said: “Esther, what is sweeter than -comprehensive sympathy? Each knows the other’s highest aims and hopes, -and each tries to help the other reach and preserve those ideals. There -is something beautiful, noble in the endeavor to sustain the ideals of -one we love, even though they should not always succeed.” - -“I believe that. The desire, the effort--shouldn’t that go for -something?” - -“I think so, but will you always think it?” - -“I hope I shall.” - -As they anchored alongside the bank, Glenn held out his hand to help -her; her cheeks were in bloom with life, and he was going home rested, -with all his senses and passions much keener and many degrees finer in -their possibilities. - -“We have had a day of delicious happiness, we should be thankful for -that,” he said. “In a whole life there are but a few days in which we -really live--we only exist most of the time,” lowering his voice and -looking into her sweet eyes. - -“To be wholly happy is to forget the world and one’s obligations -to it.” There was almost a caress in the way Glenn took out his -handkerchief and lightly brushed the drops of water from her skirt. In -putting the handkerchief back he touched the pretty trifle--a souvenir -to recall her twenty-first birthday. Twirling it between his fingers he -said: - -“This is for you. Wear it for the sake of the man who became a boy and -learned what May meant.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -GLENN knew now that he had been mistaken. The heart he had tended drew -all its life still from him. His knowledge of men and women was great. -He could not deceive himself. Nature demanded a climax. He must advance -or retreat. He realized that he was coming to love her too well--in a -sweeter, nearer way. They were to each other now more of a necessity -than an inspirational force. He must go away--it was best: for their -art, for their peace of mind. It was some time before he could tell -her this. He could no longer trust himself to be tender with her. He -dared not risk himself; he was not equal to it. It seemed to him their -companionship was never so beautiful as now when he was about to break -it. He was testing his strength and asking his own soul if it were fit -for the work and the awful sacrifice. It was during a short interview -that he found courage to tell her how his doctor had advised a change -of scene and air. A sea voyage, with perhaps a year abroad; possibly -Egypt--personally he hardly expected to get beyond the old yellow city -of his youthful escapades--Paris, where the aromatic breath of absinthe -had tinged the air. There would be no strain then. She knew what it -meant. She knew it was not for his health alone that he was putting the -sea between them. - -“It may be just what you need to strengthen you. In travel I fancy you -will find oceans of material for penwork and gulfs of inspiration. And -in Paris, that you have learned to love, you might know real life and -real joy.” The words cost her an effort, but they were bravely said. - -Richmond Briarley sat in his office alone that night. He had just -opened his safe and from a package of legal documents drawn a paper -which he unfolded and read, a note secured by mortgage, now past due. -At the bottom it was signed by the husband and wife. “Albert Winston -and Mildred Hughes Winston.” His lips clamped, the circular wrinkles -deepened round his mouth. When he first knew Mildred Hughes he was very -young and poorer than he was young. He had gone away and left her to -this man, who was well launched, expecting her to escape the hardships -of the poor. In time he would forget her. He remembered how he had told -her so and left her--that day was more to him than all the rest of his -life. It was full of her. “Forgetfulness!” He had never learned the -meaning of the word. With one swift survey of the room, he slowly tore -off the woman’s signature--this was the last remnant of a life that had -been lived. As someone opened the door his dream faded with the sound. -The next minute Glenn Andrews had come in, and was standing behind him. -He rose abruptly, closed the safe door, and hid the small paper in his -hand. “Hello, Andrews.” He held himself down to a semblance of calm. -“I thought it was about time that you blew in. What are you doing with -that grip?” - -“Taking it up to pack it,” he said, as he took out cigars for both. - -“Indeed! Are you really off? Are you romancing?” - -“Most of my romancing is set to the same notes--bank notes. It serves -that purpose well enough. I sail day after to-morrow,” he added, -carelessly. - -“So you are going to kick over the traces, eh? It’s lucky not to be -tied so that you couldn’t break away.” - -“New York becomes more and more intolerable every day, and I feel -that I must get out of it for awhile. I will still do some work on -the magazine, of course. Wait; give me a light.” Andrews took the -paper that Briarley had twisted and touched it to the gas jet above -his head. It went out before it reached the cigar. With a gesture of -impatience he looked around and found the matches. - -They smoked on, talking together for some time, Glenn toying with -the paper in his hand, carelessly rolling and unrolling it. He got a -glimpse of it, and said, quickly: “Look here,” passing it over. “Is -this of much importance? Maybe you have burned the wrong