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diff --git a/old/68290-0.txt b/old/68290-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 5639cdc..0000000 --- a/old/68290-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,6832 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Berkeleys and their neighbors, by -Molly Elliott Seawell - -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: The Berkeleys and their neighbors - -Author: Molly Elliott Seawell - -Release Date: June 11, 2022 [eBook #68290] - -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 THE BERKELEYS AND THEIR -NEIGHBORS *** - - - - - - THE BERKELEYS - AND THEIR NEIGHBORS - - - BY - - MOLLY ELLIOT SEAWELL - - AUTHOR OF THROCKMORTON, MAID MARIAN, LITTLE JARVIS, - MIDSHIPMAN PAULDING, ETC. - - - _REVISED EDITION_ - - - NEW YORK - D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1892 - - - - - COPYRIGHT, 1888, - BY M. ELLIOT SEAWELL. - - COPYRIGHT, 1892, - BY D. APPLETON AND COMPANY - - - PRINTED AT THE - APPLETON PRESS, U. S. A. - - - - -_BY THE SAME AUTHOR._ - - - =THROCKMORTON.= 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, $1.00. - -“The incidents are of great interest, well-imagined, and admirably -carried out. But the notable feature of the book is the rare charm of -its literary expression. The language is full of grace and wit and -delicate sensibility. To read is to be beguiled.”--_New York Sun._ - -“The pages of ‘Throckmorton’ are alive with picturesque sketches. Its -humor is never forced, and its pathos is never overdone. It is a novel -to linger over.”--_The Critic._ - -“A charming story. The author has used good English, and the reader -yields to the fascination of her style.”--_The Book Buyer._ - - - =MAID MARIAN, and other Stories.= 12mo. Paper, 50 cents; cloth, - $1.00. - -“There is an unmistakable cleverness in this collection of short -stories.”--_Boston Literary World._ - -“Miss Seawell has a brisk and prolific fancy, and a turn for the odd -and fantastic, while she is Past Master in the use of negro dialect -and the production of tales of plantation life and manners. All these -stories are spirited, well marked by local color, and written with -skill and ingenuity.”--_New York Tribune._ - - - =MIDSHIPMAN PAULDING.= A true story of the War of 1812. With Six - full-page Illustrations. 8vo. Bound in blue cloth, with special design - in gold and colors. $1.00. - -“The story is told in a breezy, pleasant style that can not fail -to capture the fancy of young readers, and imparts much historical -knowledge at the same time, while the illustrations will help the -understanding of the events described. It is an excellent book for -boys, and even the girls will be interested in it.”--_Brooklyn -Standard-Union._ - - - =LITTLE JARVIS.= The story of the heroic midshipman of the - frigate “Constellation.” With Six full-page Illustrations. 8vo. Bound - uniformly with “Midshipman Paulding.” $1.00. - -“Not since Dr. Edward Everett Hale’s classic, ‘The Man without -a Country,’ has there been published a more stirring lesson in -patriotism.”--_Boston Beacon._ - -“It is what a boy would call ‘a real boy’s book.’”--_Charleston News -and Courier._ - - -D. APPLETON & CO., Publishers, New York. - - - - -THE BERKELEYS AND THEIR NEIGHBORS. - - - - -CHAPTER I. - - -A PROVINCIAL Virginia race-course is an excellent place to observe -a people which has preserved its distinctiveness as well as the -Virginians. So far, they have escaped that general and fatiguing -likeness which prevails in most of the universe these days. - -Therefore, the Campdown race-course, on a golden day in October, looked -like itself and nothing else. The track had started out with the -intention of making a perfect ellipse, but meeting a steep incline, -it saved the trouble of bringing up the grade, by boldly avoiding the -obstacle--so the winning post was considerably nearer the half-mile -than the starting post was. Nobody objected to a little thing like -this, though. The Virginians are good-natured creatures, and seldom -bother about trifles. - -It was the fall meeting of the Campdown Jockey Club--a famous -institution “befo’ the war.” - -At this time the great awakening had not come--the war was not long -over. For these people, had they but known it, the end of the war -really meant the end of the world--but the change was too stupendous -for any human mind to grasp all at once. There came a period of shock -before the pain was felt, when the people, groping amid the ruins of -their social fabric, patched it up a little here and a little there. -They resumed in a dazed and incomplete way their old amusements, their -old habits and ways of life. They mortgaged their lands--all that was -left to them--with great coolness and a superstitious faith in the -future--Virginians are prone to hanker after mortgages--and spent the -money untroubled by any reflections where any more was to come from -when that was gone. - -They were intense pleasure lovers. In that happy afternoon haze in -which they had lived until the storm broke, pleasure was the chief -end of man. So now, the whole county turned out to see two or three -broken-down hacks, and a green colt or two, race for the mythical -stakes. It is true, a green silk bag, embroidered in gold, with the -legend “$300” hung aloft on a tall pole, for the sweepstakes, but it -did not contain three hundred dollars, but about one-half of it in -gold, and a check drawn by the president of the Jockey Club against -the treasurer for the balance. Most of the members had not paid their -dues, and the treasurer didn’t know where the money was to come from, -nor the president either, for that matter; but it takes a good deal to -discount a Virginian’s faith in the future. The public, too, was fully -acquainted with the state of affairs, and the fact that there was any -gold at all in the bag, would eventually be in the nature of a pleasant -surprise. - -The people, in carriages, or on horseback, bore little resemblance -to the usual country gathering. They were gentlepeople tinged with -rusticity. All of them had good, high sounding Anglo-Saxon names. There -was some magnificence of an antique pattern. One huge family ark was -drawn by four sleek old horses, with a venerable black coachman on the -box, and inside a superb old lady with a black veil falling over her -white hair. There were but two really correct equipages in the field. -One was a trim, chocolate-colored victoria, with brown horses and a -chocolate-colored coachman to match. In it sat a showy woman, with a -profusion of dazzling blonde hair, and beside her was an immaculately -well dressed blonde man. The turnout looked like a finely finished -photograph among a lot of dingy old family portraits. - -The other carriage that would have passed muster was a large and -handsome landau, respectfully called “the Isleham carriage,” and in -it sat Colonel Berkeley and his daughter Olivia. The Colonel was a -genuine Virginia colonel, and claimed to be the last man in the State -to wear a ruffled shirt bosom. A billowy expanse of thread cambric -ruffles rushed out of his waistcoat; his snow white hair was carefully -combed down upon his coat collar. At the carriage door stood his -double--an elderly negro as grizzled as his master, to whom he bore -that curious resemblance that comes of fifty years association. This -resemblance was very much increased when Colonel Berkeley’s back was -turned, and in the privacy of the kitchen, Petrarch--or more commonly -Pete--pished and pshawed and railed and swore in the colonel’s most -inimitable manner. Each, too, possessed a type of aggressive piety, -which in Colonel Berkeley took the form of a loud declaration that -a gentleman, in order to be a gentleman, must be a member of the -Episcopal Church. This once accomplished, the Colonel was willing to -allow liberally for the weaknesses of human nature, and considered -too great strictness of behavior as “deuced ungentlemanlike, begad.” -Petrarch regarded himself as a second Isaiah the prophet, and a vessel -of election--having reached the stage of perfectibility--a usual thing -in the experience of a genuine African. The Colonel described Petrarch -as “that infernal rascally boy of mine,” and this “boy” was the one -individual he had never been able to overawe or silence. Possibly an -exception might be made to this in Miss Olivia, who sitting up, slim -and straight and pretty, was treated by her father with elaborate -old-fashioned courtesy. Colonel Berkeley was in a particularly happy -and virtuous frame of mind on this day. This was his first appearance -in public since his return from Europe, where a serious bodily injury -had kept him during the whole four years of the war. He gloried in the -consciousness that he was no renegade, but had returned to the sacred -soil as soon as he possibly could, when he might have been enjoying -himself elsewhere. When the Colonel said “the State of Virginia,” he -really meant the whole planetary system. Nevertheless, two weeks in his -beloved Virginia had bored him dreadfully, and he was “more orkarder,” -as Petrarch expressed it, than any other two weeks of his whole life. -The Campdown races he hailed as a godsend. He had a good competence -left, in spite of having sent orders to his agents to convert lands, -stocks, bonds, and everything, into Confederate securities--cotton -bonds, Confederate gunboat stock, anything in which the State of -Virginia was bound up. As far as in him lay, he had made ducks and -drakes of a splendid fortune, from the finest and most disinterested -motives that ever inspired a mistaken old gentleman, but fate had -befriended him against his will. An investment at the North that the -colonel had vainly tried to throw in the general wreck, had escaped -confiscation, and had increased, a hundredfold in value. His orders -to sell half of Isleham, his family place, for Confederate money, -had arrived too late for his agent to carry it out. He had done the -handsome thing, as it was esteemed, and after having practiced the -strictest virtue, he was rewarded with all the pleasures that are -commonly supposed to be the reward of vice. - -“Don’t you think, papa,” the young girl said to him at once, “that -we should go up on the grand stand? It might look a little--a little -standoffish for us to remain here--and the county people--” - -The Virginians inherit from their English ancestry, a vast and -preposterous respect for their county people--and Miss Olivia Berkeley, -fresh from Paris and London, was more anxious that no fault should be -found with her by these out-of-the-way provincials than any of the fine -people she had met during a considerable transatlantic experience. So -was Colonel Berkeley--but there was a fly in his ointment. - -“I would with pleasure, my love, but damme if those Hibbses are not -sitting up on the stand along with their betters--and I won’t rub -elbows with the Hibbses. It’s everywhere the same. Society is so -infernally mixed now that I am always expecting to meet my tailor at -dinner. I thought certainly, in old Virginia, the people would know -how to keep the canaille in their places, and there, by George, sits a -family like the Hibbses staring me in the face.” - -“Yes,” replied Olivia, smiling. “It’s everywhere the same--you are -bound to meet some of the Hibbses everywhere in the world--so we -might as well do the right thing in spite of them. Petrarch, open the -carriage door.” - -The Colonel, with old-fashioned gallantry, assisted his daughter to -alight, and giving her his arm, they crossed the track in full view of -the grand stand, and went up the rickety wooden stairs at the end. - -At no period in her life had Olivia Berkeley felt herself so -thoroughly on exhibition as then. Her figure, her air--both of -which were singularly graceful and refined--her gown which was -Paris-made--all were minutely examined by hundreds of eyes that had -not seen her since, as a pretty, half-grown girl, she went to church -and paid visits under the charge of a demure governess. After they had -crossed the white track, they were greeted by numerous gentlemen who -sauntered back and forth about the quarter-stretch. Colonel Berkeley -was elaborately gracious, and Olivia was by nature affable--to all -except the Hibbses. But when they passed that inoffending family, the -Colonel stalked on pointedly oblivious, and Olivia’s slight bow was not -warming or cheering. - -People moved up to shake hands with them--girls of Olivia’s age, soft -voiced, matronly women, elderly men, a little shaky and broken, as all -the old men looked after the war--and young men with something of the -camp hanging to them still. Olivia was all grace, kindness, and tact. -She had forgotten nobody. - -Meanwhile Petrarch, who had followed them, managed to edge up to her -and whisper: - -“Miss ’Livy, ain’t dat ar Marse French Pembroke an’ he b’rer Miles? -Look a-yander by de aige o’ de bench.” - -Olivia glanced that way, and a slight wave of color swept over her -face--and at that moment “Marse French’s b’rer Miles” turned his full -face toward her. - -He was a mere lad, of eighteen at the utmost. One side of his face, as -she had first seen his profile, was of the purest Greek beauty. But on -the other side, a shot had done dreadful work. One eye was drawn out of -place. A horrid gash in the cheek remained, and one side of the mouth -was painfully disfigured. On the same side, an arm was missing. - -A torrent of pity almost overwhelmed Olivia as she looked at the -boy--her little playmate in years gone by. And then the elder brother -caught her eye, and bowed and smiled. He did not possess the beauty -that had once belonged to Miles. He was dark and tanned, and his -features had a manly irregularity. But he stood up straight and tall, -and had the figure of a soldier. In a moment or two Olivia was shaking -hands with Miles, looking straight and boldly into his face, as if -there was nothing remarkable there. But just as she touched French -Pembroke’s hand, the blonde woman in the victoria came within her line -of vision. - -Olivia threw up her head, and greeted Pembroke with a kind of chilling -sweetness. But this all dissolved toward Miles. - -“How delightful to see you again,” she said. “I suppose I shall have to -say Mr. Miles now, although I never can think of you as anything but a -dear little tormenting boy.” - -The ghost of a smile--his smile was a mere contortion--came into Miles’ -face--and while he talked, he thrust his one hand into his trousers -pocket with a gesture of boyish shyness. Olivia thought she heard the -tell-tale rattle of marbles in the pocket. - -“I’ve--I’ve been a soldier since I saw you,” he said, with a boy’s -mixture of pride and diffidence. - -“So I hear,” answered Olivia, with a pretty air of severity, “ran away -from school, I believe.” - -“Yes,” said Miles, his diffidence disappearing before his pride. “I was -big enough to carry a musket. Though I wasn’t but sixteen, I was taller -than the captain of my company. Soldiering was fun until--until--.” He -began to blush furiously, but kept on after a moment. “I didn’t mind -sleeping in the mud, or anything. A man oughtn’t to mind that sort of -thing, Olivia--if you’ll let me call you Olivia.” - -“Of course I will,” replied Olivia gayly. “Do you think I want to -appear any older than I am?” Then she turned to Pembroke and said, “I -was sorry not to have seen you the day you came to Isleham. We met last -in Paris.” - -“I hope to see as much of Isleham as we did in the old days,” answered -Pembroke. His voice was rather remarkable, it was so clear and well -modulated. - -“I hope,” began Miles, stammering a little, “that--that you and the -Colonel understood my not--why I didn’t come to see you in Paris.” - -“Not fully,” answered Olivia, pleasantly. “You must come over to -Isleham and explain it--if you can. Have you seen papa yet?” - -“I see him now,” said Pembroke with a smile, “shaking hands with Mrs. -Peyton.” - -Olivia smiled too. There had been a flirtation between Mrs. Peyton -and Colonel Berkeley forty odd years before, and as everything that -happened in the community was perfectly well known by everybody else, -the episode had crystallized into a tradition. Colonel Berkeley had -been known to swear that Sally Peyton in her youth was a jilt. Mrs. -Peyton always said that Tom Berkeley was not to be depended on. The -Colonel was saying to Mrs. Peyton in his grandest tones: - -“Madam, Time has passed you by.” - -“Ah, my dear Colonel,” responded Mrs. Peyton with a quizzical look at -Colonel Berkeley’s elaborate toilet and flamboyant shirt ruffles, “we -can’t cross the dead line of sixty without showing it. Even art cannot -conceal it.” - -“Just like Sally Peyton’s sharp tongue,” the colonel growled sotto -voce--while a suppressed guffaw from Pete on the verge of the group, -showed the remark was not lost on that factotum. - -“And Petrarch too,” cried Mrs. Peyton in her fine, jovial old voice, -holding out her hand. - -Pete shuffled up and took her hand in his black paw. - -“Howdy, Miss Sally. Lordy, marster done tole de truf--you looks jes ez -young an’ chipper--How’s Mandy?” - -“Mandy has lost her senses since old Abe Lincoln made you all free. -She’s left me and gone to Richmond to go to school--the old idiot.” - -“Hi! I allers did like Mandy, but I ain’t got no use fer dem niggers -dat kin read ’n write. Readin’ an’ writin’ is fer white folks.” - -“Shut up, you black rascal,” roared the Colonel, nevertheless highly -delighted. “Madam, may I present my daughter--Olivia, my child.” - -Olivia came up, and Mrs. Peyton kissed her affectionately, but not -before a rapid glance which took in all there was of her. - -“Like her sainted mother,” began the Colonel, dramatically. - -“Not a bit,” briskly answered Mrs. Peyton. “A Berkeley all over, if -ever I saw one. Child, I hope you are as nice as you are pretty.” - -“Nobody ever told me I wasn’t nice,” responded Olivia with a smile. - -“And not spoiled by your foreign travels?” - -“Not in the least.” - -Clang! Clang! Clang! goes the saddling bell. - -“What do you think?” says Olivia laughing. “Papa has entered Dashaway. -You know he is twelve years old, and as Petrarch says, he hasn’t any -wind left--but papa wouldn’t listen to anybody.” - -“Yes, that’s Tom Berkeley all over. Ah, my dear, I could tell you -something that happened forty-two years ago, in which I promise you, I -got the better of your father.” - -The horses by this time are coming out. They are an ordinary looking -lot except one spanking roan, the property of the despised Hibbses, -and Dashaway, a gray thoroughbred, a good deal like Colonel Berkeley -himself, but like him, with certain physical defects. The gray has a -terrific wheeze, and the hair on his fetlocks is perfectly white. But -he holds his head up gallantly, and gives a tremendous snort which -nearly shakes the mite of a darkey off his back. All the jockeys are -negro boys. There is no pool-selling, but the gentlemen make bets among -themselves and with the ladies. The transactions if small, are exciting. - -Colonel Berkeley’s presence hardly prevents a laugh as the gray ambles -past the grand stand, snorting and blowing like a porpoise. The -Colonel, however, has unshaken confidence in Dashaway. Is he not of the -best blood of Sir Henry, and didn’t he win fourteen hundred dollars for -the Colonel on the Campdown course the year before the war? Colonel -Berkeley knows a horse well enough--but to know horses and to know -one’s own horse are two things. - -Colonel Berkeley, leaning over the fence, is giving his directions, in -a loud voice, to the little darkey, who is nearly ashy with fright. He -knows what is expected of him, and he knows Dashaway’s deficiencies. - -“Now, sir, you are to make the running from the half-mile post. Keep -well up with the horse in the lead, but don’t attempt to pass him until -you have turned the half-mile.” - -“Yes, sah,” answers the small jockey, trembling. “But Dashaway, he -c’yarn run much, sah, ’thout blowin’, an’--an’--” - -“Zounds, sirrah, do you mean to instruct me about my own horse? Now -listen you young imp. Use the whip moderately, Dashaway comes of stock -that won’t stand whip and spur. If he runs away, just give him his -head, and if you don’t remember every word I tell you, by the Lord -Harry, I’ll make you dance by the time you are out of the saddle!” - -“Good Gord A’mighty, marster,” puts in Petrarch. “Dashaway, he ain’ -never gwi’ run away. He too ole, an’ he ain’t strong ’nuff--” - -“Good Gad, sir, was ever a man so tormented by such a set of black -rascals? Hold your tongue--don’t let me hear another word from you, not -another word, sir.” - -The jockey, who takes the Colonel’s words at their full value, which -Petrarch discounts liberally, begins to stutter with fright. - -“M--m--marster, ef I jes’ kin git Dashaway ’long wid de res’--” - -“Silence, sir,” shouts the Colonel, “and remember every word I tell -you, or----” Colonel Berkeley’s appalling countenance and uplifted cane -complete the rest. - -Dashaway is not only conspicuously the worst of the lot, but the most -troublesome. Half a dozen good starts might be made but for Dashaway. -At last the flag drops. “Go!” yells the starter, and the horses are -off. Dashaway takes his place promptly in the rear, and daylight -steadily widens between him and the last horse. As the field comes -thundering down the homestretch the spanking roan well in the lead, -Dashaway is at least a quarter of a mile behind, blowing like a whale, -and the jockey is whipping furiously, his arm flying around like a -windmill. The Colonel is fairly dancing with rage. - -Colonel Berkeley is not the man to lose a race to the Hibbses with -composure, and Petrarch’s condolences, reminiscences, prophecies and -deductions were not of a consolatory character. - -“Ole Marse, I done tole you, Dashaway warn’t fitten ter run, at de very -startment. He been a mighty good horse, but he c’yarn snuffle de battle -fum befo’, an’ say Hay! hay! like de horse in de Bible no mo’.” - -“Shut up, sir--shut up. Religion and horse racing don’t mix,” roars the -Colonel. - -“Naw suh, dey doan! When de horse racin’ folks is burnin’ in de lake -full er brimstone an’ sulphur, de ’ligious folks will be rastlin’ wid -de golden harps--” Petrarch’s sermon is cut ruthlessly short by Colonel -Berkeley suddenly catching sight of the unfortunate jockey in a vain -attempt to get out of the way. But his day of reckoning had come. -Petrarch had collared him, and the Colonel proceeded to give him what -he called a dressing-down, liberally punctuated with flourishes of a -bamboo cane. - -“Didn’t I tell you,” he was shouting to the unhappy youngster, “to -make the running--_to make the running, hay_?” - -“M--m--marster, I ’clar to Gord, I thot’ Dashaway wuz gw’in’ to drap -’fo I git him to de half-mile pos’--” - -“_Drap_--you scoundrel, _drap_! The blood of Sir Henry _drap_! You -confounded rascal, you pulled that horse,” etc., etc., etc. - -Mrs. Peyton laughed. “It does my heart good to hear Tom Berkeley raging -like that. It reminds me that we are not all dead or changed, as it -seems to me sometimes. Your father and I have had passages-at-arms in -_my_ time, I can tell you, Olivia.” - -Clang! presently again. It is the saddling bell once more. But there -is no Dashaway in this race. Nevertheless it is very exciting. There -are half a dozen horses, and after the start is made it looks to be -anybody’s race. Even as they come pounding down the straight sweep -of the last two furlongs, it would be hard to pick out the probable -winner. The people on the grand stand have gone wild--they are shouting -names, the men waving their hats, the women standing up on benches to -see as two or three horses gradually draw away from the others, and a -desperate struggle is promised within the last thirty lengths. And just -at this moment, when everybody’s attention is fixed on the incoming -horses, French Pembroke has slipped across the track and is speaking -to the blonde woman in the victoria. His face does not look pleasant. -He has chosen this moment, when all attention is fixed on something -else to speak to her, so that it will not be observed--and although he -adopts the subterfuge, he despises it. Nor does the blonde woman fail -to see through it. She does not relish being spoken to on the sly as it -were. Nothing, however, disturbs the cheerful urbanity of the gentleman -by her side. He gets out of the carriage and grasps Pembroke by the -hand. He calls him “mon cher” a vulgar mode of address which Pembroke -resents with a curt “Good-morning, Mr. Ahlberg,” and then he lifts his -hat to the lady whom he calls Madame Koller. “Why did you not come -before?” she asks, “you might have known it would be dull enough.” - -“Don’t you know everybody here?” - -“Oh, yes,” replied Madame Koller, sighing profoundly. “I remember all -of them--and most of the men have called. Some of them are so strange. -They stay all day when they come. And such queer carriages.” - -“And the costumes. The costumes!” adds Mr. Ahlberg on the ground. - -Pembroke felt a sense of helpless indignation. He answered Mr. Ahlberg -by turning his back, and completely ignoring that excessively stylish -person. - -“You must remember the four years’ harrowing they have been through,” -he says to Madame Koller. “But they are so thoroughly established -in their own esteem,” he adds with a little malice, “that they are -indifferent even to the disapproval of Madame Koller. I am glad to see -you looking so well. I must, however, leave you now, as I am one of -the managers, and must look after the weighing.” - -“Now you are going away because I have been disagreeable,” remarked -Madame Koller reproachfully. “And poor Ahlberg--” - -“Must take care of you, and do his best to amuse you,” answered -Pembroke with a laugh and a look that classed Ahlberg with Madame’s -poodle or her parrot. “Good-bye,” and in a minute he was gone. Madame -Koller looked sulky. Mr. Ahlberg’s good humor and composure were -perfectly unruffled. - -Hardly any one noticed Pembroke’s little expedition except Mrs. -Peyton and Olivia Berkeley. Mrs. Peyton mounted a pair of large gold -spectacles, and then remarked to Olivia: - -“My dear, there’s French Pembroke talking to my