thing.” - -“Oh, no! That’s nothing,” Briarley answered, with an indifferent -gesture. “Albert Winston, the poor devil, is dead, and he died beaten. -One man has no business to take a mortgage on another’s home, anyhow. I -may be an unresponsive brute, but I couldn’t turn a woman and children -into the street.” His throat was dry as he turned his back and laid the -scorched paper over the flames. “We might as well finish it--let the -ashes settle it.” - -“Do you mean to say that Winston died in poverty?” Andrews asked, as he -got up to leave. - -“He hadn’t a dollar.” - -“Let me see; whom did he marry?” - -“Mildred Hughes,” Briarley hazarded, repeating her name calmly. - -“Oh, that’s so; I do remember her. Half the fellows at college were -daft about her. Winston’s money won her, they thought.” - -“Where are you off to, now?” asked Briarley. - -Andrews turned. “I’ve got the ends of a million threads to wind up -before I start.” - -“And some to break, no doubt.” - -“Let me hear from you occasionally,” Glenn said, as he grasped the -other’s hand, and felt like adding, “I have guessed your secret, -Briarley, my friend. Some men are heroes simply because they didn’t -marry.” - -“I’ll try to come down to see you off. But if I shouldn’t make it, -remember to get all you can out of life, my boy, and I wish you the -best of good luck.” - -Andrews looked worn, overworked. Richmond Briarley had hoped that -the returns from the opera would take some of the strain off of the -ambitious fellow--but the unfortunate affair with Stephen Kent had ended -that hope. - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -FOR two weeks Esther had been at the seaside. She had grown pale and -tired from the ceaseless round of work and social play. This life -had glamour, had charm, but no contentment. Her pleasure in it was -not real. She entered it with the belief that it was sweet to love, -natural to trust. There was nothing in life but faith and love. She -was now in the midst of people who talked with a sceptical contempt of -all that she had held sacred. They laughed at her simple faith in the -old-fashioned morality taught her by cherished lips. - -Glenn Andrews could not leave without seeing her again. He had sent -her a message. In the afternoon of the last day he went down to the -seaside where she was stopping. The expression on his face was one of -unrelenting yet melancholy determination. She was not in, so he struck -across the sand and strolled along the beach until he found her. In -spite of the pain in her heart, her sensitive, proud face denied it. -There was a smile on her pale lips. - -“You’re about as hard to reach as the bag of gold at the rainbow’s -end,” Glenn said, “but I am glad to find that the other hunters have -not reached here. From stories that came back to town, you don’t often -escape all of your admirers at once. I am fortunate to find you alone.” - -“They are fairy stories that every girl has a right to be a heroine of -during the season.” - -“I ventured to ask you to be so good as to give me an hour, only -because I am going away so soon, and I may not see you again.” - -“Your ‘so’ is femininely unsatisfactory. That is the speech of a woman. -How soon is that?” - -He pointed across the water. “You see that ship? Just about this time -to-morrow, when the Majestic sails that way, you may know I am aboard -of her. I will wave you a farewell.” - -Esther felt a tremor run over her. She looked past him at the baffled -surf, as, white with rage, it sprang against the pier, retreating with -a roar, leaving a glimpse of the green sea stones beneath. - -“So soon as that?” she said, her eyes opening and closing convulsively. -“I must have been asleep; I didn’t realize that the time was so near.” - -“Time is a mule; it always takes the opposite gait from that which you -want it to take. This month has taken wings.” He gave a swift glance at -her. “And I expect the next one to crawl--that is, after the voyage. I -love the water.” - -“As the doctor thinks the sea air so good for you, why don’t you cruise -along the shores of France?” - -“I may,” hesitatingly he answered; a sense of guilt came over him at -the thought of his deception. - -“How long do you expect to be gone?” - -“I don’t know,” he said, absently; he knew this was not curiosity, but -personal concern; “it may be three months, or three years.” - -“Which do you expect it to be?” - -“I do not expect, because to do that is to rob one’s self of the -emotion of surprise, without which there is little pleasure in living.” - -“I don’t believe I could be surprised any more. I know how little there -is ahead. I have been arranging it all in my mind.” - -He looked seaward. “How’s that?” - -“Well, Mrs. Low goes home with her daughter.” Here she touched her -hands together impulsively. - -“You both are going; that leaves me alone.” - -“If thoughts count for anything, you will never be alone.” - -“How am I to know that?” - -“You have the word of Glenn Andrews,” he said quickly; “besides you -have a glorious future to look forward to. You have attained! What -happiness is there like unto it? Among the many desires of my heart, -the first is of your happiness, which I believe lies through your art. -I am proud for you. Let me have one comfort before we part. Promise me -that you will not disappoint me in my hopes for you. Your success has -come high.” - -“Well, your future, tell me of that and what your art has cost you.” - -“What I have suffered is too late to discuss. One can rate truly only -as far as one has gone. I cannot see as far ahead for myself as for my -friends.” - -“I can see for you.” She spoke slowly, and with difficulty. “Not only -perfect health, but laurels. I hope my little spot in your heart may -not be entirely shadowed by the lustre of that hour.” Her composure was -returning. “I shall miss you; I want you to know that I appreciate the -value of your friendship, of which I stood in need. You have helped me -by your fond belief in me.” - -He didn’t raise his head, but his hand. - -“Oh, I have done so little; don’t shame me. You have been taking care -of me instead. You have made my life richer--deeper--brought back some -of the old faith in my own ideals that was gradually being crushed out. -I can understand how men can be forced to such a height that falling -would seem too far and hard. I wish I could feel that I had brought -half the sunlight into your life as you have into mine.” - -“You have brought the most that will ever be there.” - -“Oh, don’t say that just as I am going; that kind of sun shines not -only through the senses, but through the soul. It will always shine if -you will only think so.” - -She bowed her head, the wide fringe of brown seaweed trembled under the -waves that ran up on the warm-hued sand. - -“And I am glad that we have had this year. With all its pain--it is -ours. Think of me sometimes when I am gone, Esther. Be good--by that I -mean, brave.” - -His voice broke. - -The tense strain of the moment was ended, as he bent forward. His heart -was in the kiss he left on her hair. He turned and walked quickly away -without looking back. - -In the darkness of her room, a young figure lay stricken with grief -across her bed, mourning the vision of her ideals that seemed gone -without fulfillment. In the morning when she heard the happy sound -of laughing voices the hopelessness of her bereavement came over her -afresh. She was alone in her sorrow and memories. She was so weak that -her body felt bruised, and her arms lay like a dead weight at her -side. Was her courage broken? She prayed a passionate prayer for the -poor, heartless women who had kept faith with virtue, and had not been -rewarded--who had scattered their broken ideals along the road that they -went, that all who followed must bleed and suffer. She reached out for -her violin; for a while she lay still with it in her arms. It was not -sufficient. She needed some human thing for companionship. Her soul -hated its bodily enthrallment--she would fly out of it--she must. With a -supreme effort she raised herself, and faced the mirror. Her wide, dim -eyes looked out at her in pity. Then from her window she saw a steamer -going out. It was time for the Majestic that was to take Glenn Andrews -out of New York--out of her life. The two loves of her life--they must -die together. Suddenly grasping the neck of her violin, she struck it -against the side of the bed and shattered the exquisite thing. She fell -back prostrate, and there for weeks she lay between this life and the -eternal. - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -GLENN ANDREWS went to France, to Moret-sur-Loing, an old cathedral -town, thinly peopled, on the skirts of the forest of Fontainbleu. -It was secluded and out of the way. Here he would lead a quiet life -of study and work. This was his delight. A poet-soul living in the -pursuit, not possession of the ideal. He had taken up his abode in -a little, old inn. Away from the world and yet so near it. This was -a beautiful country; the sight of it did his spirit good. He loved -the hills and valleys and streams. On one side the ruins of an old -Keep belting him, and on the other, the mills with long rows of deep -windows, from which the workers looked out upon the sunshine and their -homes. The small mill-houses nestled low in the leaves. - -One day, returning late from a long walk, Glenn passed a peasant -mother, poorly clothed, seated in her doorway; her child was sitting by -with its hands about its knees. She kept pointing to the path that led -to the mill. She was evidently looking for some one. Soon a man came in -sight. A glow lit in the sombre eyes of the mother, and a smile leaped -from her haggard face to the weary man, who suddenly straightened his -drooping shoulders. There was something besides pain and work in the -world, and they had found it. He took the child in his arms, tossing it -up and letting it fall back again--this human miniature of their love -and youth. Many a day, Glenn strolled at evening to see their meeting -when the father came home from the mill. It rested him. He became -absorbed in his work, reading the proof of the third book that was to -add something to, or take from, the name of the lyrical poet. - -It was not long until he heard of Esther’s illness. It gave him a stab -of remorse and distressed him sorely. Had he, who had nurtured her soul -so carefully, injured it more deeply than the careless world? He who -had enthralled her childhood, steadfastly guided her girlhood--in whose -woman’s destiny he had played so fatal a part. Here the pathos and the -irony were strangely interwoven. Would it have been better had she -never known the broader, fuller world? Had she now been