niece, Eliza Peyton--” -Mrs. Peyton was a Peyton before she married one--“Madame Elise Koller -she now calls herself.” - -“Yes, I see.” - -“I suppose you saw a good deal of her in Paris, and my sister-in-law, -Sarah Scaife that was--now Madame Schmidt. She showed me the dear -departed’s picture the other day--a horrid little wretch he looked, -while my brother, Edmund Peyton, was the handsomest young man in the -county.” - -“We saw Madame Koller quite often,” said Olivia. Mrs. Peyton was -amazingly clever as a mind reader, and saw in a moment there was no -love lost between Olivia Berkeley and Madame Koller. - -“And that Mr. Ahlberg. Sarah Scaife says he is a cousin of Eliza’s--I -mean Elise’s--husband.” - -“I should think if anybody knew the facts in the case it would be Sarah -Scaife, as you call her,” replied Olivia laughing. “I believe he is a -very harmless kind of a man.” - -At that Mrs. Peyton took off her spectacles and looked at Olivia keenly. - -“I hate to believe you are a goose,” she said, good-naturedly; “but you -must be very innocent. Harmless! That is the very thing that man is -not.” - -“So papa says, but I think it comes from Mr. Ahlberg eating asparagus -with his fingers and not knowing how to play whist, or something of -the kind. I have seen him on and off at watering places, and in Paris -for two or three years. I never saw him do anything that wasn’t quite -right--and I never heard anything against him except what you and papa -say--and that is rather indefinite.” - -“And you didn’t observe my niece with French Pembroke, did you?” - -Olivia Berkeley’s face turned a warm color. Such very plain spoken -persons as Mrs. Peyton were a little embarrassing. But just then came -the sound of the Colonel’s voice, raised at a considerable distance. - -“Olivia, my love--God bless my soul--Mrs. Peyton--there’s that charming -niece of yours--what a creature she was when she lived in this county -as Eliza Peyton--a regular stunner, begad--I must go and speak to -her--and my particular friend, Ahlberg--excuse me a moment, my love.” -Colonel Berkeley stalked across the track, receiving all the attention -which Pembroke had tried to avoid. Life in his beloved Virginia had -almost driven the Colonel distracted by its dullness, and he could -not but welcome a fellow creature from the outside. He buttoned his -light overcoat trimly around his still handsome figure, and bowed -majestically when he reached the carriage. Madame Koller returned the -bow with a brilliant smile. She was beginning to feel very much alone, -albeit she was in her native county, and she welcomed Colonel Berkeley -as a deliverer. Evidently she soothed him about Dashaway. Pembroke, -passing by, heard scraps like the following: - -“I have seen just such things at the Grand Prix--” - -“Madame, the infernal system here of putting up irresponsible negro -boys--” - -“I could see he had a superb stride--” - -“Dashaway, Madame Koller, comes from the very best stock in the State -of Virginia.” - -The day wore on, and by dint of spinning things out most unconscionably -it was dusk of the clear autumn evening before the cavalcade took -the dusty white road toward home. In “the Isleham carriage” Colonel -Berkeley leaned back and waxed confidential with his daughter. - -“My dear, Eliza Peyton--Madame Koller I should say--is what you young -sprigs call green--excessively green. She imagines because I am old I -am a fool. And that precious scamp, Ahlberg--” - -“Why do you call him a scamp, papa?” - -“Why do I call Petrarch an African?” - -“Mrs. Peyton seems to have some kind of a prejudice to Mr. Ahlberg, -too.” - -“Aha, trust Sally Peyton to see for herself. She’s devilish tricky, -is Sally Peyton--not that I have any cause to complain of it--none -whatever. She’s very sharp. But we’ll go and call some day on -Eli--Madame Koller. She’s not bad company for the country--and I’ve -heard she could sing, too.” - -“Yes, we will go,” answered Olivia, suppressing a yawn. “It’s in the -country, as you say.” - - - - -CHAPTER II. - - -DOES anybody ever ask what becomes of the _prime donne_ who break down -early? Madame Koller could have told something about their miseries, -from the first struggling steps up to the pinnacle when they can fight -with managers, down again to the point when the most dreadful sound -that nature holds--so she thought--a hiss--laid them figuratively among -the dead. Nature generally works methodically, but in Madame Koller’s -case, she seemed to take a delight in producing grapes from thorns. -Without one atom of artistic heredity, surroundings or atmosphere to -draw upon, Eliza Peyton had come into the world an artist. She had a -voice, and she grew up with the conviction that there was nothing in -the world but voices and pianos. It is not necessary to repeat how -in her girlhood, by dint of her widowed mother marrying a third rate -German professor, she got to Munich and to Milan--nor how the voice, -at first astonishingly pure and beautiful, suddenly lost its pitch, -then disappeared altogether. It is true that after a time it came back -to her partially. She could count on it for an hour at a time, but no -more. Of course there was no longer any career for her, and she nearly -went crazy with grief--then she consoled herself with M. Koller, an -elderly Swiss manufacturer. In some way, although she was young and -handsome and accomplished, she found in her continental travels that -the best Americans and English avoided the Kollers. This she rashly -attributed to the fact of her having had a brief professional career, -and she became as anxious to conceal it as she had once been anxious -to pursue it. M. Koller was a hypochondriac, and went from Carlsbad to -Wiesbaden, from Wiesbaden to Hyéres, from Hyéres to Aix-les-Bains. He -was always fancying himself dying, but one day at Vichy, death came -quite unceremoniously and claimed him just as he had made up his mind -to get well. Thus Eliza Koller found herself a widow, still young and -handsome, with a comfortable fortune, and a negative mother to play -propriety. She went straight to Paris as soon as the period of her -mourning was over. It was then toward the latter part of the civil war -in America, and there were plenty of Southerners in Paris. There she -met Colonel Berkeley and Olivia, and for the first time in her adult -life, she had a fixed place in society--there was a circle in which she -was known. - -What most troubled her, was what rôle to take up--whether she should be -an American, a French woman, an Italian, a German, or a cosmopolitan. -For she was like all, and was distinctively none. In Paris at that -time, she met a cousin of her late husband--Mr. Ahlberg, also a Swiss, -but in the Russian diplomatic service. He was a sixth Secretary of -Legation, and had hard work making his small salary meet his expenses. -He was a handsome man, very blonde, and extremely well-dressed. -Madame Koller often wondered if his tailor were not a very confiding -person. For Ahlberg’s part, he sincerely liked his cousin, as he -called her, and quite naturally slipped into the position of a friend -of the family. Everything perhaps would have been arranged to his -satisfaction, if just at that time the war had not closed, and French -Pembroke and his brother came to Paris that the surgeons might work -upon poor Miles. They could not but meet often at the Berkeleys, and -Pembroke, it must be admitted, was not devoid of admiration for the -handsome Madame Koller, who had the divine voice--when she could be -persuaded to sing, which was not often. He had been rather attentive -to her, much to Ahlberg’s disgust. And to Ahlberg’s infinite rage, -Madame Koller fell distinctly and unmistakably in love with Pembroke. -If Ahlberg had only known the truth, Pembroke was really the first -gentleman that poor Madame Koller had ever known intimately since her -childhood in Virginia. Certainly the wildest stretch of imagination -could not call the late Koller a gentleman, and even Ahlberg himself, -although a member of the diplomatic corps, hardly came under that -description. - -Pembroke had a kind of hazy idea that widows could take care of -themselves. Besides, he was not really in love with her--only a little -dazzled by her voice and her yellow hair. His wrath may be imagined -when after a considerable wrench in tearing himself away from Paris, -and when he had begun to regard Olivia Berkeley with that lofty -approval which sometimes precedes love making, to return to Virginia, -and in six weeks to find Madame Schmidt and Madame Koller established -at their old place, The Beeches, and Ahlberg, who had been their -shadow for two years, living at the village tavern. He felt that this -following him, on the part of Madame Koller, made him ridiculous. -He was mortally afraid of being laughed at about it. Instead of -holding his own stoutly in acrid discussions with Colonel Berkeley, -Pembroke began to be afraid of the old gentleman’s pointed allusions -to the widow. He even got angry with poor little Miles when the boy -ventured upon a little sly chaff. As for Olivia Berkeley, she took -Madame Koller’s conduct in coming to Virginia in high dudgeon, with -that charming inconsequence of noble and inexperienced women. What -particular offense it gave her, beyond the appearance of following -Pembroke, which was shocking to her good taste, she could not have -explained to have saved her life. But with Madame Koller she took a -tone of politeness, sweet yet chilly, like frozen cream--and the same -in a less degree, toward Pembroke. She seemed to say, “Odious and -underbred as this thing is, I, you see, can afford to be magnanimous.” -Colonel Berkeley chuckled at this on the part of his daughter, as he -habitually did at the innocent foibles of his fellow creatures. It was -very innocent, very feminine, and very exasperating. - -Nevertheless, within a week the big landau was drawn up, and Colonel -Berkeley and his daughter set forth, _en grand tenue_, with Petrarch on -the box, to call on Madame Koller. The Colonel had never ceased teasing -his daughter to go. Time hung heavy on his hands, and although he had -not found Madame Koller particularly captivating elsewhere, and Madame -Schmidt bored him to death upon the few occasions when she appeared, -yet, when he was at Isleham, the ladies at The Beeches assumed quite -a fascinating aspect to his imagination. The Colonel had a private -notion of his own that Madame Koller had been a little too free with -her income, and that a year’s retirement would contribute to the health -of her finances. Olivia, however, believed that Madame Koller had but -one object in returning to America, and that was because Pembroke had -come. She remembered one evening in Paris, Pembroke had “dropped in,” -American fashion. The doctors had then said that nothing could be done -to restore poor Miles to comeliness--and meanwhile, another blow had -fallen upon the two brothers. Their only sister, Elizabeth, a handsome, -high spirited girl, older than they, had died--and there had been a -violent breach between her and their father to which death alone put -a truce. When the country was overrun with troops, a Federal officer -had protected the plantation as far as he could, had saved the old -father from the consequences of his own rash conduct, and had taken -a deep and tender interest in the daughter. This was enough to blast -Elizabeth’s life. She gave up her lover--silently, but with a strange -unyielding gentleness, she kept aloof from her father. She was not -condemned to suffer long. The unhappy father followed her swiftly to -the old burying ground at Malvern. Men commonly seek distraction in -griefs. Pembroke was like the rest. He was popular, especially among -the English colony where his love of sports and manly accomplishments -made him a favorite--to say nothing of that prestige, which attaches to -a man who has seen service. He had gone into the war a lieutenant, and -had come out as major of his ragged, half-starved regiment. Therefore -when Pembroke idled and amused himself in Paris, for some time Olivia -could only feel sympathy for him. She knew well enough that his means -were small and the company he kept was liable to diminish them--but -after a while, she began to feel a hot indignation against him. So on -this particular evening, the Colonel falling asleep opportunely, she -took occasion to express her opinion to Pembroke, that their ruined -country needed the presence and the service of every man she could call -her own. Pembroke defended himself warmly at first. He came for Miles’ -sake--the boy whom he had thought safe at school, and who ran away in -the very last days of the war to enlist--and almost the last shot that -was fired--so Pembroke said bitterly--disfigured the boy as he now -was. Miles had been eager to come, although Pembroke was convinced from -the beginning that neither the French, nor any other surgeons could -repair the work of that shot. He admitted that the boy had borne the -final decision with great manliness and courage “for such a little -chap,” the elder brother said fondly. When pressed hard by Olivia about -returning home, Pembroke though had no resource but epigrams. - -“At all events,” she said presently, with a pretty air of heroism, -“Papa and I are going home just as soon as papa can do without his -crutch. Papa is a patriot, although he does talk so remarkably -sometimes.” - -“Then, after you have got back, you can let me know how you like -Virginia as it is, and perhaps I will follow,” he answered, laughing -in a very exasperating way, Olivia thought. But when the Berkeleys -got home they found that the Pembrokes had arrived some weeks before -them--and soon afterward Madame Koller and her mother turned up quite -unexpectedly at their deserted old place, only to be followed shortly -after by Ahlberg, who, from his abode at the village tavern rode over -every day on a sorry nag, to see Madame Koller. - -Imagine all this in a provincial country neighborhood! - -Mr. Cole, the clergyman of Petsworth parish, was a bachelor, a small, -neatly-featured person, suspected of High Church leanings. The Colonel -had bluntly inquired of him if he intended to call on Madame Koller. - -“Hardly, I think, sir,” responded Mr. Cole, with much severity. “She -has not once been to church since she returned to the county--and she -only two miles off--and I hear that she and her friend Mr. Ahlberg play -billiards all day long Sunday, when they are not playing cards.” - -“Only the more reason for you to convert the heathen, ha! ha!” -answered the Colonel--“and let me tell you, Cole, if you hadn’t been a -clergyman, you would have been a regular slayer among the women--and -the heathen in this case is about as pretty a heathen as you can find -in the State of Virginia, sir.” - -Evidently these remarks made a great impression on Mr. Cole, for on the -sunny afternoon, when Colonel Berkeley and Olivia drove up to the door -of The Beeches, they saw a clerical looking figure disappear ahead of -them within the doorway. - -“The parson’s here, by Jove,” chuckled the Colonel. - -The house was modern and rather showy. Inside there were evidences that -Madame Koller was not devoid of taste or money either. The Berkeleys -were ushered into a big square drawing-room, where, seated in a -high-backed chair, with his feet barely touching the floor, was the -little clergyman. - -“Why, Cole, I am deuced glad you took my advice,” cried the Colonel, -advancing with outstretched hand and with a kind of hearty good -fellowship that pleased Mr. Cole, and yet frightened him a little. He -was a good soul and divided his small salary with his mother, but he -thought Colonel Berkeley’s society rather dangerous for a clergyman. He -used too many expletives, and was altogether too free in his notions of -what a churchman should be--for the Colonel was a stanch churchman, and -would have sworn like a pirate at anybody who questioned his orthodoxy. - -“Doing missionary work, hay, Mr. Cole?” continued Colonel Berkeley, -while Olivia and Mr. Cole shook hands. - -A faint pink mounted into the clergyman’s face. His curiosity had got -the better of him, but the excellent little man fancied it was his -Christian charity that won the victory. - -“Well, Colonel,” he begun, “upon reflection I concluded it was my duty -to call on Madame Koller. I wasn’t in this parish--in fact, I wasn’t -ordained at the time Madame Koller was Miss Eliza Peyton, and Madame -Schmidt was Mrs. Edward Peyton. And being the niece of my excellent -friend--Mrs. Sally Peyton--” - -“Excellent friend, eh--well, don’t you trust Sally Peyton too far, my -good fellow. She was a mighty uncertain kind of a friend thirty or -forty years ago--not that I have any particular reason for saying so. -But you are quite right in paying your respects to Eliza Peyton--I mean -Madame Koller, and I only hope she’ll find our society agreeable enough -to stay here.” - -A considerable wait ensued. Olivia had begun to wonder how long it -took Madame Koller to make a complete toilet, when a white hand moved -the curtain from a doorway, and noiselessly and gently Madame Koller -entered. - -She was heartily glad to see them--their call was not very prompt, -but it would have been a cruel mortification had they omitted to -come. Olivia’s hand she pressed--so she did the Colonel’s--and also -Mr. Cole’s, who colored quite violently, although he struggled for -self-possession. - -“We are very glad you have come,” said Olivia, with her sweetest -affability, “you will be a great acquisition to the neighborhood. You -see, I am already beginning to think more of our own neighborhood than -all the rest of the universe.” - -“Thank you for your kindness,” answered Madame Koller, with equal -cordiality. The two women, however, did not cease to examine each other -like gladiators. - -“And Mr. Cole, I think you were not here when I lived at The Beeches as -a girl.” - -“No, madam,” replied Mr. Cole, who had now shaded from a red to a pink. - -“And did I not have the pleasure of seeing you at the Campdown races -the other day?” - -Mr. Cole turned pale and nearly dropped off his chair. The Colonel -roared out his pleasant cheery laugh. - -“No madam, you did not.” Mr. Cole made his denial so emphatic that he -was ashamed of himself for it afterwards. - -“But you, Miss Berkeley, were there. My cousin Ahlberg saw you. -He praised you. He complimented you. ‘I have often seen that -face,’ he said. ‘There are some faces which one remembers even -in the whirl of the greatest cities. I drive around the Bois de -Boulogne--once--twice--three times. I speak to a hundred friends. I see -a thousand faces. They pass before me like shadows of the night. One -face strikes me. It rises like a star from out the sea. Ah, I exclaim, -‘here is another photograph for my mental portrait gallery.’” - -Neither the Colonel nor Olivia was fully prepared to accept Ahlberg. -Consequently, Madame Koller’s remark was received with a cool smile by -Olivia--and a sniff by the Colonel. But Mr. Cole was quite carried away -by Madame Koller’s declamatory manner, and her really beautiful voice. - -“What a gift of tongues,” he said. “Madame Koller, if a--er--public -speaker--a religious instructor had your felicity of expression--” - -“I trust,” answered Madame, “some time to have the pleasure of hearing -_your_ felicity of expression. I am not what you call a Christian. I -believe in a system of ultimate good--a philosophy if you will--” - -“Yes, yes,” cordially chimed in Colonel Berkeley with something -dangerously like a wink, “I knew Madame, as soon as I saw you that you -believed in a system. It’s very useful and elastic and philosophic.” - -Madame playfully waved her hand at the colonel, and turned to Mr. Cole. - -“We will be friends, nevertheless,” she said with a captivating -smile. “I will visit your church in the morning, and you will return -to luncheon with me, and we will have a little game of billiards -afterward.” - -Mr. Cole’s delicate face grew ashy. He, John Chrysostom Cole, playing -billiards on Sunday! What would his mother say--and what would the -bishop say! Olivia looked a little shocked because of course Madame -Koller must know better. Not so the Colonel. He laughed heartlessly at -Mr. Cole, and began to think Eliza Peyton was a more amusing person -than he had fancied. - -“Madame Koller,” began Mr. Cole solemnly after a moment, “your -long absence from this country--your unfamiliarity with clergymen -perhaps--and with the American Sabbath--” - -“Oh, yes, I remember the American Sabbath very well,” replied Madame -Koller laughing and raising her eyebrows. “My aunt, Mrs. Peyton, always -took me to church with her, and I had to listen to Dr. Steptoe’s -sermons. Oh those sermons! However,” she added, turning her expressive -eyes full on Mr. Cole. “I know, I _know_ yours must be very different. -Well, I will go. And forgive me, if I sometimes shock you--forgive and -pity me.” - -Mr. Cole thought that only a heart of stone could have hardened against -that pretty appeal. And the widow was so deliciously charming with -her half-foreign manner and her whole-foreign look. But billiards on -Sunday! - -“Extend the invitation to me, ma’am,” said the Colonel. “I go to church -on Sunday--I have no system, just the plain religious belief of a -churchman and a gentleman--my ancestors were not a lot of psalm-singing -hypocrites, but cavaliers, madam, from the Court of Charles the Second. -But after I’ve been to church to please my conscience and my daughter, -I don’t mind pleasing myself a little. I’ll play billiards with you--” - -The door opened and Ahlberg appeared. Now Mr. Ahlberg was not a -favorite of Colonel Berkeley’s at any time--still less of Olivia’s; but -it was in the country, and it was very, very dull, so he got the most -cordial greeting he had ever had from either of them. The conversation -became general, and as soon as Ahlberg had the opportunity, he edged -toward Olivia. He was no gentle, unsophisticated creature, like Mr. -Cole. He knew that Olivia Berkeley’s polite and self-possessed manner -toward him concealed a certain hardness. He made no particular headway -in her good graces he saw--and not much more in the Colonel’s. But -both gentlemen were hard up for amusement, and each was willing to be -amused, so, when Mr. Ahlberg, after a few well-bred vacuities with -Olivia, devoted himself to Colonel Berkeley, he was rewarded with the -intimation that the Colonel would call on him at the village tavern, -and this was followed up by another hint of a dinner invitation to -follow. This cheered Mr. Ahlberg very much, for to tell the truth he -was as near starvation as a man could be in this nineteenth century, -who had money in his pocket. If, however, Mr. Ahlberg had made it -his business to horrify Mr. Cole, he could not have done it more -thoroughly. He bewailed the absence of book-makers at the races, and -wished to know why elections were not held in America on Sunday, took -occasion to say that religion was merely an affair of the State, and -he too was a believer in a system. When they all rose to go, poor Mr. -Cole was quite limp and overcome, but he made an effort to retain -his self-possession. He urged both Madame Koller and Mr. Ahlberg to -attend the morning service on the following Sunday. Both promised -conditionally. - -The clergyman had walked over from the rectory where his mother -presided over his modest establishment. - -“Come, Cole,” cried the Colonel, who was the soul of hospitality, -“here’s another seat in the carriage. Come back to dinner with us. I’ve -got some capital champagne, and Olivia will play for you.” - -“I don’t care about the champagne, thank you,” answered Mr. Cole, “but -I’ll come for the pleasure of Miss Olivia’s playing and her society -also.” - -Scarcely had the carriage turned into the lane, when Mr. Cole burst -forth: - -“Miss Olivia, did you ever meet a more godless person in your life than -Mr. Ahlberg?” - -“I don’t think I ever did,” answered Olivia, with much sincerity. - -“But the widow--Eliza Peyton--eh, Cole? I think you have made some -headway there,” cried the Colonel, wagging his head at the little -clergyman. Mr. Cole’s heart began to thump. Strange it was that -although he ought, as a Christian and a clergyman, to disapprove of -Madame Koller with her beautiful blonde hair, he could not find it in -his heart to feel it. Nevertheless he could say it easily enough. - -“I very much doubt, sir, the propriety of my visiting at The Beeches.” - -“Pooh, pooh. You’ll get over it,” chuckled Colonel Berkeley. - -Ah, John Chrysostom! Has it never been known that the outward man -denounced what the inward man yearned and hankered after? At this very -moment do you not remember the turn of Madame Koller’s handsome head, -and the faint perfume that exhaled from her trailing gown? - -“We must invite them to dinner,” said the Colonel, decidedly. “Cole, -you must come, too. That poor devil, Ahlberg, is almost starved at the -tavern on fried chicken three times a day, and claret from the tavern -bar.” - - - - -CHAPTER III. - - -A ROUND of solemn afternoon dinings followed the return of the -Berkeleys to Isleham, and were scrupulously returned. But both the -Colonel and Olivia felt that it would not be well to include any of -the county gentry the day Madame Koller and Mr. Ahlberg were to dine -with them. Mr. Cole had already been invited--and Colonel Berkeley -of his own free will, without saying a word to Olivia, asked the two -Pembrokes. Olivia, when she heard of this, was intensely vexed. She -had used both sarcasm and persuasion on Pembroke in Paris to get -him home, and he had laughed at her. Yet she was firmly convinced, -as soon as Madame Koller expressed a determination to come, either -Pembroke had agreed, or else Madame Koller had followed him--in either -case Olivia was not pleased, and received the Colonel’s information -that the Pembrokes would be there sure in ominous silence. Nothing -remained but for her to show what a remarkably good dinner she could -give--and this she felt was clearly within her power. She was naturally -a clever housekeeper, and as the case often was in those days, the -freedom of the negroes had made but little difference in the ménage -at Isleham. Most of the house servants had turned squatters on the -plantation. Petrarch, unpopular among his confrères because of his -superior advantages and accomplishments as well as his assumption -of righteousness, was the major-domo--and then there was Ike, a -gingerbread colored Chesterfield, as dining-room servant. - -“Miss ’Livy, you jes’ let me manage dem black niggers,” was Petrarch’s -sensible advice. “Dey doan know nuttin’ ’bout a real swell dinner. -I say yistiddy to Cook M’ria, ‘Why doan yer have some orntrees fur -dinner outen all dat chicken an’ truck you has lef’ over ev’y day?’ -an’ Miss ’Livy, ef you will b’lieve me, dat nigger, she chase me outen -de kitchen wid a shovel full o’ live coals. She ain’ got no ’spect -for ’ligion. Arter I got out in de yard, I say, ‘You discontemptuous, -disreligious ole cantamount, doan’ you know better’n to sass de -Lord’s ’n’inted?’” (this being Petrarch’s favorite characterization -of himself). “But M’ria ain’ got de sperrit ’scusin’ ’tis de sperrit -o’ owdaciousness. Ez fur dat Ike, I done tole him ‘I am de Gord o’ -respicution,’ an’ he ’low I ain’t no sech a thing. I gwi’n lick dat -yaller nigger fo’ long.” - -“You’d better not try it Uncle Petrarch--” (Petrarch was near to sixty, -and was therefore by courtesy, Uncle Petrarch). “Ike won’t stand it, -and _I_ won’t have it either, I can tell you.” - -The Berkeleys went against the county custom, and dined in the evening. -Therefore, at seven o’clock precisely, on the evening of the dinner, -French Pembroke and his brother entered the quaint old drawing-room -at Isleham. Olivia had learned the possibilities of ancient mahogany -furniture and family portraits, and the great rambling old house was -picturesque enough. A genuine Virginia wood fire roared up the chimney, -where most of the heat as well as the flame went. Wax candles, in tall -silver candlesticks, were on the mantel, and the piano. Miss Berkeley -herself, in a white wool gown, looked a part of the pleasant home-like -picture, as she greeted her two guests. French Pembroke had called -twice to see them, but neither time had Olivia been at home. This, -then, was their first meeting, except the few minutes at the races. -He was the same easy, pleasantly cynical Pembroke she had known in -Paris. There was another French Pembroke whom she remembered in her -childish days as very good natured, when he was not very tyrannical, -in the visits she used to pay with her dead and gone mother long ago -to Malvern--and this other Pembroke could recite wonderful poetry out -of books, and scare little Miles and herself into delicious spasms of -terror by the weird stories he would tell. But Miles had changed in -every way. He had been in his earlier boyish days the pet and darling -of women, but now he slunk away from the pity in their tender eyes. He -had once had a mannish little strut and a way of looking out of his -bold blue eyes that made a path for him wherever he chose to tread. But -now he shambled in, keeping as far out of sight as possible behind the -elder brother’s stalwart figure. - -Colonel Berkeley shook Miles’s one hand cordially. His armless sleeve -was pinned up to his coat front. - -“God bless my soul,” the Colonel cried. “Am I getting old? Here’s -little Miles Pembroke almost a man.” - -“Almost--papa--you mean quite a man. It is a dreadful reflection to me -that I am older than Miles,” said Olivia, smiling. Then they sat about -the fire, and Olivia, putting her fan down in her lap, looked French -Pembroke full in the face and said, “You know, perhaps, that Madame -Koller and Mr. Ahlberg dine here to-night?” - -“Yes,” answered Pembroke, with all the coolness of conscious -innocence--or brazen assurance of careless wickedness, Olivia could not -tell which. - -“You saw a good deal of them abroad, didn’t you?” was her next question. - -“Yes,” again replied Pembroke. - -“Olivia, my dear,” said her father, who very much enjoyed this little -episode, “you women will never learn that you can’t find anything out -by asking questions; and Pembroke, my boy, remember that women never -believe you except when you are lying to them. Let him alone, Olivia, -and he will tell you the whole story, I’ll warrant.” - -Olivia’s training had made her something of a stoic under Colonel -Berkeley’s remarks, but at this a deep red dyed her clear pale face. -She was the best of daughters, but she could at that moment have -cheerfully inflicted condign punishment on her father. Pembroke saw -it too, not without a little malicious satisfaction. She had quietly -assumed in her tone and manner that he was in some way responsible for -Madame Koller and her mother being at The Beeches--an incident fraught -with much discomfort for him--none the less that there was nothing -tragic about it, but rather ridiculous. All the same, he determined to -set himself right on the spot. - -“Of course, I saw them often. It would have been quite unpardonable if -I had not, considering we were often in the same places--and our land -joins. I can’t say that I recollect Madame Koller very much before she -went away. I only remember her as rather an ugly little thing, always -strumming on the piano. I took the liberty of telling both her and -Madame Schmidt that I did not think they would find a winter at The -Beeches very pleasant--but it seems she did not agree with me. Ahlberg -is a cousin by marriage, and has been in the diplomatic corps--” - -And at that very moment Petrarch threw open the drawing-room door and -announced “Mrs. Koller and Mr. Ahlberg, sah.” - -Madame Koller’s appearance was none the less striking in evening dress, -with ropes of amber around her neck, and some very fine diamonds. Who -says that women are indifferent to each other? The instant Olivia -beheld Madame Koller in her gorgeous trailing gown of yellow silk, -and her jewels, she felt plain, insignificant, and colorless both in -features, dress and manner--while Madame Koller, albeit she knew both -herself and other women singularly well, almost envied Olivia the -girlish simplicity, the slightness and grace that made her a pretty -picture in her white gown with the bunch of late autumn roses at her -belt. - -The clergyman came last. Then Petrarch opened the folding doors and -announced dinner, and Colonel Berkeley gallantly offering his arm to -Madame Koller, they all marched in. - -Something like a sigh of satisfaction escaped Mr. Ahlberg. Once more he -was to dine. Madame Koller sat on the Colonel’s right, and at her right -was Mr. Cole. The clergyman’s innocent heart beat when he saw this -arrangement. He still fancied that he strongly disapproved of Madame -Koller, the more so when he saw the nonchalant way in which she took -champagne and utterly ignored the carafe of water at her plate. Mr. -Cole took only claret, and watered that liberally. - -Madame Koller certainly had a very pretty manner--rather elaborate and -altogether different from Olivia’s self-possessed simplicity. She spoke -of her mother--“so happy once more to be back in Virginia.” Madame -Schmidt, always wrapped up in shawls, and who never volunteered a -remark to anybody in her life, scarcely seemed to outsiders to be quite -capable of any enjoyment. And Aunt Peyton--dear Aunt Peyton--so kind, -so handsome--so anxious that people shall please themselves--“Upon -my soul, madam,” cried the Colonel, with much hearty good humor, -“I am delighted to hear that last about my old friend Sally Peyton. -I’ve known her well for fifty years--perhaps she wouldn’t acknowledge -it--and a more headstrong, determined, self-willed woman I never saw. -Sally is a good woman, and by heaven, she was a devilish pretty one -when--when--you may have heard the story, ma’am--but she always wanted -to please herself a d--n sight more than anybody else--including Ned -Peyton.” - -The Colonel said this quite pleasantly, and Madame Koller smiled -at it--she seldom laughed. “Were you not some years in the army, -Colonel Berkeley?” she asked presently. “It seems to me I have some -recollection of having heard it.” Colonel Berkeley colored slightly. -He valued his military title highly, but he didn’t know exactly how he -came by it. - -“The fact is madam,” he replied, clearing his throat, “in the old -days we had a splendid militia. Don’t you remember the general -musters, hay? Now I was the--the commanding officer of the Virginia -Invincibles--a crack cavalry company, composed exclusively of the -county gentlemen--and in some way, they called me colonel, and a -colonel I remained.” - -“The title seems quite natural,” said Madame Koller, with a sweet -smile--“You have such a military carriage--that indescribable air--” -at which the Colonel, who never tired of laughing at other people’s -foibles, straightened up, assumed a martial pose, and showed vast -elation and immense pleasure--which Madame Koller saw out of the corner -of her eye. - -Miles, sitting next Olivia, had grown confidential. “I--I--want to tell -you,” he said bashfully, “the reason why I didn’t come to see you in -Paris. It required some nerve for a fellow--in my condition--to face a -woman--even the best and kindest.” - -“Was that it?” answered Olivia half smiling. - -“You are laughing at me,” he said reproachfully. - -“Of course I am,” replied Olivia. - -A genuine look of relief stole into his poor face. Perhaps it was not -so bad after all if Olivia Berkeley could laugh at his sensitiveness. - -“So,” continued Olivia, promptly, “you acted like a vain, foolish boy. -But I see you are getting over it.” - -“I’ll try. You wouldn’t treat me so cavalierly, would you, if--if--it -were quite--dreadful?” - -“No, it isn’t dreadful at all, or anything like it,” replied Olivia, -telling one of those generous and womanly fibs that all true women -utter with the full approval of their consciences. - -Meanwhile, Ahlberg and Pembroke had been conversing. Ahlberg was indeed -a clever fellow--for he talked in a straightforward way, and gave -not the slightest ground in anything he said for the suspicion that -Pembroke obstinately cherished against him. - -“What do you do with yourself all day, Miss Berkeley?” asked Pembroke -after a while. - -“There is plenty to do. I have a dozen servants to manage that ran -wild while we were away--and the house to keep, and to look after -the garden--and I ride or drive every day--and keep up my piano -playing--and read a little. What do you do?” - -“Nothing,” answered Pembroke, boldly. - -Olivia did not say a word. She threw him one brief glance though, from -her dark eyes that conveyed a volume. - -“I have a license to practice law,” he continued, coolly. “I’ve had it -for five years--got it just before the State went out, when I went out -too. Four years’ soldiering isn’t a good preparation for the law.” - -“Ah!” said Olivia. - -“I have enough left, I daresay, to keep me without work,” he added. - -If he had studied how to make himself contemptible in Olivia’s -eyes, he could not have done so more completely. She had acquired -perfect self-possession of manner, but her mobile face was as yet -undisciplined. When to this last remark she said in her sweetest -manner, “Won’t you let Petrarch fill your glass?” it was equivalent to -saying, “You are the most worthless and contemptible creature on this -planet.” Just then the Colonel’s cheery voice resounded from the foot -of the table. - -“Pembroke, when I drove through the Court House to-day, it made me feel -like a young man again, to see your father’s old tin sign hanging out -of the old office, ‘French Pembroke, Attorney at Law.’ It has been a -good many years since that sign was first put up. Egad, your father -and I have had some good times in that office, in the old, old days. -He always kept a first-class brand of liquors. His style of serving -it wasn’t very imposing, but it didn’t hurt the liquor. I’ve drank -cognac fit for a king in that office, and drank it out of a shaving mug -borrowed from the barber next door--ha! ha!” - -A change like magic swept over Olivia’s face. It indicated great relief -that Pembroke was not an idle scamp after all. She tried to look -sternly and reproachfully at him, but a smile lurked in her eyes. - -“You are not as lazy as I thought you, but twice as deceitful,” she -said. - -Pembroke was amused at the extreme suavity of the two ladies toward -each other, knowing that at heart it masked an armed neutrality. -Particularly did he notice it after dinner, when they returned to the -drawing-room and the piano was opened. Madame Koller was asked to -sing, but first begged that Miss Berkeley should play. Olivia, without -protesting, went to the piano. Her playing was finished and artistic, -and full of the delicate repose of a true musician. When she rose -Madame Koller overflowed with compliments. “And now, madam,” said the -Colonel, rising and offering his hand with a splendid and graceful -flourish, “will you not let us hear that voice that charmed us when you -were little Eliza Peyton.” - -Madame Koller did not like to be called Eliza Peyton--it was too -commonplace--Elise Koller was much more striking. And then she was -uncertain whether to sing or not. She had tried hard to keep that stage -episode secret, and she was afraid if she sang, that something might -betray her. She glanced at Ahlberg, as much as to say, “Shall I?” but -Ahlberg maintained a sphinx-like gravity. But the temptation was too -great. Olivia’s playing was pretty for an amateur--but Madame Koller -despised the best amateur performance as only a true professional can. -Therefore she rose and went to the piano, and turned over some of the -ballads there. She pretended to be looking at them, but she was not. - -“Louis,” she said to Ahlberg, who was twisting his waxed mustache. He -came at once and seated himself at the piano. - -“What do you think of ‘_Caro nome?_’” she asked. - -“Very good. You always sung the _Rigoletto_ music well.” - -Madame Koller was not pleased at this slip--but at all events, nobody -but herself understood it in the sense that Ahlberg meant. - -Ahlberg struck a few chords, and Madame Koller begun from memory the -celebrated aria. As she sang, Colonel Berkeley opened his sharp old -eyes very wide indeed. This was not the kind of music often heard in -drawing-rooms. He glanced at Pembroke, to see if he was astonished. -That young gentleman only leaned back in the sofa corner near the -fire to better enjoy this delicious singing. Olivia’s face looked -puzzled--so did Miles. In singing, Madame Koller was handsomer than -ever. She had perfect control over her facial expression, and seemed -quite transformed. Once or twice she used a graceful gesture, or made a -step forward--it was highly dramatic, but not in the least stagy. - -But if Madame Koller’s performance was far out of the common run, so -was that of her accompanist. He looked remarkably at home on the piano -stool, and Colonel Berkeley rubbed his eyes and tried to recall if -he had ever seen Ahlberg ornamenting a piano stool at a concert, but -could not remember. When the last brilliant note and rich chord died -away Miles Pembroke suddenly began to clap his knee loudly with his -one remaining hand--which produced a furious hand clapping, in which -everybody else vehemently and involuntarily joined, Mr. Cole feebly -shouting “Bravo! Bravo!” Madame Koller started, and when the applause -ceased, she seemed like one coming out of a dream. In the buzz of -compliments that followed, Ahlberg’s voice cut in saying, “You were too -dramatic.” - -Madame Koller had been receiving the compliments paid her with smiling -grace, but at this, she cast a strange look on Ahlberg, nor would she -sing again, although urged to do so. And presently it was time to -leave, and Madame Koller and her escort departed in the little victoria -which had come for them, the Colonel wrapping her up in innumerable -furs to protect her from the sharp night air of November. - -When he returned to the drawing-room, Olivia and the clergyman and the -Pembrokes were all standing around the blazing fire. The Colonel walked -in, and squaring himself before the generous fireplace with his coat -tails over his arm, surveyed the company and remarked, - -“Professional, by Jove.” - -“Now, papa,” said Olivia, taking him by the arm, “you are the best and -kindest of men, but you shan’t say ‘professional, by Jove,’ of Madame -Koller, the very minute she has quitted your house. You know how often -I’ve told you of my rule that you shall not mention the name of a guest -until twenty-four hours after that guest’s departure.” - -She said it with an air of authority, and tweaked the Colonel’s ear to -emphasize her severity. - -“But I am not saying any harm about her, Olivia.” - -“Just what I expected,” groaned Mr. Cole. - -“Perhaps her voice gave out, and she quitted the stage early,” remarked -Pembroke. - -“Not a word more,” cried Olivia sternly. “She sings delightfully. -But--a--it _was_ rather prima donna-ish.” - -“Aha! Oho!” shouted the Colonel. “There you are, my dear!” - - - - -CHAPTER IV. - - -A WEEK or two after the dinner at Isleham, Pembroke sat in his office, -one afternoon, at the county-seat, with a letter spread out before him. -It was very thumbed and illiterate, and quite devoid of punctuation. - - “Marse french, i is in a heap of truble marse french an i aint done - nuttin--i bought ten akers fum mr. Hackett you know mr. hackett he - some relation to dem Hibbses he come frum i donow whar an he allus - cussin de yankees an I had done pay him fur de ten akers mos all i had - done got married ter Jane you know Jane whar was Miss livia Berkeley - maid, an mr. hackett he come an he say he was gwine take the baid - an he call me a low down nigger and kase I arnser him he hit me wid - he stick an marse french i couldn’t help it an he hit Jane too an i - knock him down an o marse french he went home an naix day he die an - de sheriff he come an put me in jail--i feerd dey gwine hang me like - a hound dog i aint got no money fur lawyers, an mr. hackett’s folks - dem Hibbses dey is engage all de lawyers i dunno what i gwine do if - you doan cum home to try me marse french--you know i was yur vally an - daddy he was ole marse’s vally, an me an you useter go fishin when we - was small an ole marse useter lick bofe on us fur gittin drownded in - de crick i carn sleep at night, not kase de bed is hard an de straw - cum thu de tickin but kase i feerd dey gwine ter hang me like a hound - dog de black folks is agin me kase mr. hackett was fum de norf an de - white folks is agin me kase mr. hackett was white o marse french fur - Gord Amighty’s sake come long home and doan let em hang me Jane she - is mighty poly an carn cum to see me sum gentmun swar at me you aint - never done it--you give me a quarter evry time I hol yo horse No mo - now from - - “bob henry.” - -This letter had reached him in Paris, and had more to do with bringing -him home just when he came than Madame Koller--much more than Madame -Koller expected--or Olivia, either, for that matter. - -“It is a rather hard case,” he thought to himself, with a grim smile, -“a man can’t go and say, ‘See what a disinterested thing I have done: -come home months before I intended, to defend a poor ragged black -rascal that claimed to be my “vally,” and expects to be hanged--and -half the county believes I came in obedience to Madame Koller.’” But -it occurred to him that he had done a good deal to make both Olivia -Berkeley and Madame Koller believe what was not true about his return. - -He put on his hat and, putting the letter in his pocket, went out and -mounted his horse and rode off at a smart canter away from the village, -down a little-used road, until he came to a stretch of pine woods. -Then, following a bridle path a mile or more, he came upon a log house. - -Everything had an air of sylvan peace in the quiet autumn afternoon. -There was nothing to indicate domestic life about the place--the -persons who lived within had no garden, no fowls--nothing but the log -cabin under the pines. Pembroke knocked loudly with the butt of his -riding whip at the rude door, but a voice a little way off answered him. - -“Don’t waste your strength on the portcullis of the castle. Here I am.” - -Pembroke followed the sound, leading his horse, and in a minute or two -came upon a man of middle age, lying full length on the soft bed of -pine needles, with a book and a pipe. - -“This is peaceful,” said Pembroke, after tethering his horse and -seating himself. “At Malvern it is more lonely than peaceful. The house -is so large and so empty--Miles and I live in one wing of it. It wasn’t -half a bad thing for you, Cave, when the doctors ordered you to the -pine woods.” - -Cave nodded. - -“It’s uncommonly quiet and peaceful, this camping out. As I have no -other house to go to, since mine was burned down, it rather bridges -over the gulf of appearances to say I am living in a log cabin by -command of the most mighty Dr. Sam Jones.” - -“And there is no loneliness like that of a half deserted house,” -continued Pembroke, unconsciously dropping his voice in sympathy with -the faint woodland murmur around them. “It seems to me at Malvern that -I continually hear my mother’s voice, and my father’s footstep, and -all the pleasant family commotion I remember. And Elizabeth--Cave, no -woman I ever knew suffered like my sister--and she was not the woman -to suffer patiently. Old Keturah tells me that my father would have -yielded at any time after he saw that her heart and life were bound up -in Waring--but she would not ask him--so while I was enjoying myself -three thousand miles away, and only sad when I came home to Miles, -Elizabeth and my father were fighting that dreary battle. Keturah says -that everybody said she was sweetly and gently patient, but all night -she would walk the floor sobbing and weeping, while my father below -walked his floor. It killed them both.” - -Cave had turned away his head. Who has watched one, dearly loved, waste -and die for another, without knowing all there is of bitterness? And -was Pembroke so forgetful? He was not, indeed--but he had begun telling -of the things which troubled him, and because he could bear to speak -of poor Elizabeth he thought that Cave could bear to hear it. But -there was a pause--a pause in which Pembroke suddenly felt ashamed and -heartless. Elizabeth’s death was much to him--but it was everything -to Cave. So Pembroke continued, rather to excuse himself, “Your cabin -in the woods is at least not haunted by the dead people you loved. -Sometimes, when I go into my mother’s room and see everything as she -left it--the mirror in which I have often seen her braid her hair--she -had scarcely a gray lock in it when she died--I feel--I cannot describe -to you what I feel.” - -“You ought to marry,” remarked Cave, in a cold, quiet voice. - -“Not I,” answered Pembroke, carelessly, glad to escape from the train -he had himself started. “I suppose a man ought to marry some time or -other--but forty is early enough. I wouldn’t mind waiting until I were -fifty. At sixty a man is apt to make an infernal fool of himself.” - -“How about Eliza Peyton--or Madame Koller--whom you followed here?” - -Pembroke had lighted a cigar since they began talking, and had disposed -of himself comfortably on the pine needles by the side of his friend. -The silence was the unbroken silence of the autumn woods. There was not -the faintest whisper of wind, but over their heads the solemn trees -leaned together and rustled softly. A long pause came after Cave’s -question. Into Pembroke’s sunburnt face a dark flush slowly mounted. -It is not often that a man of his type, with his iron jaw and strong -features, blushes--but this was a blush of consciousness, though not of -shame. - -“I did not follow her here,” he said. “But who believes me? I think the -woman herself fancies I did follow her. As for that little haughty -Olivia Berkeley, the girl gives me a look that is equivalent to a box -on the ear every time Madame Koller is mentioned. If ever I marry, I -shan’t take a woman of spirit, you may depend upon it. I shall take a -placid, stout creature. An eaglet like Olivia Berkeley is well enough -for a man to amuse himself with--but for steady matrimony give me a -barnyard fowl.” - -“God help you,” answered Cave piously. - -“But what really brought me here--although I knew all the time that -I ought not to be loitering in Europe, and would probably have come -anyhow--was this poor devil, Bob Henry, in jail, charged with murdering -Hackett, that scalawag the Hibbses brought here.” - -At this Cave sat up, full of animation. - -“I can help the poor fellow, I think,” he said. “I went to see him as -soon as they put him in jail--a wretched looking object in rags he was, -too. He seemed to put great faith in you, and I did not tell him of -some evidence that I have got hold of. The fellow’s going to get clear -between us, I think.” - -Pembroke sat up too, and took the cigar out of his mouth. The lawyer’s -instinct rose within him, and he took to his profession like a pointer -to his field work. - -“You see, having been away during Hackett’s time, I know nothing of his -habits or associations except from hearsay. Any lawyer in the county -could do better for poor Bob Henry than I--in that way.” - -“Hackett, you know, was a Northern man, who came down here and bought -property during the war. He was a rabid Southerner. I distrusted the -man for that alone. He was related to our friends, the Hibbses. I -always suspected he had something to do with that gang of deserters -down by the river, and if he was not a spy, then John Cave is a fool.” - -“Well--what else?” - -“Of course you know about Bob Henry’s buying the land of him, and the -money he owed him, and the fight. The negro, after Hackett had struck -him and insulted his wife, struck him back with a stick. Now the -Hibbses, and everybody else for that matter, think that blow killed -him. You see, among the people Hackett had a kind of false popularity, -as a Northern man who has espoused Southern sentiments--a hypocrite, in -short. The feeling against that poor black wretch was savage.” - -“So,” said Pembroke, “instead of proving that the blow did kill -Hackett, the jury will want it proved that it didn’t kill Hackett.” - -“Exactly.” - -“Hackett, I understand, was a convivial