living away her -life contentedly in the dark? These questions came between him and his -work. As he gazed dreamily out, the leaves were swaying carelessly. A -vision of the dependent, lovely girl overwhelmed him. In the wind he -seemed to hear Esther’s voice--all the youth and laughter gone out of -it. It was not like that day when he held her face between his hands -and gave her the kiss of love. He sighed for the virginal softness of -her tremulous lips. The wind went wandering along the wood’s green -edge, like a miserable thing, offering no consolation. From his -meditation came like an accusing ghost the realization that there is -but one true aim in life--to seek and find the soul’s complement. He had -sought. He had found, but he had sacrificed. The spiritual need of his -soul had been set aside. For what? An agony of yearning welled up in -his heart--a yearning for the sense of her sweet presence which thrilled -him with a joy of pain. The best of love they had missed--the supreme -surrender. - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -ESTHER’S health was returning, and with it her strength. Her pride -and her spirit, both, were fired. There was one thing left to her in -her grief--concealment. She bound this thought to her heart, and held -it close--so close. She was a soldier’s daughter, and came of a stock -whose fortitude in defeat had been even more splendid than their valor -in war. To her the secret of love had been harshly told, but she would -hear it with courage. In the swiftest current of destiny, she would -show her womanly strength. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -“YOU will wonder at seeing this letter from me,” Glenn wrote to Esther, -“for it will not be a usual one--not at all the sort of letter you -have been accustomed to receiving from me. Perhaps it is that I have -changed--greatly changed from that old self you knew--most of all -changed from what I used to be to you. I can see you now as you looked -to me that afternoon at Indian Well, when I first spoke to you. You -touched me so closely then--so nearly--and you were such a child. - -“All through that first year I think you could never have guessed -how much the blossoming of that little wild heart of yours meant to -me. I watched it from day to day, from month to month, so closely. -Maybe I watered it some, and pulled some of the weeds that might have -crowded its roots. I hope so. You were a child then and I a man, yet -I had been a man without a passion. I thought much in those days, and -dreamed that I knew myself. Achievement was my god. I told myself that -my interest in you was the interest of the philosopher--the master--and -I watched your mind unfold with a curious delight. I know now, dear, -that it was a far different feeling from that--one that went far deeper -and meant much more to me, even when I would not admit it to myself. It -is to his own heart last of all that a man admits his own error. And -yet, as I look back at it now, I think that I meant to be honest with -myself. When you came to the city and I saw the wondrous woman that -had grown--when I saw your flower heart--still the heart of the child in -all that was sweet and innocent--turning more and more towards me for -its sun--it waked something new within me. I saw the problem. I felt -your dependence grow each day stronger. You leaned upon me so that -I thought sometimes I could feel every throb of your heart. You were -achieving. Your art was growing. Your genius was lifting. You were -coming nearer and nearer to the ideal that I had imagined for you. -When such a development has become the great and absorbing passion of -a man’s life, I cannot express to you how haunting becomes the fear -of disappointment, how terrible the jealousy of circumstance that may -step between him and its fulfillment. You had beautiful ideals--such as -I have had--and they had grown a part of you. To lose them would have -ashed the ember; it would have deadened the quick sensibilities and -wounded that soul-instinct of yours in which your music lived. And when -I saw these ideals dependent upon me--upon my presence--upon the -sympathy of mine, which I could not have denied if I had tried--I stood -by them and you. Dear, the soul of a woman is a wonderful thing. It will -not bear experiment. Yours was like a sensitive plant that cannot bear -the light, and sheds its loveliest perfume in the dark. So I tried to -give it the darkness--to cloud the glare of hollowness that was in our -world--to let the light in slowly and only when the leaves were strong -enough to bear it. All this time I could not help but see that when I -went from you the shock would be great. My philosophy taught me the -penalty of emotion, and I thought I had much to do in the world. I -dreamed of work that would absorb me utterly--that would take the best -that was in me, of feeling and of effort. All my life I had denied -myself the passion that my eyes told me was growing in you. I had grown -to consider myself apart from others--a mental solitary who had locked -the door of his heart because he had work to do. It had not occurred -to me that the Juggernaut whose rumbling wheels I would not hear might -crush you. It was the concert at the Metropolitan that opened my -eyes. I knew then that your art and your heart had twined together so -intimately