soul. It can be proved that -he mounted his horse, rode home, and six hours afterward was walking -about. It never seemed to occur to these country doctors to look for -any other injury than the bruise on the head, when they found him -as good as dead next morning. I hear, though, that people who passed -his house at night would often hear shouting and carousing. Now, who -did that shouting and carousing? Not the gentlemen in the county, -certainly, nor anybody else that I can find out. This fits in with your -account of his associating with deserters. I have always had a theory -that he received an injury that killed him between the time he was seen -alive and apparently well, and when he was found dying in his bed.” - -“That is precisely what I think--and I have a witness, a ragged boy, -hereabouts, whom I have tried to keep respectable, who heard a great -noise as of men shouting and drinking at Hackett’s house the night of -Hackett’s death. The boy was cold and hungry, and although he knew -he would be driven away if caught--for Hackett was a hard-hearted -villain--yet he sneaked up to the house and gazed through the -half-drawn curtains at the men sitting around the table, fascinated as -he says by the sight of fire and food. He heard Hackett singing and -laughing, and he saw the faces, and--mark you,--knows the names of -those low fellows, who have never been suspected, and who have kept -so remarkably quiet. Then, here is the point--one of the very men who -deserted from my company, and was very thick afterward with Hackett, -suddenly disappeared, and within a month died of injuries he could give -no account of. You may depend upon it they had a fight, and it was my -former companion in arms that killed the worthy Hackett--not poor Bob -Henry’s blow.” - -Pembroke’s dark eyes shone. - -“We’ll keep this to ourselves, and make the fellow hold his tongue. We -won’t give the deserters a chance to concoct a plausible lie. They will -be certain to be at the court house when the trial comes off, and when -I put them in the witness box unprepared--you will see.” - -They talked over the case a half an hour longer before Pembroke got up -to go. Then he said: “Are you going to call at The Beeches? You must -have known Eliza Koller before she left here.” - -“Know her,” cried Cave, “yes, I know her. I hope she has improved in -every other way as much as she has in looks. I saw her the other day. -It seemed to me that her hair was not so violently yellow when she went -away; however, I’ll be cautious,--I see you are badly singed. Little -Olivia Berkeley wouldn’t do for my lord--” - -Pembroke got up and flung off in a passion, pursued by Cave shouting: - -“I’ll give long odds on the widow!” - - - - -CHAPTER V. - - -A FEW Sundays after that, Mr. Cole’s heart was gladdened by the sight -of Madame Koller and the bundle of cloaks and mufflers she called her -mamma, walking in church just as the morning service was beginning. The -little clergyman felt inspired. He fancied himself like Paul before -the Athenians. Olivia Berkeley was there too, and the Colonel, who -settled himself in his pew to catch Mr. Cole in a false syllogism or -a misquotation--anything to chaff the reverend gentleman about during -the coming week. Mr. Cole did his best. He laid aside his manuscript -and indulged in an extempore address that warmed the orator, if not the -congregation, with something like eloquence. The Hibbses were there -too--a florid, well-dressed family, Mr. Hibbs making the responses in a -basso so much louder than Mr. Cole’s mild treble that it seemed as if -Mr. Hibbs were the parson and Mr. Cole the clerk. - -“I tell you what it is my dear,” Colonel Berkeley had said angrily -to his daughter half an hour before when the Hibbses swept past them -up the flagged walk through the churchyard, “the religion of these -infernal Hibbs people is what disgusts me most. They made their money -in the war of 1812. Up to then they were shouting Methodists--I’ve -heard my father swear it a hundred times--” The Colonel belonged to a -class, not uncommon in Virginia, who regarded the Episcopal Church as -a close corporation, and resented with great pugnacity any attempt to -enter it on the part of the great unwashed. It was the vehicle chosen -by the first families to go to heaven in, and marked “Reserved.” Hence -the Colonel’s wrath. His church was a church founded by gentlemen, of -gentlemen, and for gentlemen, and it was a great liberty for any other -class to seek that aristocratic mode of salvation. - -“Now, damme, the Hibbses are the greatest Episcopalians in the parish. -I am as good a churchman as there is in the county, but begad, if -I want such a set of vulgarians worshiping under the same roof and -rubbing elbows with me when I go up to the Lord’s table. I think I gave -that young Hibbs fellow a setback last communion Sunday which will -prevent him from hustling up to the rail before his betters.” - -By which it will be seen that Dashaway’s unlucky fiasco and the triumph -of the long-legged roan at Campdown had not been obliterated from the -Colonel’s memory. During the sermon, Colonel Berkeley only took his -eyes off the clergyman once. This was when Mr. Hibbs came around with -the collection plate. The object of that day’s collection was, as Mr. -Cole had feelingly stated, for the conversion of the higher castes in -India. Colonel Berkeley thrust both hands in his trousers’ pockets, and -surveyed Mr. Hibbs defiantly as that worthy citizen poked the plate -at him. This duello between Mr. Hibbs and Colonel Berkeley occurred -every collection Sunday, to the edification of the congregation. After -holding the plate before the Colonel for a considerable time, Mr. -Hibbs moved off--a time that seemed interminable to Olivia, blushing -furiously in the corner of the pew. - -After church the congregation streamed out, and according to the -country custom, the people stopped to talk in the churchyard. Colonel -Berkeley marched up to Mr. Cole, and put something in his hand. - -“There, Cole,” he remarked, “I wouldn’t put anything in the plate when -that ruffian of a vestry-man of yours poked it under my nose. But I -doubled my contribution, and I’ll thank you to put it with the rest.” - -“Certainly, Colonel,” answered Mr. Cole--“but Christian charity--” - -“Christian charity be hanged, sir. I’m a Christian and a churchman, -but I prefer Christian gentlemen to Methodist upstarts. Whether I go -to heaven or the other place either, damme, I propose to go in good -company.” - -“This will go to the missionary fund for India, Colonel.” - -“Ha! ha! I’d like to see one of you callow young clergymen tackle a -Brahmin in India. By Jove. It would be fun--for the Brahmin!” - -Colonel Berkeley had no mind to let Mr. Cole monopolize Madame Koller, -so just as the clergyman stood, hat in hand bowing to her and her -mother, the Colonel marched up, and by a skillful maneuver shoveled the -elder lady off on Mr. Cole, while he himself attended the younger one -to the carriage. At the churchyard gate was Olivia Berkeley talking -with Mrs. Peyton--and by her side stood French Pembroke. Madame Koller -smiled charmingly at her old acquaintances. She was so sorry Miss -Berkeley had not been at home the day she called. Miss Berkeley was -politely regretful. It was so sunshiny and delightful that Madame -Koller would like to walk as far as the main road led them toward -home--it was only across a field or two then, for each of them to reach -home. Olivia also assented to this. Madame Koller’s society was far -from lacking charm to her--and besides, the attraction of repulsion is -never stronger than between two women who cherish a smoldering spark of -jealousy. - -Madame Koller wanted the Colonel to come, and brought her whole battery -of smiles and glances into action to compel him--but he got out of it -with much astuteness. He was no walker, he said. Then she turned to -French Pembroke. - -“Good-bye, my dear,” said Mrs. Peyton to Olivia, _sotto voce_. “Don’t -be left at the meeting of the ways.” - -“No, I won’t, I promise you,” replied Olivia. - -Off they started. Madame Koller moved with the grace of a fairy in a -drawing-room, but on a country road, holding a sunshade in one hand -and her gown in the other, it was a promenade rather than a walk. -Olivia walked with the easy step of a girl country born and country -bred, and albeit it was a little more than a saunter, she soon walked -Madame Koller out of breath. - -Pembroke had but little share in the conversation. Except a laughing -reference to him occasionally, he was left out, and had full -opportunity to compare the two women--which he did with an amused -smile. Compliments were plenty from Madame Koller, which Olivia deftly -parried or ignored. In a little while the turning was in sight where -both left the high road, and a path in one direction led to Isleham, -and in another, gave a short cut to The Beeches. Pembroke was beginning -to apprehend an awkward predicament for himself as to which one of the -ladies he should accompany, when Olivia cut the knot. - -“Here I must leave you--good-bye, Madame Koller, I shall see you during -the week--good-bye--” to Pembroke. - -“There is Madame Koller’s carriage in sight,” remarked Pembroke, -thinking that offered a solution of the problem--to which Olivia only -responded pleasantly--“Good-bye--good-bye--” and tripped off. - -Madame Koller looked rather foolish--she had been outgeneraled -completely. - -“There is your carriage,” again said Pembroke, this time looking -straight at her. - -“Yes. I know it. You will soon be rid of me.” - -As she spoke her eyes filled with real tears of mortification. Pembroke -was a man, and he could not see this, and be as hard as he meant to be. -Nevertheless, he did not intend to walk through the field with Madame -Koller. - -“Come, Elise,” he said. “The way is too long for you. You are no -walker. It would be best for you to drive home.” - -“When you call me Elise I will do anything for you,” she said--and she -was really tired and hated walking for walking’s sake. - -The carriage drew up, and Pembroke put her in carefully. Old Madame -Schmidt said: “That is right, Eliza,” and they drove off. - -A few yards hid him from their sight, and at that instant he struck out -in the path to Isleham. In ten minutes he had overtaken Olivia. - -She was surprised to see him. - -“What have you done with Madame Koller?” - -“Put her in the carriage and sent her home.” - -A faint flush crept into Olivia’s cheeks. - -“I have wanted to ask you something for a week or two,” she said, “but -this is my first opportunity. You know that poor negro, Bob Henry, who -is to be tried for murder--I believe he belonged to you, didn’t he?” - -“Yes.” - -“His wife was my maid when I was a child. Yesterday she came to see -me--just out of her bed from a long fever. She is naturally in great -trouble about her husband, whom she has not seen, the jail being too -far off. She has heard something about your defending him when he is -tried, and she begged me to see you, and ask you as a mercy to them, to -‘try him,’ as she says.” - -“That is what brought me back to America,” he replied. - -Olivia said not a word, but walked on. She could not but believe -him--but if he had not come on Madame Koller’s account, Madame Koller -might have come on his account. - -“I have done, and I am doing, the best I can for the poor fellow. Cave -has helped me much.” - -Then it occurred to Olivia that at least Pembroke ought to get the -credit for coming on such an errand. - -“How kind it was of you,” she said. “I am so glad--” - -“To find I am not such a scamp as you thought me?” he said, -good-naturedly. - -“Have it any way you like,” she replied. “But I am very glad, and Jane -will be very glad, and I’m sure Bob Henry is--and you may come home -with me and have some luncheon, and papa will be very glad--he hates -Sunday afternoons in the country.” - - - - -CHAPTER VI. - - -MEANWHILE poor Mr. Ahlberg, condemned to the solitude of the village -tavern, varied by daily visits to The Beeches and occasional ones to -his acquaintances, the Pembrokes and the Berkeleys, found life tedious. -He wanted to get away, but Madame Koller would not let him. Mr. Ahlberg -had now, for some years, had an eye to Madame Koller’s fortune. -Therefore, when she commanded him to stay, he stayed. He regarded her -infatuation for Pembroke as a kind of temporary insanity, which would -in time be cured, and that he would be the physician and would marry -his patient afterward. - -As for Madame Koller, she was wretched, anxious, everything but bored. -That she was not--she was too miserable. Like Ahlberg, she thought -herself almost a lunatic. Hers was not the folly of a guileless girl, -but the deep-seated and unspeakable folly of a matured woman. When -M. Koller died she had regarded herself as one of the most fortunate -women in the world. Still young, rich, pretty, what more could she -ask? The world had almost forgotten, if it ever knew, that she had had -a stage career, when stage careers were not the most desirable things -in the world. She had done her duty as well as she knew it by the dead -and gone Koller, who, in consideration of leaving her a comfortable -fortune, had made her life a torment upon earth. Just when she was -preparing to enjoy her liberty she had found herself enslaved by her -own act as it were. Sometimes she asked herself contemptuously what -Pembroke could give her if she married him, in exchange for liberty -which she prized, and answered herself with the wisdom of the world. -Again she reasoned with herself and got for answer the wildest folly -a girl of sixteen could imagine. With him was everything--without him -was nothing. And his indifference piqued her. She truly believed him -quite callous to any woman, and she had often heard him say that he -had no intention of marrying. Pembroke, returning to the life of a -country gentleman after four years’ campaigning, followed by a time of -thoughtless pleasure, mixed with the pain of defeat, of the misery of -seeing Miles forever wretched, broken in fortune, though not in spirit, -found Madame Koller’s society quite fascinating enough. But he was not -so far gone that he did not see the abyss before him. On the one hand -was money and luxury and pleasure and idleness and Madame Koller, with -her blonde hair and her studied graces and her dramatic singing--and -on the other was work and perhaps poverty, and a dull provincial -existence. But then he would be a man--and if he married Madame Koller -he would not be a man. It is no man’s part to live solely for any -woman, and nobody knew that better than French Pembroke. Of course, -he knew that he could marry her--the love-making, such as it was, had -been chiefly on the lady’s part. He was angry beyond measure with her -when she appeared upon the scene. He wished to try life without Madame -Koller. But when she came she certainly drew him often to The Beeches. -There was but one other woman in the county who really interested him. -This was Olivia Berkeley, and she was uncertain and hard to please. -It was undeniably pleasant to ride over to The Beeches on winter -afternoons and find Madame Koller in a cosy sitting room before a -wood fire, and to have her read to him and sing to him. Sometimes he -wondered how he ever came away unpledged. Again, he faintly blamed -himself for going--but if he remained away Madame Koller sent for -him and reproached him bitterly. She knew quite as much of the world -as he did--and he was no mean proficient--and was two or three years -older than he besides. But it was an unsatisfactory existence to him. -He felt when he went from Madame Koller’s presence into Olivia’s like -going from a ball room out into the clear moonlit night. To be on his -guard always against a woman, to try and make the best of an anomalous -condition, was offensive to his naturally straightforward mind. It -relieved him to be with Olivia, even though occasionally she treated -him cavalierly. This last he positively relished as a luxury. - -Ahlberg he hated. Yet they were scrupulously polite to each other, and -Ahlberg occasionally dined with him at Malvern. - -One day he met Ahlberg in the road near the village. Ahlberg had a gun -and a full game-bag slung over his shoulder. - -“You have had good luck,” said Pembroke. - -“Very,” answered Ahlberg, with his peculiar smile. “I saw nothing to -shoot, but I met two blacks, and for a trifle I bought all this. I am -not a sportsman like you. I go for a walk--I take my gun. I want a few -birds for an entrée. It matters very little where I get them.” - -“What we call a pot hunter,” remarked Pembroke, laughing at what he -considered great simplicity on Ahlberg’s part. For his own part, his -instincts of sport made him consider Ahlberg’s method of securing an -entrée as but little better than sheep stealing. Ahlberg did not quite -take in what manner of sport pot hunting was, nor the contumely visited -upon a pot hunter, and so was not offended. - -“Will you not come to The Beeches to-morrow evening and dine with us on -these birds?” he asked. “This is _my_ party, not Elise’s, who is ill -with a distressing cold. I have asked the Reverend Cole too, and Hibbs -and some others, and we will have a ‘jollitime’ as you Americans and -English say.” - -Pembroke agreed, he scarcely knew why, particularly as he seldom dined -at The Beeches, and never before at Ahlberg’s invitation. - -Next evening therefore with Mr. Cole and Mr. Hibbs and young Peyton -and two or three others Pembroke found himself in the great, gloomy -dining room at The Beeches. Neither Madame Koller nor Madame Schmidt -were present. The cold was a real cold. Madame Koller was on the sofa -in her sitting room, and if she felt strong enough, sent word to the -guests she would see them in the drawing-room later on. The round table -though, in the middle of the room, looked cheerful enough, and on the -sideboard was an array of long-necked bottles such as Pembroke had -never seen for so small a party. - -Ahlberg was an accomplished diner out--but that is something different -from a good diner at home. He was graceful and attentive, but he lacked -altogether the Anglo-Saxon good fellowship. He tucked a napkin under -his chin, discussed ménus with much gravity, and referred too often -to Hans, a nondescript person whom Madame Koller had brought from -Vienna, and who was cook, butler, major-domo and valet in one--and -highly accomplished in all. Pembroke was rather disgusted with too much -conversation of this sort: - -“Hans, you are too pronounced with your truffles. There should be a -hint--a mere suspicion--” - -“Yes, monsieur. But madame likes truffles. Every day it is ‘Hans, you -are too sparing of your truffles.’” - -“This salmi is really charming. Hans, I shall put it down in my note -book.” - -“I can give monsieur admirable salmis of pigeons as well as duck.” - -Pembroke, impelled by a spirit of perverseness, declined everything -Ahlberg and Hans united in praising, and confined himself solely to -port, a wine he did not much care for, and which both Ahlberg and Hans -reprobated in the strongest terms. - -Not so Mr. Cole. He went religiously through the ménu, praising and -exclaiming, and keeping up a fusillade of compliments like the chorus -in a Greek play. Nor did he forget the long-necked bottles. At first -he positively declined anything but claret. But obeying a look from -Ahlberg, Hans filled the clergyman’s glass with champagne. Mr. Cole -laughed and blushed, but on being good naturedly rallied by his -companions, especially Mr. Hibbs, he consented to one--only one glass. -But this was followed by a second, poured out when Mr. Cole was looking -another way--and presently as Hans by degrees slyly filled the half -dozen wine glasses at his plate, Mr. Cole began with an air of perfect -unconsciousness to taste them all. Soon his face flushed, and by the -time the dinner was half over, Mr. Cole was half over the line of -moderation too. He became convivial, and even affectionate. Pembroke, -who had looked on the little clergyman’s first glass of champagne with -a smile, began to feel sorry for him, and a very profound contempt -for his entertainer. Hans and his pseudo-master evidently understood -each other, and exchanged glances oftener than master and man usually -do. As the clergyman became more free in his talk, Ahlberg looked at -Pembroke with a foxy smile, but received only a cool stare in return. -Pembroke was a jolly companion enough, but this deliberately making -a gentleman, weak as he might be, but still a gentleman, drunk in a -woman’s house struck him as not the most amusing thing in the world. -Ahlberg, however, seemed to enjoy the state of affairs, and though he -had no sympathy from Pembroke or young Peyton, Mr. Hibbs and one or two -others appreciated it highly. - -“Ah, Mr. Cole,” he cried, “you know how to dine, I see you do. You -would not discredit the Trois Frères itself. Hans, more Chablis.” - -Poor Cole’s eyes twinkled. He loved to be thought a man of the world. - -“Couldn’t you give us a song, Mr. Cole?” continued Ahlberg, laughing, -“English and American fashion, you know. Something about wine and -mirth.” - -Mr. Cole smiled coquettishly, and cleared his throat. - -“Perhaps I might try ‘The Heart Bowed Down With Weight of Woe,’” said -he. - -“Yes--yes--” - -“Or, ‘Then You’ll Remember Me.’ That’s more sentimental--more suited -for the occasion.” - -“‘Then You’ll Remember Me,’ by all means. Gentlemen, a chorus.” - -Mr. Cole, placing his hand upon his heart, after having drained -another glass of champagne, began in a weak and rather shaky voice, - - “‘When other lips and other hearts - Their tales of love shall tell.’ - -“Gentlemen, I’m not in good voice to-night. - - “‘In language whose excess imparts - The power they feel so well; - When hollow hearts shall wear a mask,’ - -“Here, Hans, old boy, I’ll take another glass of Chablis-- - - “‘’Twill break your own to see, - In such a moment I but a--a--a--sk - That you’ll remember me.’” - -Here a tremendous chorus, led by Mr. Ahlberg, broke in, accompanied -with much pounding on the table, and a rhythmic jingling of glasses: - - “Then you’ll remember me, boys, - Then you’ll remember me.” - -Mr. Cole, very much annoyed and preposterously dignified, began to -protest. - -“Gentlemen--er--beloved brethren, I mean gentlemen, this song is a -sentimental one--a sentimental song, d’ye hear--and does not admit of a -convivial chorus. Now, I’ll give you the last verse over.” - -Mr. Cole, looking lackadaisically at the ceiling, began again. When he -reached the last line, again an uproarious chorus took the words out -of his mouth. He rose, and steadying himself on his feet, implored -silence in pantomime. In vain. Ahlberg and Hibbs with shouts and -yells of laughter carried the chorus through. Pembroke could not but -laugh, but he said to the little clergyman, in a tone subdued but -authoritative: - -“Sit down, Cole.” - -Mr. Cole glanced fiercely at him. “Were it not for my cloth, sir, -you--you’d--receive personal chastisement for that remark,” he -responded angrily; but comparing his own slender figure with Pembroke’s -length and strength, he plaintively continued: - -“But I’m afraid you could lick me, Pembroke. You always did at school, -you know.” - -Pembroke made no reply. He was no anchorite. He had sometimes found -amusement in low company in low places--but low company in better -places disgusted him. Besides, Cole was an honest little fellow, and -not half such a fool as he appeared--and he had a conscience, and -Pembroke began to feel sorry already for the pain poor Cole would have -to endure. - -But Cole was not the only subject of amusement. Ahlberg, now that his -dinner was over, considered conversation in order--and began to give -his views on things in general, upon which young Hibbs and young Peyton -and the others hung with delight. Pembroke therefore thinking it well -to get Cole out of the way while he could yet walk, suggested that he -should escape for a breath of fresh air--to which Cole assented, and -might have slipped out unnoticed, but for his assumption of a lofty -stride, which would have landed him on the floor but for a timely arm -from Hans. - -The fun grew fast and furious, and everybody at the table was flushed -except Ahlberg and Pembroke. Ahlberg drank as much as anybody, but his -delicate hand was as steady, and his cold blue eyes as clear as if it -had been water from the well he was drinking. Pembroke did not drink -much and remained cool and smiling. - -After an hour or two had passed, he began to be intensely bored by Mr. -Hibbs’ songs, who now became the minstrel, Ahlberg’s long stories and -young Peyton’s jokes--and besides he wondered at Mr. Cole’s absence. So -in the midst of a lively discussion, he quietly left his seat and went -out. - -In the hall several doors opened--but from the drawing-room door came -a flood of light, and voices. He heard Madame Koller’s somewhat shrill -tones saying: - -“But Mr. Cole, I cannot marry you--fancy me--” - -“Darling Eliza,” cried Mr. Cole, in a maudlin, tipsy voice. “I know you -love me. Your partiality--” - -Pembroke made two strides to the door. Just as he reached it, he saw a -tableau. Mr. Cole, whose head just reached to Madame Koller’s shoulder, -had seized her by the waist and was saying: - -“One kiss--only one, my darling!” - -Madame Koller raised her hand--it was large and strong and white--and -brought it down upon the clergyman’s cheek with a thundering whack that -would have knocked him down, but for another slap she administered -on the other side. Pembroke had not been in time to save him, but he -caught Cole by the collar, and picking him up as if he had been a baby, -set him out of the way. - -Madame Koller was raging. She stamped her foot and clinched her hands -and ground her teeth with passion. - -“Come, Madame Koller,” said Pembroke, sternly, “there is no occasion -for this sort of thing. The little fool is tipsy--of course you see it. -You ought not to have had anything to say to him.” - -But Madame Koller would not be pacified. It was not the liberty he had -tried to take which most infuriated her, she inadvertently declared, -but the idea that she, Elise Koller, would marry a country parson. -She raved. What! She, Elise Koller, born a Peyton, should condescend -to that ridiculous person? What would her aunt, Sally Peyton, say -to it? What would the shade of the departed Koller say to it? She -had been civil to him, and forsooth, he had come, like a thief in -the night, and proposed to marry her--her, who might have married a -duke--a prince--anybody. Madame Koller was very mad, and used just -the extravagant and hysterical language that people of her type do -sometimes. - -As for Mr. Cole, those two slaps had sobered him as instantly and -as completely as anything could. He sat bolt upright on the sofa, -while Pembroke with a half smile of contempt in his face that really -exasperated Madame Koller more than poor Cole had done, listened to her -tirade. What a virago the woman was, to be sure. But how handsome she -was too! - -“Pembroke,” said poor Cole, rising and coming forward, looking quite -pale and desperate, “don’t try to excuse me. I don’t deserve any -excuse. I mean to write to the bishop to-morrow and make a clean breast -of it--and any punishment he may inflict, or any mortification I may -have to endure because of this, I’ll take like a man. Madame Koller, I -humbly ask your pardon. I hardly knew what I was doing.” - -“To get drunk in my house,” was Madame Koller’s reply. - -“Hardly that,” said Pembroke, quietly. “Made drunk by your precious -cousin, Ahlberg.” - -“I’ll send Louis away if you desire me,” cried Madame Koller, eagerly. - -“I desire nothing of the kind. It is no affair of mine. Come, Cole, -you’ve done the best you could by apologizing. I’ll see that those -fellows say nothing about it. Good evening, Madame Koller.” - -“Must you go, Pembroke--now--” - -“Immediately. Good-bye,” and in two minutes he and Cole were out of the -house. - - - - -CHAPTER VII. - - -TO say that Pembroke was angry with Cole is hardly putting it strong -enough. He ardently longed that he might once again inflict a thrashing -upon him like those Cole had been wont to receive in his school -days. He had taken the little clergyman to Malvern, and kept him a -day or two before sending him home to his mother. Cole’s remorse was -pitiful. He wanted to write to the whole House of Bishops, to make a -public reparation, to do a number of quixotic things which Pembroke’s -strong sense forbade peremptorily. When after two days of sincere, but -vociferous penitence, Mr. Cole was at last sent back to his rectory, he -went under strict instructions from Pembroke to keep his misfortune to -himself. But alas for poor Cole! What stung him most was that Madame -Koller should have seen him in that condition--for the two hard slaps -that she had given him had by no means cured his infatuation. On the -contrary, her strong nerves, her fierce temper, her very recklessness -of conventionality, irresistibly attracted his timid and conservative -nature. What had offended Pembroke, who looked for a certain feminine -restraint in all women, and gentleness, even in daring, had charmed -Cole. His anguish, when he found, that in addition to his paroxysm of -shame, he suffered tortures because he could no longer see Madame -Koller, almost frightened him into convulsions. - -Pembroke had meant to be very prudent with Ahlberg, and particularly -to avoid anything like a dispute. He felt that the natural antagonism -between them would be likely to produce a quarrel unless he were -remarkably careful, and as he regarded Ahlberg with great contempt, -he had a firm determination never to give him either cause or chance -of offense. According to the tradition in which he had been raised, a -quarrel between two men was liable to but one outcome--an archaic one, -it is true, but one which made men extremely cautious and careful not -to offend. If a blow once passed it became a tragedy. Pembroke promised -himself prudence, knowing that he had not the coolest temper in the -world. But when, some days after the dinner, they met, this time in the -road also, and Ahlberg’s first remark was “What capital fun we had with -our friend Cole!” Pembroke’s temper instantly got the better of him. - -“Mr. Ahlberg, do you think it quite a gentlemanly thing to invite a -man like Cole to accept your hospitality in a woman’s house, and then -deliberately to make him drunk?” asked he. - -Ahlberg’s sallow skin grew a little paler. - -“Is that your view?” he asked, coolly. “I understand something occurred -with Madame Koller, which you naturally resent.” - -As Ahlberg’s face grew whiter, Pembroke’s grew redder. He felt that -first savage impulse to seize Ahlberg and shake him as a mastiff would -a terrier. He stood still for a moment or two and then stepping up -close to Ahlberg, said to him: “You are a scoundrel.” - -Ahlberg grew perfectly rigid. This blunt, Anglo-Saxon way of picking a -quarrel amazed him. He brought his heels together, and stood up very -erect, in the first position of dancing, and said: - -“This is most extraordinary. Does Monsieur know that but one result can -follow this?” - -“Anything you please,” answered Pembroke, carelessly, “but if you force -me to fight I will certainly kill you. You know something of my pistol -practice.” - -Ahlberg hesitated a moment, and then drawing up his sleeve, exposed a -great red knot on his right arm. - -“If I desired to take advantage of you I might say that you knew my -pistol arm was disabled. I got this six months ago--and it will be six -months more before it is well. The paralysis is still partial. But as -soon as I can trust it, you will hear from me.” - -“By all means,” answered Pembroke. - -Then they touched their hats ceremoniously, and went their way, -Pembroke plunging through the brushwood on the side of the road with -his dog at his heels. - -Pembroke never despised himself more than at that moment. Here was he -involved in a quarrel with a man for whom he felt a thorough contempt -in every respect, and against which he had particularly warned himself. - -As to the method of settling the trouble proposed, that his own good -sense condemned, albeit it was still in vogue in Virginia. In the heat -of anger he had promised Ahlberg to kill him--while he, Pembroke, -knew in his heart, that certainly nothing Ahlberg could say or do, -would make him deliberately carry out any such intention. But the -folly, wickedness, petulance, want of self-command that brought the -quarrel about, enraged him more with himself than with Ahlberg. He -could imagine Cave’s cool and cutting disapproval--Colonel Berkeley’s -uproarious and vociferous protest. He knew his own folly in the case -so well, that he fancied everybody else must know it too. At all -events, the trouble was postponed, and he felt prepared to do a great -deal, even to the extent of apologizing to Ahlberg, rather than fight -him. And then Elise. What a creature she was to be sure--singing to -him to charm him, and declaiming poetry like the tragic muse--and -then that scene with Cole, at which the recollection even made him -shudder and laugh too. Why couldn’t he fall thoroughly in love with -Olivia Berkeley? Probably she would refuse him tartly, but at least -it would rid him of Madame Koller, and it would be a bracing, healthy -experience. He had half a mind to go back and suggest to Ahlberg that -they observe their usual terms toward each other until the time came -that Ahlberg might demand satisfaction. A strained demeanor would be -peculiarly unpleasant, considering the way the people at The Beeches -and the Berkeleys and Miles and himself were associated. But he -reflected that Ahlberg was a man of the world, and would probably let -things go on smoothly, anyhow. It turned out he was correct, as the -next time they met, Ahlberg’s manner was imperturbable, and the cold -politeness which had always existed between the two men was not visibly -changed. - -Walking along, and cutting viciously with his stick at the harmless -bushes in the path on this particular day, he soon found himself near -the fence that ran around the lawn at Isleham. He concluded he would -go in and see the Berkeleys for half an hour. It would be a refreshing -change from Madame Koller and Ahlberg to Olivia’s pure, bright face and -the Colonel’s jovial, wholesome chaff. It was a mild, spring-like day -in early winter. The path led to the lawn through the old-fashioned -garden, where everything was brown and sere except the box hedge that -stiffly bordered the straight, broad path that led through the garden. -He remembered having heard Miles at breakfast say something about going -over to Isleham, and was therefore not surprised to see him walking -up and down the path with Olivia. She had a book in her hand and was -reading in her low, clear voice, aloud to him as they walked slowly, -and Miles was following what she read closely, occasionally stopping -to ask a question and looking quite cheerful and interested. It came -back to him that Miles had spoken of Olivia and himself taking up -Italian together. From her manner, and from the expression on her -charming face in its little black velvet hood, he saw she was doing it -for Miles’ sake. He loved that younger brother as well as one human -being ever loved another. To have saved the boy one pang he would have -done much--but he could do so little! Miles was no longer fit for field -sports, society he shunned, reading he could do for himself. Pembroke -felt every day the masculine inability to console. Yet here was this -girl who had found something to interest poor little Miles, and was -doing it with the sweetest womanliness in the world. She probably cared -nothing for Italian, but Miles was fond of it. - -“Wait,” said Olivia, with authority, as he came up. “Don’t speak a -word. I must let you see how well I can read this,” and she read a -stanza correctly enough. - -“That will do,” remarked Pembroke, who knew something of Italian, “you -were wise to choose that Francesca da Rimini story though. It is the -easiest part in the whole book.” - -Olivia slammed the volume together indignantly, and drew down her -pretty brows in a frown. - -“You and papa are always laughing at us. Never mind Miles, _I_ don’t -mind them I assure you.” - -Pembroke went in and remained to luncheon, as did Miles. The Colonel -was in great spirits. He had had a brush on the road with Mrs. Peyton, -and had been over to The Beeches. - -“And by the way, Pembroke, what’s this I hear about poor Cole getting -as tight as Bacchus the other night at The Beeches?” - -“Nothing at all,” answered Pembroke. He did not mean to say anything -about Ahlberg’s share in it, considering the relations between them, -but the Colonel was too sharp for him. - -“Now, Cole wouldn’t go and do a thing like that unless he was put up to -it. Didn’t our friend with the waxed mustache have something to do with -it, eh? Oh, yes, I see he did.” - -Pembroke smiled at the way Colonel Berkeley read his face. Olivia spoke -up with spirit. - -“Papa, I hate that Mr. Ahlberg. Pray don’t have him here any more.” - -But the Colonel looked quite crestfallen at this. Ahlberg amused him, -and life was very, very dull for him. - -“I hope you won’t insist on that, my dear,” he said, and Olivia -answered: - -“I can’t when you look that way.” - -Much relieved, the Colonel began again. “And Madame Koller, I hear--ha! -ha!” - -“Papa!” - -The note of dreadful warning in Olivia’s voice vexed Pembroke. But he -could not explain and she would not understand. - -Afterward, the two brothers walking along briskly toward home, Miles -said: - -“Do you know I believe Ahlberg is making love to Olivia on the sly!” - -Pembroke felt an infinite disgust at this--Ahlberg with his waxed -mustache, and his napkin tucked in his waistcoat, and his salmis and -his truffles, making love to Olivia Berkeley! - -“He doesn’t want Madame Koller to know it, though, I’ll warrant,” -continued Miles. “Anybody can see his game there.” - -“If he asks Olivia to marry him there will be another ear-boxing -episode in this neighborhood,” said Pembroke with a short laugh. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII. - - -POOR Bob Henry, shut up in the county jail, had indeed said aright when -he wrote Pembroke that both blacks and whites were “agin him.” Pembroke -could scarcely find one of the negro race to testify to Bob Henry’s -previous good character--and as he sifted his own evidence and surmised -the State’s, he saw that but for the witness Cave had ferreted out, -things would indeed have looked black for Bob Henry. At that time the -apprehension as to the way the negroes in their freedom would behave -toward the whites was as yet sinister, and the Hibbses, whose relative -the dead man was, worked up the feeling against his supposed murderer -with considerable astuteness. They were among the largest subscribers -to Mr. Cole’s salary, and as such they gave their views freely to Mr. -Cole upon the impropriety of his going to see Bob Henry in jail, and -exerting himself to stem the tide against him among the black people. - -Mr. Cole’s fair little face flushed up at this criticism delivered from -old Mr. Hibbs in a loud and dictatorial voice on the court house green -before a crowd of persons. - -“Mr. Hibbs--I--I--am a minister of the gospel, sir, and my duty is to -condole with the afflicted, sir,--and--however sir,--whatever may be -your opinion of that poor wretch in the jail yonder, and however it -may conduce to--to--unpopularity, I shall continue to visit him. I have -sympathy with the erring,” he said, remembering that terrible evening -at The Beeches. - -A heavy hand descended upon Mr. Cole’s shoulder, and Colonel Berkeley’s -handsome face shone at him. - -“Right you are, Cole. You’re a little prig sometimes, but you are -something of a man, sir--something of a man!” - -Mr. Cole blushed with pleasure at this dubious compliment. - -Olivia Berkeley’s heart was touched with pity for the unfortunate -negro. His ailing wife came every day to tell the same rambling and -piteous story. Besides, Cave had been at work with her--and he had -great power with young imaginations. Pembroke felt a certain anxiety -about the case. It was one of those which gave room for the sympathetic -oratory which in the country districts in the South yet obtains. He -felt at first that if he could make the jury weep, his success as a -lawyer would be assured and immediate. But if he failed it would mean -long years of toil at his profession to gain that which by a happy -inspiration he could win at a single _coup_. He worked hard, and -prepared himself--not solely for oratory, because the Hibbses had not -only engaged a formidable array of local talent, but had got one, if -not two great men from afar, and the attorney-general himself, to help -the state. Pembroke went to Cave despondent and nervous about this. - -“It is the best thing in the world for you,” answered Cave. “Don’t -you see, the prosecution has taken the form of a persecution? And the -bringing in of outside talent is the greatest luck I ever heard of. The -jury, if I know anything of human nature, will not try the prisoner -according to the law and the evidence. They will try you and the -lawyers from elsewhere--with a strong predisposition in favor of their -own county man. It will go hard with them if they can’t find some way -to discount the outsiders. Of course, I don’t say that this feeling -will be immediately developed, but it will come out just as certainly -as arithmetical progression.” - -“I hope so,” Pembroke answered devoutly. - -The day of the trial came--a sunshiny one in midwinter. Every man in -the county turned out. Nothing delights a rural Virginian so much as -a forensic argument. He will ride twenty miles to hear it, and sit it -out, in cold, or heat, or wet, or misery, or anything. Then, besides -the interest naturally attaching to the case, was the curiosity to see -and hear Pembroke. He had not added to his popularity by his absence -after the war--and Madame Koller had been a millstone around his neck -latterly. His father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather -had been great lawyers before him--indeed there was no tradition or -history which went back to the time when there had not been a Pembroke -practicing successfully at the bar in the county. So while there was a -current of disapproval against him, there was a strong undercurrent of -local sympathy in his favor also. - -Pembroke appeared early on the ground that morning, with Miles. It -was his first opportunity except at the Campdown races to meet the -county people of all classes generally. He went about among them cool, -affable, and smiling. - -“Oyez, oyez, oyez!” the sheriff’s loud voice rang out from the court -house steps--and the crowd poured into the old brick building, and -Pembroke, slipping in by another way entered upon the strain which -lasted for five days and nights. - -Great as the crowd was at first, it increased every day. Within two -hours of the swearing in of the jury, just what Cave had predicted -came to pass. The prosecution saw that the jury was on the side of a -Pembroke--the Pembrokes had always been prime favorites with juries -in that county, and the present one was no exception. Naturally, this -nettled the attorney-general and the other great men who appeared for -the State. It was certainly an exasperating thing to come so far to -find twelve men obstinately bent on seeing things from the point of -view of a handsome, plausible young advocate. The court, however, was -all that could be desired. The attorney-general expressed his belief to -his colleagues that if French Pembroke relied upon an eloquent speech, -and the precedent of a Pembroke always carrying the winning colors in -a jury trial, he would be mistaken--because Judge Randolph, silent -and grim, looked keenly after the law. It was, as Pembroke knew, no -easy undertaking to face the array of lawyers before him. Like them, -he was shrewd enough to see that it would be a poor triumph to obtain -a verdict that would not stand. Bob Henry became to him merely an -incident. He looked day after day, during the trial, at the negro’s -ashy, scared face in the prisoner’s dock, and sometimes felt a kind of -wonder that a creature so ignorant and so inconsequential could be of -such tremendous importance to any human being. For Bob Henry took up -Pembroke’s mind, his soul, his nights, his days. He worked all day for -him, the tension never weakening from the time he entered the court -room in the morning, until by the light of sputtering candles he saw -Bob Henry walked off in the sheriff’s custody at night. Then Pembroke -would go to his little office, and lighting his lamp, begin work on his -books and his notes. Even Cave and Miles were unwelcome then. He was -engaged in a fierce intellectual struggle that he must fight out for -himself. He had meant in the beginning to keep himself in condition, -but he found out that it was one of the times when the soul triumphs -over the body. He would throw himself on the lounge in his office -toward daylight and snatch three or four hours of heavy and dreamless -sleep, and then wake up with his faculties as keen and tireless as if -he had slept for a week. He did not grow haggard and wild-eyed as men -sometimes do under these excitements. He was pale, but singularly -self-possessed and alert, and looked invariably trim and composed. He -forgot everything in those days but the negro he was trying to save -from the gallows. The lawyers who opposed him pounded him unmercifully. -They too, caught the infection of enthusiasm. It would be scandalous -to be beaten by an untried hand in such a case as that, with such -admirable fighting ground as they had. - -One afternoon, when the court adjourned early on account of a slight -illness of one of the jurors, Pembroke mounted his horse and rode off -far into the woodlands. When he was out of sight of the village he put -spurs to his horse and dashed along the country road. It did him good. -He felt already as if he had gained strength enough to last him even at -the rate he was using it up if the trial should last two weeks more. -Presently he brought his horse down to a walk, and enjoyed the strange -restfulness and strength he felt possessing him. Suddenly he came face -to face with Olivia Berkeley, riding quietly along the same road. - -It would be no exaggeration to say he had forgotten her existence. He -had not thought once of her or of Madame Koller, or Ahlberg, anybody -but Bob Henry. It had not been ten days since he had seen her, but -he felt as if it had been ten years. She looked very pretty and -Amazon-like on her light-built black, in her close habit. - -“Papa tells me great things of you,” she said, after the first -greeting. “He is up, storming and swearing for breakfast by sunrise, so -as to be at the court-house by nine o’clock. I never expected to see -him so happy again in dear old Virginia. It is some excitement for him. -As for Jane, she is beginning to think Bob Henry a martyr and a hero -combined.” - -Pembroke smiled. It was not the first praise that had reached his ears, -but the first that he had heeded. He had quite lost sight in the last -few extraordinary days of any outside view of what he was doing--but -praise from a pretty woman--especially praise so obviously sincere, is -dear to man’s heart. - -“I am sorry the Colonel should be so uproarious in consequence of the -trial.” - -“He is, I assure you. But I--I--too, feel very great interest in your -success. How much more noble this is than dawdling on the continent! -You will not get any money by it, but think--the whole county will -admire and applaud you--and think of those two poor black creatures.” - -“You are crediting me with more than I deserve,” he said, finding it -difficult to explain that what he was doing had long passed out of -the region of a desire for applause, and indeed, of the feeling of -compassion which had once inspired him. Now it was the overpowering -intellectual and natural bent that was having its own way. Pembroke had -been born a lawyer, although he did not suspect it. - -In taking his thoughts back to that remote period before the trial -begun, Olivia had brought Madame Koller to mind. - -“Have you seen Elise--Madame Koller--lately?” The first name slipped -out involuntarily. He rarely called Madame Koller by it at any -time--but now, by one of those tricks which memory serves all people, -her name came to his lips not only without his will, but against it. -His face turned a deep red, and he bit his lip in anger and vexation. -Olivia straightened herself up on her horse and smiled at him that -peculiar indulgent smile, and addressed him in those gentle tones that -betokened the freezing up of her sympathies and the coming to life -of her contempt. He knew only too well the meaning of that appalling -sweetness. “No, I have not. But to-morrow I will probably see her. -Shall I remember you to her?” - -“If you please,” replied Pembroke, wishing Madame Koller at the devil, -as he often did. Often--but not always. - -Then they drifted into commonplace, and presently they parted, Pembroke -galloping back to the village, despising himself almost as much as the -day he had allowed his anger to lead him into the quarrel with Ahlberg. - -But when he reached his dingy little office, Olivia Berkeley, Madame -Koller, Ahlberg, all faded rapidly out of his mind. That great game -of skill in which he was engaged, the stake being a human life, again -absorbed him. And then the critical time came, when, after having -tried to prove that the negro’s blow had not killed Hackett, he had -to bring out his theory that a dead and missing man was the murderer. -Hackett’s boon companions, who formed a community of lawless loafers, -had been unaccountably shy about attending the trial. Like the rest -of their class, they regarded a sensational murder trial as the most -fascinating occasion in life. They were great frequenters of the court -house, particularly of its low drinking places during “court week,” -but not one of them showed up in the first days of the trial. Cave -brought this significant news to Pembroke, who knew few persons in -the miscellaneous crowd that he saw every day. It made his heart beat -hard and fast with the hope of a coming success. The Hibbses and their -retainers, and a certain set of people who overcame their dislike to -the Hibbs family out of exaggerated sympathy for a Northern man with -Southern sympathies, for which Hackett had posed, formed a kind of camp -to themselves in the court room. - -The lawyers for the State found out that Pembroke knew all the weak -spots in their theory that Bob Henry’s blow killed Hackett, but there -was no suspicion of any evidence forthcoming to support Pembroke’s -theory that another hand struck the blow. Hackett’s association with -the deserters had evidently been carefully concealed by him, as it -would have ostracized him utterly. - -Therefore, when Pembroke, putting off until the last possible moment, -summoned John Jones and George Robinson and about a dozen others of -the “deserters’ gang,” as it was called, his opponents were taken -by surprise. One day only was taken up with their evidence. Each -witness, debarred by Judge Randolph’s orders from communicating with -the other, told a rambling, lying, frightened story, out of which -Pembroke gleaned the midnight carousal, a quarrel, a blow--all of them -running away, and leaving Hackett to his fate. In one point, however, -they all agreed--that the man, William Marsh, who was fearfully cut by -Hackett’s knife, and who disappeared to die, was the one who struck -the fatal blow that knocked Hackett senseless, and from which he never -rallied. All were eager to lay it on the dead man, and so to shift -the suspicion from themselves. The State, of course, impugned the -character of the witnesses, but that was a work of supererogation. -They had no characters to impugn. Yet, both judge and jury saw, that -without the slightest objection to perjuring themselves on the part of -this precious gang, they were involuntarily proving that Marsh, not -Bob Henry, was the murderer. Then Cave’s protégé, a small, ragged, -undersized boy of fifteen, was introduced. He was diffident, and shy, -and trembling in every limb, but his testimony was perfectly plain and -straightforward, so much so that an eminent gentleman on the side of -the prosecution, roared out to him, “Now, young man, tell us if this -remarkably straight story of yours didn’t have help from somewhere. -Have you talked with anybody about this evidence?” - -“Y--y--yes, sir,” stammered the boy, frightened half out of his life. - -“Who was it?” thundered the lawyer. - -“Mr.