that if one were cut, the other would bleed. I knew then -that I must either go or stay, that if I became a stronger part of you -my going would be fatal to your own achievement and to mine. Dear, it -was not all selfishness--this resolve of mine. You will never know what -it meant to me to tear up the roots that had grown in spite of me: it -was like tearing the flesh and leaving it quivering. But that I could -have borne if it left you better able to go on. I did not know then -what I know now. I blame myself that I did not read truer. The news of -your breakdown and the giving up of your music came to me like a blow -in the dark. In showing me yours, it has shown me my own heart. The -depths of my self-condemnation have taught me myself. It has taught me -that achievement is a pitiful thing compared with a woman’s love--that -your happiness means more to me--a thousand times more--than success: -that I love you--I love you--utterly and wholly--and that I want you to -be my wife. The future is impossible to me without you. Each day since -I saw you, your step has been in every sound. Each night your face -has been my vision. Here from my window I can see a little knoll on -which is a cross, where the peasants go to pray to the patron saint of -the village. It is ugly, and battered, and old, but it has come to be -beautiful to me, for I know now what they are praying for. The hills -are gold with the grain, and a little winding path runs down toward my -eyrie. I can almost imagine you coming down it now to meet me, with -your dear face raised to my window--” - -As Glenn finished the page, the boy tapped at the little door with -the daily mail, and he reached out an indifferent hand to take it. A -familiar flourish caught his eye, and, recognizing Richmond Briarley’s -penmanship, he opened a bulky envelope. A card, closely written, and a -small book met his gaze. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - - “MY young Idealist, I send you a clever story, one which shows - remarkable talent, and which you really must read. There is, or was, - once upon a time in this town, another consummate young Idealist like - yourself, but of the female persuasion; a protegé of yours who - fiddled. She, I remember, believed in a few things; among others, - that there was a little to be considered besides art, and that she - had a lump somewhere which she called a heart. You have always been - troubled with the same feature, I believe. - - “The lady has just issued a story, which I send you to-day. Just take - a look at it and find me that lump, will you? Cold as an icicle! By - the way, I understand that the lady in question was quite a social - success here in our city, and very much sought after in drawing rooms, - in which she earned about her own price. She has come to the - philosophical conclusion that you used to uphold: which is, that as - long as a person _does_, it don’t much matter what a person _feels_. - Anyway, she is doing it; and I take it from this novel that she is - not feeling much either. - - “Yours, Briarley.” - -Glenn read the letter with a curious shock, and opened the novelette. -As he finished the last page and laid it down on the table beside -him--this story with the heart of a stone--he sat looking out the window -with a daze of anguish in his eyes. His hands were supporting his -bearded chin. Without, the splendid sunset, the gilding flame of which -caused his features to shine resplendently. His sad, wistful face, -convulsed with emotion. What a tumult of silent, unspeakable memories; -what feelings of regret and longing! Instinct does not always point the -truth. No suspicion of the brave ruse of Esther came to him now--no -apprehension of the hurt pride whose strain of revolt forced from her -this literary lie. He had been driven blindly on by his yearning for -the more perfect art. He didn’t care for laurels now, nor for that art -for whose sake he had destroyed the best thing in his life. Was ever -heart-break more cruel? He sat for an hour in silence. The sunset had -lost its beauty. The grain on the hills had lost its gold. He took -the letter he had been writing to Esther, tore it up, and flung the -fragments of what, if he had known, was the best of his life, out the -window. A lazy breeze caught them up and scattered them. A single one -with the word “love” on it was blown back and settled slowly in his -hat. A bell was ringing for compline. He saw the peasants in their -simple devotion going slowly to worship. He took his hat and walked -across the street to the little café. There two comrades called him -over to have a bottle of wine with them. - -“Ah, poet!” one said, laughing as he reached over and took the stray -bit of paper that lay on his hair. “Still the philosopher! Making love -with your head?” - -“You’re wrong, this time, it was from the heart,” and Glenn Andrews -forced the shadow of a smile into his lips. - - -THE END. - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Minor changes have been made to correct obvious typesetters’ errors in -spelling and punctuation. - -No changes have been made to dialect. - -Some variant spellings have been retained. - - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AS THE HART PANTETH *** - -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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