--Mr.--Cave.” - -“Aha, I thought so. Now, sir, tell us what Mr. Cave said to you--and be -careful--very careful.” - -The boy looked perfectly helpless and hopeless for a moment. Pembroke -almost felt himself tremble. - -“He said--he said, sir, some of the lawyers would holler at me, and -maybe confuse me--but if I jes’ stuck to the truth, and didn’t tell -nothin’ but what I seen with my own eyes, I’d come out all right!” - -Shouts of applause greeted this, which the sheriff vainly tried to -quell. The great man remarked to his personal staff, _sotto voce_, -“It’s all up. Pembroke’s case is too strong for us.” - -It was late in the afternoon of the fifth day when Pembroke’s closing -argument was over, and the jury had been instructed and had retired. -The Judge’s instructions rather damped Pembroke’s hopes. The testimony -of the deserters, while actually of great effect, was legally not worth -much--their motive in shoveling the blame on Marsh was too obvious. And -Cave’s protégé, although his testimony was remarkably straightforward, -was little better than a vagabond boy. Pembroke was not so sanguine of -his own success as his opponents were. - -The court house was dimly lighted by a few sputtering candles and an -ill-burning lamp. The Judge sat up straight and stern, fatigued with -the long trial, but willing to wait until six o’clock, the usual hour -of adjournment, for the jury. The shabby court-room was filled with -men, eager, talkative, but almost breathless with excitement--for by -some occult means, they divined that the jury wouldn’t be long making -up its verdict. - -The negro sat in the dock, more ghastly, more ashy than ever. Pembroke -rose to go to his office. He felt his iron nerve beginning to give way, -but a voice--piteous and pleading--reached him. - -“Fur God’s sake, Marse French, doan’ go ’way. I want you fur ter stay -by me.” - -Pembroke sat down again, this time a little nearer the poor prisoner, -whose eyes followed him like a dog’s. - -A hush settled down upon the audience. There was no pretense of -attending to any other business. The opposing lawyers rested wearily in -uncomfortable postures about the court-room. They talked in whispers -among themselves. Pembroke knew by instinct what they were saying. It -was that the jury was hopelessly gone, but that there remained hope yet -in the stern and silent Judge, whose instructions had been brief and -in no way indicative of which way his judgment inclined. It was not -the result of this trial which concerned them, it was the prospect of -another. - -Among practiced lawyers, nothing is easier to tell than the views of a -judge on a criminal case--after the decision has been rendered. About -an hour of the suspense had been endured when a message came that the -jury had agreed upon a verdict. The expectant crowd suddenly became -hushed and motionless. Not as wise as the lawyers, there was utter -uncertainty among them as to--not only whether the prisoner was guilty -or not, but whether Pembroke alone and single-handed, had vanquished -the veterans before him. - -The jury filed in and took their places, and the formalities were gone -through, when the foreman said in a loud voice, “Not guilty.” A wild -and tumultuous cheering broke forth. Like the poor prisoner, Pembroke -felt dazed. The end was not yet by any means. The opposing lawyers were -on their feet in a moment--the sheriff shouted for order--and in the -midst of this, a sudden silence came and Pembroke found himself--he -hardly knew how--on the platform shaking hands with Judge Randolph. - -“I congratulate you, sir,” he heard the Judge’s voice saying afar off. -“You have maintained the reputation of your distinguished father for -the tact and judgment with which you have defended your client. You -have a great career before you. It is most encouraging to see such an -example among the younger members of the bar.” - -Then there was a wild commotion. Pembroke felt himself choking, -trembling, utterly unable to reply. The pause to hear what he would say -became painfully prolonged. He began “Your Honor”--and after repeating -it twice, became utterly dumb. - -“You may retire, Mr. Pembroke,” said Judge Randolph, with a smile, -“your modesty is equal to your abilities.” - -At this Pembroke felt himself seized by the legs. The crowd carried -him out into the night air where another crowd yelled and shouted, he -struggling and breathless, and presenting a more undignified appearance -than he had ever imagined himself capable of looking. The next thing he -found himself on the court-house steps. While in the din and confusion, -he recognized occasionally faces by the light of the swinging lantern -in the porch of the building. In a moment the attorney-general of the -State appeared by his side--a handsome florid man of sixty. He waved -imperiously for silence, and the crowd obeyed. - -“My friends,” he said, in a strong, musical voice, “our young friend -here has made a magnificent fight.” (Yells and cheers.) “He has done -more than make an eloquent speech. He has mastered the law in the -case.” (More yells and shouts.) “It was the intention of my colleagues -and myself to move for a new trial. We have abandoned that intention.” -(Yells and shouts wilder and wilder.) “We might possibly get a new -trial on technicalities. It would cost the county much, and it would -not subserve the cause of justice--for I cheerfully acknowledge to you -here, that our young friend has proved conclusively that whoever caused -the death of the dead man, the prisoner did not. Now will you not unite -with me in giving him three cheers and a tiger!” - -The uproar was terrific. Pembroke could say nothing, could do nothing, -but bow. Suddenly an inspiration came to him. He turned to the -attorney-general who stood behind him and shook hands with him warmly. -The other lawyers crowded around him and shook hands. Somebody made -way through the crowd for Bob Henry. The negro on seeing Pembroke -broke into loud sobbing, and seizing him in both arms called down -blessings on him. Then Colonel Berkeley shouldered his way up to him -with Miles. At every minute the enthusiasm of the crowd increased. -Pembroke was growing deadly pale. The excitement, the sleeplessness, -of the last week was telling on him at last. Colonel Berkeley, after a -sharp glance at him, took him by the arm, and by dint of hauling and -pulling succeeded in wedging his way with Pembroke through the crowd, -which in the hullaballoo and semi-darkness, did not know that the -hero of the hour was gone, and yelled fiercely, “Speech! Speech!” The -attorney-general gratified them. - -Colonel Berkeley hustled Pembroke down, back through the court-room, -out of a side door, and through byways to where the Isleham carriage -stood, and clapped him in it, jumping in after him. - -“Cave will look after Miles,” he said, and shouted to Petrarch, who was -on the box, “Home.” The coachman laid the whip on his horses and they -made the five miles to Isleham in half an hour. - -When they reached the house, everything was too recent with -Pembroke--his final speech, the excitement, the relief, the -collapse--for him to have recovered himself. Olivia met them in the -hall. Her father, who relished a new sensation as only a man who loves -sensations can, was joyous. - -“Congratulate him, my love,” he called out in his merry, jovial voice. -“He is a true son of old French Pembroke. Great Cæsar! Haven’t I seen -your father carry everything before him just like this! Would that he -were alive this night! My darling, you should have heard his speech--a -regular Burr and Blennerhassett speech, Olivia--and the effect--by -Jove, my dear, I can’t describe it--and the Judge called him up on the -bench to congratulate him--and--and--” - -The Colonel surged on, telling everything at once. Olivia listened with -shining eyes. She had held out her hand to Pembroke in the beginning, -and as her father talked she continued to hold the hand in her little -strong clasp. For the first time Pembroke was burnt by the fire in -her eyes. What a woman for a man full of ambition to have! He had -seen Elise Koller wildly enthusiastic about herself--but Olivia had -forgotten all about herself. She was coloring, smiling, and sympathetic -about him. - -“How glad I am--how splendid of you--for that poor negro, too. God will -reward you,” she said. - -“Now, my boy,” cried the Colonel, “What do you want? Your dinner or -your bed?” - -“My bed,” answered Pembroke, smiling, but ready to drop. “I want -nothing but sleep, and I want to sleep a week. Thank you, Olivia.” - -He had never called her by her name since they were boy and girl -together. The Colonel in his excitement did not notice it, but Olivia -turned a beautiful rosy red. The Colonel dragged Pembroke off to his -room. Petrarch put him to bed. Before he slept though, his thoughts -returned to Olivia’s soft eyes--while Colonel Berkeley, walking the -drawing-room floor downstairs, retailed in flamboyant language, to -Olivia, the triumphs of the day. - - - - -CHAPTER IX. - - -IT took two or three days for Pembroke to recover from his fatigue -and excitement. Perhaps he did not hasten his complete recuperation. -It was surely pleasanter to come down to a twelve o’clock breakfast, -served piping hot by Petrarch, with Olivia to pour his coffee for him, -with that morning freshness which is so becoming to a woman, than the -loneliness of Malvern, with poor Miles’ sad face and pathetic effort -to forget himself and the wreck of his boyish life. Cave had taken the -boy to his cabin in the pine woods to stay some days, so that there -was nothing to call Pembroke back home. Miles was happier than for a -long time. Cave spoke to him with a certain bracing encouragement that -Olivia’s pitiful sympathy and his brother’s sharp distress lacked. -There was more of the salt of common sense in what Cave said than -in Olivia’s unspoken consolation, which much as it charmed the boy, -sometimes left him sadder than it found him. She was so sorry for him -that she could not always disguise it. - -So a few days went on, and Pembroke began to find Olivia every hour -pleasanter, more winning--until one night in his own room, after Olivia -had played to him half the evening and had read to him the other half, -he took himself to task. In the first place, he did not want to marry -at all then. He had a great many things to do first. Then, there was a -serious obstacle in the way, even had all the rest been smoothed out. -The Pembroke fortune, such as it was, was on its last legs. With the -negroes gone, and the land frightfully reduced in value, there was -only a slender competence left--and those two years in Paris had cost -a pretty penny. Only during the last few weeks Pembroke had waked up -to the true condition of affairs. Miles must be provided for, and upon -a scale more suited to Pembroke’s tastes than his resources. Then, -there remained for the elder brother, nothing. He had not thought of -this when he borrowed money at a high interest so merrily while he was -in Paris--but as he was every day awaking to his manlier self, this -had come home to him in its true light. He was not a man to ask any -woman to share poverty with him. To have brought a woman down, as his -wife, from a state of former luxury, would have been a misery too keen. -Rather would he have died--for false as well as true pride had great -share in him. Therefore, he thought, as he sat in his room smoking, it -would be better that he did not get his wings scorched. It was to his -credit that he did not allow any supposition that Olivia cared for him -to enter into his calculation. - -“Sweet Olivia,” he thought to himself, “some luckier man will win you. -I shall be ten years too late,”--and then he sighed, and presently -began to whistle cheerfully. But one thing was sure. He would never -marry Elise Koller. Even though his eyes were opened now to the fact -that he was virtually a ruined man, there was no longer any chance that -the baser part of him would succumb to that temptation. - -It was pleasant--especially the Colonel’s jolly company, to say nothing -of Petrarch’s, who highly approved of Pembroke, and remarked as he -industriously brushed his clothes on the last night, “I clar, Marse -French, you sutny do favor yo’ par. I ’member de time he made that -argyument when Marse Jack Thornton, he mos’ kilt Marse Spott Randolph -on ’count o’ Miss Tilly Corbin. We had ole wuks dat time. ’Twuz when -me an’ Marse was co’tin’ missis. I tell yo’ par, ‘A eye fur a eye,’ ‘a -toof fur a toof, an’ I will resist de cripplers, say de Lord.’ Marster -an’ me went to de cote house ter hear him. I tho’t ’bout it de yether -night, when de white folks was a crowdin’ ’roun’ an’ shakin’ yo’ han’ -an’ clappin’ you on de back. Arter you went up st’yars, Miss Livy, she -come an’ say to me, ‘Petrarch, did you hear de speech?’ I say, ‘Lord, -honey, dat I did. You jes’ oughter seen de folks whoopin’ an’ hollerin’ -and Marse French he stannin’ up, lookin’ handsome like he mar’--you -aint forgit yo’ mar, has you, Marse French?” - -“No,” said Pembroke. - -“I reklecks her when she warn’t no older ’n Miss Livy. She was kinder -light on her feet like Miss Livy, and she had dem shinin’ eyes, an dat -ar way Miss Livy got o’ larfin’ at yer. She an’ mistis’ was mighty -good frien’s, jes’ like you par an’ marse, an’ David an’ Jonadab. Dey -use ter come here an’ stay a week--yo’ mar come in de kerridge wid Miss -’Lizbeth an’ Marse Miles, an’ yaller Betsy--she was a likely nigger, -but a dretful sinner,--an’ you on a little pony ridin’ by yo’ par’s -side. Lordy how you did useter tease Miss Livy an’ dem chillen! Some -times you mek Miss Livy cry--an’ cry, an’ de tears wuz like de waters -o’ Babylon.” - -“What a brute I must have been! Why didn’t you or yellow Betsy get me a -lathering?” - -“Hi, Marse French, boys is boys. Dey c’yarn help bein’ troublesome an’ -dirty an’ teasin’. Gord done made ’em so. ‘My people is rambunctious,’ -He say, an’ I ain’t never seen no boys ’cept what was dirty an’ -tormentin’.” - -At last, Pembroke felt he had no excuse for remaining longer at -Isleham, and besides, he was seriously afraid of falling in love with -Olivia. So he took his way back to Malvern. - -While at Isleham, he had got one or two cocked-hatted notes from Madame -Koller. But on reaching home he found that one arrived with great -regularity every morning and occasionally during the day beside. The -tenor of all was the same. Why did he not come to see his friend. She -was so lonely. The country was _triste_ at best. Pembroke felt very -like asking her if the country was so triste then why did she not go -away. But he was a gentleman as well as a man, and was patient with -women even in their follies. - -At last, when he could put it off no longer--as indeed he had no -tangible reason for not going to see Madame Koller--he went. She -received him in her little sitting-room, adapting at the time one of -her prettiest poses for his benefit. She had heard of his triumph -and was full of pretty congratulations--but in some way, she could -not strike the note of praise that would harmonize. She didn’t know -anything about professional men. She had lived in Europe long enough -to get the notion that it was rather vulgar to work for pay--not that -Pembroke got any pay in this case. But if Pembroke had married her, -that weather-beaten sign “Attorney-at-Law” would have come down from -his office in the village, and the office itself would have lost its -tenant--so she thought. - -Pembroke always felt a delicacy in asking her to sing, but Madame -Koller often volunteered to do it, knowing Pembroke’s passionate -fondness for music, and feeling that truly on that ground they were -in sympathy. Olivia Berkeley’s finished and charming playing pleased -and soothed him, but it was nothing to the deep delight that Madame -Koller’s music gave him--for when she sat down to the piano and -playing her own accompaniments sang to him in her fervid way, it -simply enchanted him--and Madame Koller knew it. Although he was -exasperatingly cool under the whole battery of her smiles and glances, -yet when she sang to him, he abandoned himself to the magic of a voice. - -While she seated herself at the piano and began to sing, Pembroke, -stretched out in a vast chair, glanced sidewise at her. She did not -mouth and grimace in singing as many women do. She opened her wide, -handsome mouth, and seemed only to be calmly smiling, while her voice -soared like a bird. She had, in short, no amateurish tricks. - -Her profile, with its masses of yellow hair, was imposing. She was no -mere slip of a girl. When she had sung to him for the best part of an -hour she thought the time had come for her reward. So she went back to -her place on the sofa near the fire and posed beautifully. Pembroke -almost groaned. The singing was delicious enough, but the sentimental -hair-splitting had long since palled--and besides, the lady was too -much in earnest. - -“You remained several days, did you not, at the Colonel’s?” - -“Yes,” said Pembroke, cheerfully, and thinking gloomily how very like a -matrimonial lecture was the ensuing conversation. These interviews with -Madame Koller always disinclined him extremely to giving any woman the -power to ask him searching questions. Only, he did not believe Olivia -Berkeley was an inquisitive woman--she was quite clever enough to find -out what she wished to know without asking questions. - -The only remark Madame Koller made in reply was, “Ah,”--and lapsed into -silence, but the silence did not last long. - -“Olivia must have been very charming.” - -“Immensely,” answered Pembroke, with much heartiness, and wishing -Madame Koller would sing again. He hardly knew which was the more -exasperating, Madame Koller’s tone to him in speaking of Olivia, or -Olivia’s tone in speaking of Madame Koller. - -“Olivia is so excessively tame,” said she, after a pause. “So cold--so -self-contained.” - -“I don’t think she lacks spirit, though,” responded Pembroke, with -the easy air of a man discussing the most trivial subject, although -he swore mentally at Madame Koller for introducing the subject. “Miss -Berkeley has the reticence of a gentlewoman. But by heaven! I wouldn’t -like to arouse that spirit of hers.” - -Madame Koller sighed. It was a real and genuine sigh. She was thinking -how hard and strange it was that she was not permitted by fate to be -either a complete gentlewoman or a complete artist. She had learned in -her student days, and in that brief and brilliant artistic period, to -be reticent about her money matters, but that was all. She saw even in -her Aunt Sally Peyton, whom she regarded as an interfering old person, -without any style whatever, a certain air of security in what she said -and did--a calm indifference to her world--that Madame Koller was keen -enough to know marked the gentlewoman--which she, Elise Koller, who had -ten times the advantages, and had twenty times the knowledge of the -world that old Mrs. Peyton had, was never quite sure--there just was a -little uncertainty--ah, it was very little, but it made a great deal of -difference. - -“America seems queer enough to me now,” she said presently. - -“Very likely,” answered Pembroke. “You have remained here much longer -already than I expected.” - -Madame Koller at this fixed her eyes upon Pembroke in a way that made -him wince. A blush, too, showed through his dark skin. - -“Can you--can you--say _that_ to me?” she cried. - -Like any other man under the same circumstances, Pembroke remained -perfectly silent--because it is a well-known fact that when a woman -takes the initiative in tender speeches, the man, if he be a man, is at -once silenced. But Madame Koller was fluent. - -“I know what you think of me,” she said. This surprised Pembroke, who -really did not know what he thought of her. “You think me the weakest -woman in the world. But I have been strong. While my husband lived, -heaven knows what I endured. He was the cruelest creature God ever -made.” - -Pembroke thought it was the same old story of continental husbands -and wives. He had once known a marchese who made no secret that he -occasionally beat his marchesa. But Madame Koller almost made him smile -at the grotesqueness of what she told him, although it was real enough -to her to make her weep in the telling. - -“He was always ill--or imagining himself ill. He took medicine until -he nearly drove me crazy with his bottles and plasters. He lived in a -bath chair when he was as well able to walk about as I was--and I was -chained to that bath chair. Everything made him ill--even my singing. -He would not let me sing--only think of it--think of it.” - -Madame Koller glanced at Pembroke through her tears. He had stood up -and was saying something vague but comforting. The late Mr. Koller was -indeed a dreadful reminiscence. - -“Banish that time as far as you can,” he said. “The present is yours.” - -“Is it?” she said. “Now I will say to you that black as that past is, -it is not so black as this present. Now I endure torments far greater -than any I felt then.” - -Pembroke’s strong jaw was set resolutely. He felt rising tumultuously -within him that masculine pity that has wrecked many men. He would not, -if he could help it, prove false to himself with this woman, in spite -of her tears and her voice. - -“What have you to say to me?” she demanded, after a pause. - -“This,” answered Pembroke, with much outward boldness. “That your -coming here is an unsuccessful experiment. The same things that made -this country life distasteful to you in your childhood even, make it -distasteful now. This is not your native atmosphere. You will never be -anything but morbid and wretched here. This country life is like death -to you--and almost like death to me.” - -“Then why--why--” - -“Why do I stand it? Because I must. Because as a man, I must. Here is -my work, my duty, my manhood. Don’t be surprised to hear me talk this -way. You haven’t heard me speak of these things before--but still they -govern me some--more of late than they used to do. There is a good -deal here that is melancholy enough to me--but I would be a poltroon -if I started out to make life amusing. You see, I have considerable -ambition--and that impels me to work.” - -Madame Koller surveyed him keenly. By degrees the fire of resentment -rose in her eyes. She was angered at his coolness, at his calm -reasoning. Prudence in love is commonly regarded as a beggarly virtue -by women. - -“After all,” she said, “what are you to me? Nothing but a whim, a -caprice. But had you spoken to me a year ago as you do now, I should -not be here.” - -Pembroke remembered with a blush some slight love-making episodes, and -her tone stung him. - -“I can play the rascal if you like,” he said, angrily. “I can pretend -to feel what I don’t feel, but I warn you, I shan’t be a pleasant -rascal. If ever I take to villainy I shall probably take to drink and -gambling too.” - -Madame Koller sat down discontentedly on the sofa. When Pembroke had -arrived that afternoon her intention had been to determine one thing -or another--for life at The Beeches could not be endured much longer. -It mattered little what old Madame Schmidt said, but her cousin, -Ahlberg, was getting restive and threatened to leave her--and she was -mortally afraid of being left in America alone. But what progress -had she made? None. And suppose Pembroke were to leave that house -her lover, would it not be the greatest act of folly she had ever -committed?--and she had had her follies. And so she was tossed hither -and thither by prudence and feeling, and condemning her own weakness, -yet tamely submitted to it. - -Meanwhile, Pembroke had decided for himself. This thing could go on no -longer. He felt at that moment as if he had had enough of love-making -to last him for the next ten years. And besides, he had withstood -enough to make him feel that he did not care to withstand any more. So -he picked up his hat with an air of great determination. - -“I must leave you,” he said. “Elise, you have given me many happy -hours, but it would be ruin for us to become either more or less than -friends.” - -Madame Koller had thought herself thoroughly prepared for this, which -her own sense told her was literally true. But suddenly, without a -moment’s warning, without her own volition, and almost without her -knowledge, she burst into violent weeping. Was it for this she had come -the interminable distance--that she had suffered horrors of loneliness -and ennui? Alas, for her! - -Pembroke was appalled. Apparently all was to do over again, but there -was no longer any room for weakness. His mind was made up and could not -be unmade. He only stood silent, therefore, biting his lip, while his -face grew crimson. - -For the first time in his life he hailed Ahlberg as a relief--for at -that moment Ahlberg appeared on the threshold. Madame Koller pulled -herself together as quickly as she had given way. - -“Ah, Louis, you are welcome. Do not go yet,” to Pembroke. - -Pembroke did not take the hint. He went immediately. - - - - -CHAPTER X. - - -THE sudden pang which wrenched poor Mr. Cole’s heart when he heard -that Madame Koller would soon leave the county, and the country as -well, was vain suffering. For Madame Koller did not go. Old Madame -Schmidt for the first time became restless. Ahlberg protested that he -could not stay any longer. Pembroke had become entirely at ease about -Ahlberg. Apparently Ahlberg was in no hurry to carry out that rash -engagement to fight, which Pembroke regarded on his own part as a piece -of consummate folly, and was heartily ashamed of. He did not feel the -slightest apprehension that, if the truth got out, his personal courage -would be suspected, because that had been tested during the war, but -he was perfectly willing to let Ahlberg’s arm take as long to recover -as it chose, and called himself a fool every time he thought about the -roadside quarrel. - -The ennui was nearly killing to Madame Koller, yet she stayed on under -a variety of pretexts which deceived everybody, including herself. - -She was not well adapted for solitude, yet most of the people about -bored her. Mrs. Peyton, she considered as her bête noir, and quite -hated to see the Peyton family carriage turning into the carriage drive -before the door. But for her singing she would have died. But just -as long as the wheezy old grand piano in the drawing-room would hold -together, she would not be quite friendless. Pembroke had not been to -see her since that afternoon when she had wept so. But she conveyed to -him one day when she met him at Isleham, that he need not be afraid to -come to see her. Man like, Pembroke could not resist this challenge, -and went--and found Madame Koller received him more like an ordinary -visitor than ever before. Consequently he went again. Another motive -which impelled him was the talk that would arise in the county if he -ceased going to The Beeches at all. Everybody would imagine there had -been a breach, and if a breach, a former friendship. - -Cave, one day, met Madame Koller at Isleham. When she told him of -her loneliness he was stricken with pity for not having been to see -her. Like Colonel Berkeley, he thought her presence in Virginia was -explained by money troubles, and asked permission to visit her mother -and herself, Madame Schmidt being invariably brought in by Madame -Koller as if she were a real person instead of a mere breathing -automaton. And so he went. - -“What a strange, fascinating man is your friend Cave,” she said -afterward to Pembroke upon one of his occasional formal visits, when -their conversation was always upon perfectly safe and general subjects. - -“I never discovered any strange fascination about him,” laughed -Pembroke with masculine practicality. - -“He lives in the woods. Yet he understands art better than any man I -know.” - -“There’s nothing extraordinary. He is a highly educated man. The -doctors tell him he can’t live except in the pine woods, but his two -rooms in his log cabin are more comfortable than any I have at Malvern.” - -“By the way, you have never invited me to Malvern. I used to go there -as a girl.” - -Pembroke remembered a speech of his friend’s, Mrs. Peyton, to him some -time before. - -“Ah, my dear French,” she had said, “what a dear, sweet, amiable -creature your mother was--and your father was a regular Trojan when -he was roused. I remember taking Eliza there for a visit once, when -she was growing up, and the singing mania had just possessed her. She -sung all day and nearly all night--screech, screech--bang, bang on -the piano. Your father almost danced, he was so mad--but your dear -mother was all thoughtfulness. ‘My dear Sally,’ she would say every -day laughing. ‘Don’t feel badly about Eliza’s singing, and the way Mr. -Pembroke takes it. It is the only chance John Cave has to say a word -to Elizabeth.’ Your mother was highly in favor of that match, I can -tell you, though John had no great fortune--and your father was so fond -of him too, that he really imagined John was courting him, instead of -Elizabeth. But I shortened my visit considerably, I assure you.” - -All this flashed through Pembroke’s mind when Madame Koller spoke. And -then he colored slightly. He was a little ashamed of the dilapidation -of a once fine country house. During the war, the place had been raided -and the house fired. The fire had been quickly extinguished, but the -front porch and a part of one wing was charred. He felt some false, -though natural shame at this, particularly as Ahlberg, when he and -Pembroke were on visiting terms, had never been to the place without -intimating that it was queer they did not have the house thoroughly -rehabilitated. But Pembroke had inherited a soul of Arab hospitality, -and he answered promptly: - -“Whenever you and Madame Schmidt will honor me with a visit, you will -be most welcome.” - -“And will you ask Mr. Cave, too?” - -“Certainly. Mr. Cave is my closest friend.” - -Just as on a similar occasion, Colonel Berkeley had incurred Olivia’s -wrath by inviting the Pembrokes to meet Madame Koller, so Miles, -meaning to do the most agreeable thing in the world, informed Pembroke -a day or two after he had mentioned that Madame Koller and her mother -and Cave were coming to luncheon on Tuesday, that meeting Colonel -Berkeley, he, Miles, had invited the Colonel and Olivia over for -Tuesday, also--to meet the others. Miles walked away, whistling to his -dog, serenely unconscious of the chagrin that overwhelmed Pembroke at -this apparently harmless information. - -Pembroke did not swear, although he was profane upon occasions--but -when Aunt Keturah, his old nurse and housekeeper, came to him the next -minute to ask something about the proposed festivity, his answer was, - -“Go to the devil!” - -Aunt Keturah was naturally offended at this. - -“I didn’t never think _my_ mistis’ son gwin’ talk dat discontemptuous -way to de mammy dat nuss him and Miss ’Lizbeth, and Marse Miles, an’ -lay yo’ par out, and your mar, an’ set by Miss ’Lizbeth an’ hole her -han’ ’twell de bref lef’ her body--” For your true African never omits -to mention any family tragedy or sorrow or other lugubrious proceedings -in which he or she may have had a part. - -“Well, old lady, I didn’t exactly mean what I said--” - -“Well, den, you hadn’t orter said nuttin’ like it--” - -“I know it. If you were to go to the devil, I don’t know what would -become of me.” - -“Dat’s so, honey. An’ ain’t no wife gwi’ do fur you like yo’ po’ ole -mammy”--for the possibility of Pembroke’s marriage was extremely -distasteful to Keturah, as portending her downfall and surrender of the -keys. - -Colonel Berkeley had often been to Malvern since his return, but -Olivia, not since she was a child, when she would go over with her -mother, and played in the garden with Miles. Then Pembroke was a tall, -overbearing boy, a remorseless tease, whose only redeeming trait, in -her childish eyes, was the wonderful stories he could tell out of -books--when he chose. Elizabeth she remembered--a beautiful, haughty -girl, who alternately snubbed and petted her. It seemed so long ago. -They were to come to luncheon at two o’clock. When Olivia and her -father drove up, with Cave in the carriage with them, whom they had -picked up on the road, Pembroke had been called off for a moment by -a client who was interviewing him in “the office”--that necessary -adjunct of every professional man, and most of the gentry in Virginia, -a comfortable one or two-roomed building, a little back of the “great -house,” where the master kept his books and accounts, his guns and -hunting paraphernalia, where his dogs had the right of entry and his -women kind had not. - -The house had once been imposing. Two wings rambled off from the center -building. One was overgrown with ivy, and looked both comfortable and -picturesque under the tall and branching elms. The other was gaunt and -scorched and weather-beaten. The heat had cracked the windows and had -forced the bricks out of place. One pillar of the porch on that side -was gone. The damage to the house was really not great, but apparently -it was ruined. - -Miles met them at the door--Miles, once the handsome scapegrace, and -now the blighted, the unfortunate. The spectacle of his marred face was -in melancholy keeping with what surrounded him. - -He was genuinely glad to see them. He came down the steps, and -gallantly and even with a certain grace, offered Olivia his one arm -to alight from the carriage. The Colonel scrambled out and immediately -seized Miles. - -“My dear fellow, driving through this plantation to-day brought back -to me your father’s purchase of that woodland down by the creek in -’forty-six.” - -Anything that occurred in ’forty-six had such a charm for Colonel -Berkeley that Miles knew he was in for it. The Colonel took his arm and -trotted up and down the portico, pointing out various ways in which -the late Mr. Pembroke, his devoted friend, had neglected the Colonel’s -advice in regard to farming, and the numberless evils that had resulted -therefrom. Colonel Berkeley entirely forgot that his own farming was -not above reproach, and if he had been reduced to his land for a -living, instead of that lucky property at the North that he had so -strenuously tried to make way with, he would indeed have been in a bad -way. But the Colonel was a famous farmer on paper, was president of the -Farmers’ Club of the county, had published several pamphlets on subsoil -drainage, and was a frequent contributor to the columns of the Southern -Planter before the war. - -Cave and Olivia, finding themselves temporarily thrown on each other, -concluded to walk through the grounds. Madame Koller and her mother had -not yet arrived, and under the huge trees, a little distance off, they -could see Pembroke talking with his visitor, as the latter mounted his -horse to ride away. - -In former days the grounds, like the house, had been fine, but now -they were completely overgrown and neglected, yet, there was a kind of -beauty in their very wildness. - -“How charming this wilderness of roses will be when they are in -bloom,” said Olivia, as they walked through what had once been a rose -walk, stiff and prim, now rioting in lush luxuriance. “I remember it -quite straight, and the rose trees trimmed up all in exactly the same -shape--and see, the roses have climbed so over the arbor that we can’t -get in.” - -Cave said nothing. The one love of his life was born and lived and died -in this home. He could see, through a rift in the trees, the brick -wall around the burying ground where Elizabeth lay. It was fallen away -in many places, and the sheep browsed peacefully over the mounds. The -marble slab over Elizabeth was as yet new and white. Still Olivia did -not jar on him at that moment. She was innately sympathetic. - -They paced slowly about the graveled paths overgrown in many places -with weeds, and among a vigorous growth of young shrubbery, unpruned -and unclipped. She pulled a great branch of pink dogwood from a -transplanted forest tree, and swayed it thoughtfully as she walked. -Presently they saw Pembroke coming to look for them. As he approached -and took Olivia’s hand, a color as delicate as that of the dogwood -blossoms she held in her other hand, mounted to her face. - -Then they turned back leisurely toward the house. At one spot, under a -great linden tree, was the basin of a fountain, all yellow and choked -with the trailing arbutus, which grew with the wild profusion that -marks it in the depth of the woods. The fountain was long since gone. -Pembroke plucked some of the arbutus and handed it to Olivia, taking -from her the dogwood branch at the same time and throwing it away. - -“The arbutus has a perfume--the dogwood has none--and a flower without -perfume is like a woman without sentiment,” he said gayly. As they -stood still for a moment, Olivia suddenly exclaimed to Pembroke: - -“Oh, I remember something about this fountain--don’t you?” Then they -both began to laugh. - -“What is it?” asked Cave. - -“I was staying here once with mamma, when I was a little girl--” - -“I picked you up and held you over the basin to scare you.” - -“And dropped me in, and--” - -“Went gallantly to the rescue and dragged you out--” - -“And your mother sent you to bed without your dinner.” - -“I remember thinking you were the most comical looking object I ever -saw with your curls dripping, and I was particularly amused at the -chattering of your teeth. What remorseless wretches boys are!” - -“I don’t believe you meant to let me slip.” - -“You were splashing in the basin before I knew it. But it seemed a -delicious piece of mischief then, and Miles’ terror that his turn would -come next--Elizabeth boxed my ears for it.” - -For the first time since their return home each came back to something -like the old boy and girl frankness, and they laughed like children. - -“How I loved to come here when I was a little girl. Your mother was -certainly the most delightful companion for a child. I remember how she -allowed me to brush her hair, it was so long and beautiful. I suppose -my efforts were torture to her; how splendid she looked when she was -dressed for a ball.” - -Pembroke was touched to the heart. His mother who died like Elizabeth, -in her youth and beauty, was only seventeen years older than himself. -He remembered that she had been a little more than a girl when he, her -eldest son, reached up to her shoulder. Olivia and her father were -always associated with his mother. Few persons remembered her, he -thought bitterly. He had imagined that it was impossible for any one to -know her without being inspired with the profound admiration he felt, -along with his affection for her. But naturally it was not so--and he -felt an inexpressible pride in hearing Olivia’s words. They were not -many, but he knew they came from her heart. - -“Do you know,” he said as they turned away and pursued the path to the -house while Cave dropped behind, “I think you are a little like my -mother. Petrarch says so too, and Petrarch is a physiognomist.” - -“Nonsense,” cried Olivia, nevertheless coloring with pleasure. “Your -mother was one of the most beautiful women in the world, and most -commanding in her beauty. I don’t know anybody at all like her.” - -They were now near the house, and looking up, Pembroke saw Madame -Koller and the bundle of wrappings she called mamma descending from the -carriage. A little unpleasant shock came upon him. The ladies from The -Beeches were out of harmony just then. - -Nevertheless they were very cordially greeted. Although the day was -spring-like, Madame Koller’s gown was trimmed with fur, and she cowered -close to the fire in the big, draughty drawing-room. Pembroke fancied -that Madame Schmidt’s fondness for wrappings would eventually descend -to her daughter. But Madame Koller was very handsome. The quiet winter, -the country air had made her much younger and fresher. And then, most -women are much better looking when they are in love. They live in a -perpetual agitation, which gives a strange brightness to the eye, a -softness to the smile. They are impelled toward their natural rôle, -which is acting. Madame Koller had the benefit of all this. - -The luncheon passed off very well. In the house was that queer mixture -of shabbiness and splendor common in Virginia country houses. At -table they sat in common Windsor chairs, but ate off Sèvres china; a -rickety sideboard was loaded down with plate. The Virginians were, as a -rule, indifferent to comforts, but luxuries they must have. After the -luncheon Pembroke took them to the library, and through such of the -house as was habitable. Madame Koller raved over the fine editions of -books, the old mahogany furniture, the antique portraits intermingled -with daubs of later ancestors--the whole an epitome of the careless -pleasure-loving, disjointed life of the dead and gone Virginia--when -the people stocked their cellars with the best wines and slept on husk -mattresses--where the most elaborate etiquette was maintained in the -midst of incongruities of living most startling. It had never ceased to -be puzzling to Madame Koller. She admired, as well she might, a lovely -girlish portrait of Pembroke’s mother which hung in the drawing-room. -There was a piteous likeness between it and the one unscarred side of -Miles’ face. - -Miles had kept close to Olivia--he was not quite easy with Madame -Koller. As for Madame Schmidt, he had in vain tried to get something -out of her, but the old lady was obviously so much more comfortable -seated by the drawing-room fire, well wrapped up, with her feet on the -footstool, and nobody to distract her attention from keeping warm, that -she was considerately left to herself. - -But Madame Koller did not enjoy the day, as, indeed, she did not at -that phase of her existence enjoy anything. She had fancied she could -conquer her heart, in the presence of its object, and with a dangerous -rival in the foreground. Love finds a mighty helper in self-love. -Whatever determination she might once have had to relinquish Pembroke -melted away when she saw that Olivia Berkeley and he were quietly -slipping into a state of feeling that would turn to something stronger -in a moment of time. And naturally she thought no woman alive could -withstand the man that had conquered her. - -It was late in the afternoon when the carriages drove off. Olivia said -truly she had had a very happy day. Not so truly said Madame Koller. - - - - -CHAPTER XI. - - -THE winter had lapsed into spring. It was April--the May of colder -climates. In a week--a day--Nature had rushed into bloom. Even Madame -Koller, who cared little for these things, was awakened to the beauty -surrounding her. She spent hours walking in the fresh morning air and -thinking--thinking. The few times she saw Pembroke, and the quiet, -formal courtesy with which he treated her was as wind to flame. In -his absence she was perpetually thinking of him, devising wild and -extravagant methods of winning him. It was her pride, she now persuaded -herself, that needed to be avenged. Again throwing prudence wildly -aside, she boldly acknowledged to herself that it was love. For -the first time in her life she was thrown upon herself--and a very -dangerous and undisciplined self it was. Sometimes she blamed him less -than he deserved for whatever folly he had been a party to--and again -she blamed him more. Madame Koller was fast working herself up to the -point of an explosion. - -Toward dusk one evening, as Olivia Berkeley sat in the dim drawing-room -where a little fire crackled on the hearth, although the windows were -opened to the purple twilight outside, she heard a light step upon the -portico--and the next moment, Madame Koller walked in. - -Olivia received a kind of shock when she recognized her. Madame -Koller’s manner to her had been queer of late, but she spoke to her -very cordially. Very likely she was wearied and ennuyéd at home--and -had to come to Olivia in the desperation of loneliness. - -Madame Koller, in response to Olivia’s hospitable offer, allowed her to -remove the long furred mantle, and place it on a chair. She looked at -Olivia fixedly. Her eyes were large and very bright. - -“You are surprised that I should come here at this time, Miss Berkeley?” - -“I am very pleased, Madame Koller.” - -“You are surprised. However, is it not strange how in moments of great -agitation, trifles will come to one’s mind? It reminds me even now, -how all the people in this county are amazed at simple--very simple -things. There is nothing in my walking a mile or two to see you--I have -a servant outside--but you, like the rest, regard it as very queer.” - -“As you please, Madame Koller,” answered Olivia. - -“Still more strange will you think it when I tell you my errand--for, -although you are no fool, Olivia Berkeley, you have no heart.” - -“Did you take so much trouble in order to tell me this to-night?” -answered Olivia pleasantly enough, but with that little shade of -sarcasm in her voice that is infuriating to people in deadly earnest. - -“Not entirely. But I am glad you have no heart to suffer. I would not -wish any one to suffer as I do.” - -Madame Koller paused a moment. - -“You know why I suffer. It is not my purpose to say how much Pembroke -is to blame. I do not know how you cold, self-contained people consider -these things. He did not take the trouble to undeceive me, when I -supposed he loved me until a few months ago--until you, in short, -appeared.” - -“Madame Koller,” said Olivia, haughtily, “may I beg that you will not -bring my name into your personal affairs or Pembroke’s either? While I -am under no obligation to tell you, I have no hesitation in saying that -there is nothing whatever between him and me that the whole world may -not know. He is not my lover and never has been.” - -Madame Koller looked at Olivia and laughed mirthlessly. - -“You sit there and tell me that as coolly as if you expected me to go -home without saying another word. But I will not go, and I will speak. -However, there is nothing that you need be angry about. Only this. -Pembroke, you see, is poor. He has great gifts, but they will not bring -him money for many years. He is extravagant--he is proud. He wants to -go into public life--that he has told me. Imagine the terrible future -of poverty and debt before him if he marries without a fortune. I can -save him from all this. I am rich enough for both. Say that you will -not stand in my way. I will remove the only obstacle in his path. I -will give up everything. I will stay in this tedious land for his -sake. He shall pursue any career he chooses. Think well what it is to -rob such a man of his only chance of fortune and ease. For if he does -not marry me, he will certainly marry you.” - -Olivia sat upright in her chair completely dazed. She forgot to be -indignant. For the first time the truth enunciated by Madame Koller -came home to her. Pembroke _was_ poor. He _was_ extravagant. He _was_ -bent upon entering politics. Olivia had, as most women, a practical -sympathy. She knew very well the horrors of poverty for such a man, and -her portion would be but small. - -Madame Koller, seeing that she had made her impression, waited--and -after a while continued. Her voice was low and very sweet. She seemed -pleading for Pembroke’s salvation. - -“Pembroke, you know, is already deeply in debt. He cannot readily -accommodate himself to the style of provincial living here. He would -say all these things are trifles. I tell you, Olivia Berkeley, they are -not trifles. They are second nature. Is it not cruel of God to make us -so dependent on these wretched things? It was for these same wretched -things that I endured torture for years--for money and clothes and -carriages--just such things as that.” - -Olivia by a great effort recovered herself. - -“What you say is true, Madame Koller. But I will not--how can you -ask me such things about a man who has never--never”--she stopped at -a loss to express her meaning, which implied a reproach at Madame -Koller’s want of delicacy. - -Madame Koller made a gesture of impatience. - -“What are promises?” she cried. “Nevertheless, I want you to see that -if you marry Pembroke it will be his ruin. It would be most wicked -selfishness.” - -“Madame Koller,” answered Olivia, rising, “I will not listen to any -more.” - -“I have nothing more to say,” responded Madame Koller, rising too, -and drawing her cloak around her. “I did not expect more from you -than conventional tolerance. Had you a heart you would have felt for -me--for him--for yourself. Can you conceive of anything more noble, or -more piteous than two women, one of whom must make a great sacrifice -for the man they both love--come, you need not deny it, or lose your -temper--because I see you have a temper.” Olivia’s air and manner did -certainly indicate dangerous possibilities. “I repeat, of two women as -we are, the one makes the sacrifice--the other feels it to the quick. -You talk though like a boarding-school miss. You might have got all the -phrases you have used out of a book of deportment.” - -“I am as sincere as you are, Madame Koller,” answered Olivia, in a -voice of restrained anger. “I cannot help it that I am more reserved. -I could no more say what you have said--” here a deep flush came into -Olivia’s face--“than I could commit murder.” - -Madame Koller stood up, and as she did so, she sighed deeply. Olivia, -for the first time, felt sorry for her. - -“Women who love are foolish, desperate, suicidal--anything. I do not -think that you could ever love.” - -“Do you think that? I _know_ better. I could love--but not like--not -like--” - -“Not like me?” - -“Yes, since you have said it. Something--something--would hold me back -from what you speak of so openly.” - -“I always said you were as nearly without feeling as the rest of the -people here. Elizabeth Pembroke is the only woman I know of, among all -of us, that ever really loved. But see how curious it was with her. She -defied her father’s curses--yet she did not have the nerve to marry the -man she truly loved, because he happened to be an officer in the Union -army, for fear the Peytons and the Coles, and the Lesters, and the rest -of them, would have turned their backs on her at church. Bah!” - -“I don’t think it was want of nerve on Elizabeth Pembroke’s part,” -replied Olivia. “She was not born to be happy.” - -“Nor was I,” cried Madame Koller, despondently. - -There was no more said for a minute or two. Then Madame Koller spoke -again. - -“Now you know what I feel. I don’t ask anything for myself--I only wish -to show you that you will ruin Pembroke if you marry him.” - -An angry light came into Olivia’s eyes. She stood up, straight and -stern, and absolutely grew taller as she looked fixedly at Madame -Koller. - -“This is intolerable,” she said. “There is nothing--absolutely -nothing--between Pembroke and me, and yet I am subjected to this -cross-questioning.” - -“You would complain a great deal more of it if there were anything -between you,” answered Madame Koller, not without a glimpse of -grotesque humor. “But now you know where I stand--and let me tell you, -Olivia Berkeley, Pembroke is not guiltless toward me, however he would -pretend it”--and without waiting for the angry reply on Olivia’s lips, -she vanished through the open door. - -All that evening, as Olivia sat with a book on her lap, not reading, -but watching the flame on the broad hearth, she was turning over in her -mind what Madame Koller had said. It had disturbed her very much. It -had not raised Pembroke at all in her esteem. She begun, nevertheless, -to think with pity over the wretchedness of his fate should he be -condemned to poverty. She fancied him harassed by debts, by Miles’ -helplessness. Her tender heart filled with pity. - -“Olivia, my love,” said the Colonel, emerging from behind his -newspaper for a moment. “Pembroke means to try for the nomination to -Congress--and Cave tells me he is pretty sure to get it. Great pity. A -man who goes into public life without out a competence dooms himself -to a dog’s life for the remainder of his days. It ruined Pembroke’s -father thirty years ago.” - -Olivia started. This was like an oracle answering her own thoughts. - -She thought, with a little bitter smile that it did not require much -generosity to give up a man on whom one had no claim, and laughed at -the idea of a struggle. At all events she would forget it all. It was -not so easy to forget though. The thought stayed with her, and went to -bed with her, and rose with her next morning. - -Meanwhile, alas, for Madame Koller. When she came out, she looked -around in vain for the negro woman who had come with her. She was -not to be seen. They had come by the path that led through the -fields, which made it only a mile from The Beeches to Isleham, but -in going back, she missed her way--and then being a little afraid of -the negroes, she went “around the road,” as they called it. At the -first gate, a man galloped out of the darkness. It was Pembroke. He -recognized her at once, and got off his horse. - -“You here,” he cried in surprise--“at this hour”--for it was well on -to seven o’clock, and Madame Koller was not noted for her fondness for -walking. - -“Yes,” she answered. - -“Is anything the matter at Isleham?” he asked--for she could not have -come from anywhere else. - -“Nothing at all,” she replied nervously. “I--I--went over to see Olivia -Berkeley,” she added boldly. - -Pembroke could say nothing. After a pause, Madame Koller burst out. - -“Pembroke, that girl is made of iron. She cares nothing for you--for -anybody but herself.” - -“And did you find out any of those things by asking her?” he inquired. - -The twilight was so upon them that Madame Koller could not well see -Pembroke’s face, but she realized the tone of suppressed rage in his -voice. She herself had a temper that was stormy, and it flamed out at -that tone. - -“Yes, I asked her. Are you a man that you can reproach me with it?” - -It is difficult for a man, if he is a gentleman, to express his wrath -toward a woman. Pembroke was infuriated at the idea that Madame Koller -should go to Olivia Berkeley and ask prying questions. He ground his -teeth with wrath as he looked at Madame Koller standing before him, in -the half light. - -“What a price I have had to pay for folly,” he cried furiously. “A -little damned love-making in a garden--” he was so savage that he was -not choice of words and fell into profanity as men naturally do--“a -half dozen notes and bouquets--Great God! Is there anything in that -which should be a curse to a man’s whole life! And I love Olivia -Berkeley. I could make her love me, but--but for you.” - -His violence sobered Madame Koller at once. - -“There was not much, certainly,” she responded calmly. “The -love-making in the garden and the bouquets would have been little -enough--but unfortunately hearts are so perverse. A great many are -broken by such trifles. It was very amusing to you but not so amusing -altogether to me.” - -Pembroke began to be ashamed of himself. But he was still magnanimous -enough not to tell her that she had taken a queer course about those -things. - -“I suppose I am to blame,” he said with sulky rage after a moment. -“I’m willing to shoulder all the blame there is--but why should Olivia -Berkeley be insulted and annoyed by this kind of thing? Do you think -you will ever accomplish anything by--” he stopped and blushed both for -himself and her. - -“One thing is certain,” he continued. “After what you have said to -Olivia Berkeley, questioning her about me, as you have admitted, I -shall simply carry out my intention of asking her to marry me. She -shall at least know the truth from me. But I think my chances are -desperate. Pshaw! I have no chance at all. It’s rather grotesque, don’t -you think, for a man to ask a woman to marry him when he knows that she -will throw him over and despise him from the bottom of her heart?” - -“That I must decline to discuss with you,” quietly answered Madam -Koller. She was indeed quiet, for at last--and in an instant, she -realized that she must forever give up Pembroke. All that long journey -was for nothing--all those months of wretched loneliness, of still -more wretched hopes and fears, were in vain. She heard Pembroke saying: - -“You had best let me see you home. It is too late for you to be out -alone.” - -“You will not,” she replied. “I will not permit you, after what you -have said, to go one step with me.” - -Pembroke felt thoroughly ashamed. It was one of the incidents of his -association with Madame Koller and Ahlberg that they always made him -say and do things he was ashamed of. In short, they demoralized him. He -had been betrayed by temper and by circumstances into things that were -utterly against his self-respect--like this ebullition of rage against -a woman. In the plenitude of his remorse he was humble to the last -degree. - -“May I,” he asked--“may I, at least accompany you to your own grounds? -It is really not safe for you.” - -Madame Koller turned upon him and stamped her foot. - -“No, no--always no. Do you think there is any danger on earth from -which I would accept your protection? Go to Olivia Berkeley. She would -marry you in your poverty if it suited her whim, and be a millstone -around your neck. Go to her, I say.” - -Pembroke watched her figure disappearing in the dusk along the faint -white line of the road. He stood still with his horse’s bridle in his -hand, turning over bitter things in his mind. He thought he would not -go to Isleham that night. He was depressed and conscience-stricken, and -in no lover-like mood. He mounted his horse and rode slowly back to -Malvern. - - - - -CHAPTER XII. - - -WHEN two weeks had passed, Pembroke still had not gone to Isleham--but -in that time much had happened. The congressional convention had -been held, and the ball had been opened for him by Cave with great -brilliancy and power--and after a hard fight of two days, Pembroke -had got the nomination for Congress. It was of infinite satisfaction -to him in many ways. First because of the honor, which he honestly -coveted--and again because of the ready money his election would bring. -Modest as a congressional salary would be, it was at least in cash--and -that was what he most needed then. He did not have a walk over. The -parties were about evenly divided, and it was known that the canvass -would be close and exciting. Pembroke warmed to his work when he knew -this. It was like Bob Henry’s trial--it took hold of his intellectual -nature. He was called magnetic--and he had a nerve power, a certain -originality about him that captivated his audiences. - -There is nothing that a mixed crowd of whites and blacks at the South -so much hates as a demagogue. Especially is this the case with the -“poor whites” and the negroes. It was from them that Pembroke knew he -must get the votes to elect. When he appeared on the hustings, he was -the same easy, gentlemanly fellow as in a drawing-room. He slapped no -man on the back, nor offered treats, nor was there any change in his -manner. He was naturally affable, and he made it his object to win -the good will of his hearers through their enlightenment, not their -prejudices. The Bob Henry episode did him immense service. A great -revolution had taken place in regard to Bob Henry. As, when he had -been poor and in prison and friendless and suspected, everybody had -been down on him, so now when he was free and cleared of suspicion, -and had been an object of public attention, he became something of a -hero. He worked like a beaver among his own people for “Marse French.” -At “night meetings” and such, he was powerful--and in the pulpits of -the colored people, the fiat went forth that it “warn’t wuff while fer -cullud folks to pay de capilation tax fer to git young Mr. Hibbs, who -warn’ no quality nohow” into Congress--for the redoubtable Hibbs was -Pembroke’s opponent. This too, had its favorable action on his canvass. -As for Petrarch, he claimed a direct commission from the Lord to send -“Marse French ter Congriss. De Lord, de Great Physicianer, done spoken -it ter me in de middle o’ de night like he did ter little Samson, -sayin’ ‘Petrarch whar is you?’ He say ‘What fur I gin you good thinkin’ -facticals, ’cep’ fur ter do my will? An’ it ain’t Gord’s will dat no -red headed Hibbs be ’lected over ole Marse French Pembroke’s son, dat -allus treated me wid de greatest circumlocution.” Petrarch’s oratory -was not without its effect. - -Pembroke’s natural gift of oratory had been revealed to him at the -time of Bob Henry’s acquittal. He cultivated it earnestly, avoiding -hyperbole and exaggeration. There is nothing a Virginian loves so well -as a good talker. Within ten days of the opening of the campaign, -Pembroke knew that he was going to win. Hibbs had a very bad war -record. Pembroke had a very good one. The canvass therefore to him, was -pleasant, exciting, and with but little risk. - -But Olivia Berkeley’s place had not been usurped. He had not meant or -desired to fall in love. As he had said truly to Cave, there were other -things for him than marriage. But love had stolen a march upon him. -When he found it out, he accepted the result with great good humor--and -he had enough masculine self-love to have good hopes of winning her -until--until Madame Koller had put her oar in. But even then, his case -did not seem hopeless, after the first burst of rage and chagrin. - -She would not surrender at once--that he felt sure, and he rather liked -the prospect of a siege, thinking to conquer her proud spirit by a -bold stroke at last. But Madame Koller had changed all this. He was -determined to make Olivia Berkeley know how things stood between Madame -Koller and himself--and the best way to do it was to tell her where his -heart was really bestowed. - -It was in the latter part of April before a day came that he could -really call his own. He walked over from Malvern late in the afternoon, -and found Olivia, as he thought he should, in the garden. The walks -were trimmed up, and the flower-beds planted. Olivia, in a straw hat -and wearing a great gardening apron full of pockets, gravely removed -her gloves, her apron, and rolled them up before offering to shake -hands with Pembroke. - -“Allow me to congratulate our standard-bearer, and to apologize for my -rustic occupations while receiving so distinguished a visitor.” - -Pembroke looked rather solemn. He was not in a trifling mood that -afternoon, and he thought Olivia deficient in perception not to see at -once that he had come on a lover’s errand. - -Is there anything more charming than an old-fashioned garden in the -spring? The lilac bushes were hanging with purple blossoms, and great -syringa trees were brave in their white glory. The guelder roses nodded -on their tall stems, and a few late violets scented the air. It was -a very quiet garden, and the shrubbery cut it off like a hermitage. -Pembroke had selected his ground well. - -Olivia soon saw that something was on his mind, but she did not suspect -what it was. She had heard that Madame Koller was to leave the country, -and she thought perhaps Pembroke needed consolation. Men often go to -one woman to be consoled for the perfidy of another. Presently as they -strolled along, she stooped down, and plucked some violets. - -“I thought they were quite gone,” she said. “Here are four,” and as -she held them out to Pembroke, he took her little hand, inclosing the -violets in his own strong grasp. - -There was the time, the place, the opportunity, and Olivia was more -than half won. Yet, half an hour afterward, Pembroke came out of the -garden, looking black as a thunder-cloud, and strode away down by -the path through the fields--a rejected suitor. Olivia remained in -the garden. The cool spring night came on apace. She could not have -described her own emotions to have saved her life--or what exactly -led up to that angry parting--for it will have been seen before this -that Pembroke was subject to sudden gusts of temper. She had tried to -put before him what she felt herself obliged in honor to say--that -the Colonel’s modest fortune was very much exaggerated--and she had -blundered wretchedly in so doing. Pembroke had rashly assumed that she -meant his poverty stood in the way. Then he had as wretchedly blundered -about Madame Koller, and a few cutting words on both sides had made -it impossible for either to say more. Olivia, pale and red by turns, -looked inexpressibly haughty when Madame Koller’s name was mentioned. -Lovers’ quarrels are proverbially of easy arrangement--but the case -is different when the woman is high strung and the man high tempered. -Olivia received Pembroke’s confession with such cool questionings -that his self-love was cruelly wounded. Pembroke took his dismissal -so debonairly that Olivia was irresistibly impelled to make it -stronger. The love scene, which really began very prettily, absolutely -degenerated into a quarrel. Pembroke openly accused Olivia of being -mercenary. Olivia retaliated by an exasperating remark, implying that -perhaps Madame Koller’s fortune was not without its charm for him--to -which Pembroke, being entirely innocent, responded with a rude violence -that made Olivia more furiously angry than she ever expected to be -in her life. Pembroke seeing this in her pale face and blazing eyes, -stalked down the garden path, wroth with her and wroth with the whole -world. - -He, walking fast back through the woods, was filled with rage and -remorse--chiefly with rage. She was a cold-blooded creature--how -she did weigh that money question--but--ah, she had a spirit of her -own--such a spirit as a man might well feel proud to conquer--and the -touch of her warm, soft hand! - -Olivia felt that gap, that chasm in existence, when a shadowy array of -vague hopes and fears suddenly falls to the ground. Pembroke had been -certainly too confident and much too overbearing--but--it was over. -When this thought struck her, she was walking slowly down the broad -box-bordered walk to the gate. The young April moon was just appearing -in the evening sky. She stopped suddenly and stood still. The force of -her own words to him smote her. He would certainly never come back. -She turned and flew swiftly back to the upper part of the garden, and -stood in the very spot by the lilac hedge, and went over it all in her -mind. Yes. It was then over for good--and he probably would not marry -for a long, long time. She remembered having heard Cave and her father -speak of Pembroke’s half joking aversion to matrimony. It would be much -better for him if he did not, as he had made up his mind to enter for a -career. But strange to say this did not warm her heart, which felt as -heavy as a stone. - -Presently she went into the house, and was quite affectionate and gay -with her father, playing the piano and reading to him. - -“Fathers are the pleasantest relations in the world,” she said, as she -kissed him good-night, earlier in the evening than usual. “No fallings -out--no misunderstandings--perfect constancy. Papa, I wouldn’t give you -up for any man in the world.” - -“Wouldn’t you, my dear?” remarked that amiable old cynic incredulously. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII. - - -ONE of the drawbacks of Arcadia is that everybody knows everybody -else’s business--and the possibility of this added to Pembroke’s -extreme mortification. He thought with dread of the Colonel’s elaborate -pretense of knowing nothing whatever about the affair, Mrs. Peyton’s -sly rallying, Mr. Cole’s sentimental condolence--it was all very -exasperating. But solely to Olivia’s tact and good sense both escaped -this. Not one soul was the wiser. Olivia, however she felt, and however -skillfully she might avoid meeting Pembroke alone, was apparently -so easy, so natural and self-possessed, that it put Pembroke on his -mettle. Together they managed to hoodwink the whole county about their -private affairs--even Colonel Berkeley, who, if he suspected anything, -was afraid to let on, and Miles, whose devotion to Olivia became -stronger every day. - -Luckily for Pembroke, he could plunge into the heat of his canvass. -After he had lost Olivia, the conviction of her value came to him -with overpowering force. There was no girl like her. She did not -protest and talk about her emotions and analyze them as some women -did--Madame Koller, for example--but Pembroke knew there was “more -to her,” as Cave said, “than a dozen Eliza Peytons.” Perhaps Cave -suspected something, but Pembroke knew he had nothing to fear from his -friend’s manly reticence. But to have lost Olivia Berkeley! Pembroke -sometimes wondered at himself--at the way in which this loss grew upon -him, instead of diminishing with time, as the case usually is with -disappointments. Yet all this time he was riding from place to place, -speaking, corresponding, as eager to win his election as if he were the -happiest of accepted lovers--more so, in fact. - -And then, there was that Ahlberg affair to trouble him. Like all the -men of his race and generation, he firmly believed there were some -cases in which blood must be shed--but a roadside quarrel, in which -nothing but personal dislike figured, did not come under that head. -Pembroke was fully alive to the folly and wickedness of fighting -Ahlberg under the circumstances--but it was now impossible for him to -recede. He could only hope and pray that something would turn up to -prevent a meeting so indefinitely fixed. But if Ahlberg’s going away -were the only thing to count upon, that seemed far enough out of the -question, for he stayed on and on at the village tavern, playing cards -with young Hibbs and one or two frequenters of the place, riding over -to play Madame Koller’s accompaniments, fishing for invitations to -dine at Isleham--in short, doing everything that a man of his nature -and education could do to kill time. Pembroke could not but think that -Ahlberg’s persistence could only mean that he was really and truly -waiting for his revenge. So there were a good many things to trouble -the “white man’s candidate,” who was to make such a thorough and -brilliant canvass, and whose readiness, cheerfulness and indomitable -spirit was everywhere remarked upon. - -One night, as Pembroke was riding home after a hard day’s work in the -upper part of the county, and was just entering the long straggling -village street, his horse began to limp painfully. Pembroke dismounted, -and found his trusty sorrel had cast a shoe,--a nail had entered his -foot, and there was a job for the blacksmith. He led the horse to the -blacksmith’s shop, which was still open, although it was past seven -o’clock, and on the promise of having the damage repaired in half an -hour, walked over to the village tavern. - -It was in September, and the air was chilly. The landlord ushered him -into what was called the “card room”--the only place there was a fire. -A cheery blaze leaped up the wide old-fashioned chimney, and by the -light of kerosene lamps, Pembroke saw a card party at a round table in -the corner. It was Ahlberg, young Hibbs, his political opponent, and -two or three other idle young men of the county. - -According to the provincial etiquette, Pembroke was invited to join -the game, which he courteously declined on the ground that he was much -fatigued and was only waiting for the blacksmith to put his horse’s -shoe on before starting for home. The game then proceeded. - -Pembroke felt awkward and ill at ease. He knew he was in the way, as -the loud laughter from Hibbs and his friends, and Ahlberg’s subdued -chuckle had ceased when he came in. They played seriously--it was -écarté, a game that Ahlberg had just taught his postulants. Young Hibbs -had a huge roll of bills on the table before him, which he somewhat -ostentatiously displayed in the presence of his opponent, whose lack -of bills was notorious. Also, Pembroke felt that his presence induced -young Hibbs to bet more recklessly than ever, as a kind of bravado--and -Ahlberg always won, when the stake was worth any thing. - -The waiting seemed interminable to Pembroke seated in front of the -fire. The conversation related solely to the game. Presently Pembroke -started slightly. Ahlberg was giving them some general views on the -subject of écarté. Pembroke himself was a good player, and he had never -heard this scheme of playing advocated. - -Over the mantel was an old-fashioned mirror, tilted forward. Although -his back was to the players, Pembroke could see every motion reflected -in the glass. He saw Hibbs lose three times running in fifteen minutes. - -Pembroke’s sight was keen. He fixed it on the glass and a curious look -came into his dark face. Once he made a slight movement as if to rise, -but sat still. A second time he half rose and sat down again--nobody in -the room had seen the motion. Then, without the slightest warning, he -suddenly took three strides over to the card table and, reaching over, -seized Ahlberg by the collar, and lifted him bodily up from the table -into a standing position. - -“Produce that king of spades,” he said. - -If he had shot Ahlberg no greater surprise could have been created. -Hibbs jumped up, dashing the cards and money in a heap on the floor, -and nearly upsetting the table. One of his companions grabbed the lamp -to save it. - -Ahlberg turned a deathly color, and made some inarticulate effort to be -heard, and tried to wrest himself from Pembroke’s grasp. But it was in -vain. Pembroke shook him slightly, but never relaxed his hold. - -“The king of spades, I say.” - -Without a word Ahlberg reached down, and from some unknown depths -produced the card. He was no coward, but he was overmastered physically -and mentally. He knew in an instant that Pembroke had seen it all, and -there was no shadow of escape for him. - -Pembroke let go of Ahlberg’s collar, and, taking out a white -handkerchief, wiped his hands carefully. Ahlberg had sunk back, -panting, in a chair. The grip of a hand like Pembroke’s in the -neighborhood of the wind-pipe is calculated to shorten the breath. - -Hibbs looked dazed, from one to the other, and then to the floor, where -the cards had fallen. The one damning card lay on the table. - -“I saw it twice before this, in the glass,” said Pembroke to Hibbs. -“Each time I tried to catch him, but he did it so well I couldn’t. But -the last time it was perfectly plain,--you see. I could see under the -table in the glass. You had better pick up your money, Hibbs.” - -At this, Ahlberg spoke up. - -“All of it is Monsieur Hibbs’,” he said with elaborate politeness, -recovering his breath a little, “except two fifty-dollar notes, which -are mine.” - -Pembroke picked out the two fifty-dollar notes and dashed them in -Ahlberg’s face, who very cleverly caught them and put them in his -pocket. - -“Mr. Pembroke,” said Hibbs, stammering and blushing, “I--I--hope you -won’t say anything about this, sir. It would ruin me--I don’t mean in -the canvass, for I tell you truly, sir, I hope you’ll be elected, and -if it wasn’t for the party, I’d give up the fight now. But my mother, -sir, don’t approve--don’t approve of playing for money--and--” - -“You are perfectly safe,” answered Pembroke, “and quite right in your -idea of duty to your party, and your dislike to wound your mother is -creditable. But as for this dog, he must leave this county at once.” - -Ahlberg said not a word. He did not lack mere physical courage, but -cheating at cards was, to him, the most heinous offense of which -he could be convicted. He had been caught--it was the fortune of -war--there was nothing to be said or done. At least, it happened in -this out-of-the-way corner of the world, where it could never be known -to anybody--for he did not count his acquaintances in the country as -anybody, unless--perhaps--Madame Koller. At that he grew pale for the -first time. He really wanted Madame Koller’s money. But, in fact, -he was somewhat dazed by Pembroke’s way of settling the trouble. It -really shocked his ethics to see one gentleman punish another as if he -were a bargeman or a coal heaver. These extraordinary Anglo-Saxons! -But one thing was plain with him--if he did not remain perfectly -quiescent Pembroke was quite capable of throwing him bodily out of the -window--and if he had lost his honor, as he called it, there was no -reason why he shouldn’t save his bones. - -Pembroke, however, although he would have sworn that nothing Ahlberg -could do in the way of rascality could surprise him, was as yet -amazed, astounded, and almost puzzled by the promptness with which -Ahlberg acquiesced in the status which Pembroke established. Ahlberg -made no protest of innocence--he did not bluster, or grow desperate, -or break down hysterically, as even a very bad man might under the -circumstances. He simply saw that if he said anything, he might feel -the weight of Pembroke’s arm. Nothing that he could have said or done -was as convincing of his thorough moral obtuseness as the way in which -he accepted his own exposure. - -Just then the landlord opened the door. “Mr. Pembroke, your horse is -at the door. It’s going to be a mighty bad night though--there’s a -cloud coming up. You’d better stay and join them gentlemen in their -game.” - -“No, I thank you,” replied Pembroke, and turning to Ahlberg. “Of -course, after what has passed, it is out of the question that I -should fight you. Good God! I’d just as soon think of fighting a jail -bird! Don’t take too long to get out of this county. Good night, Mr. -Hibbs--good night--good night.” - -Hibbs accompanied him out, and stood by him while he mounted. - -“Mr. Pembroke,” he said, holding his hat in his hand, “I’m very much -obliged for what you have done for me, and what you have promised. I -promise you I’ll never touch a card for money again as long as I live.” - -“And don’t touch a card at all with such an infernal rascal as -Ahlberg,” answered Pembroke, altogether forgetting sundry agreeable -games he had enjoyed with Ahlberg in Paris, and even in that very -county--but it had been a good while ago, and Ahlberg had not tried any -tricks on him. - -This relieved Pembroke of a load of care--the folly of that quarrel was -luckily escaped. But he debated seriously with himself whether he ought -not to tell Madame Koller of Ahlberg’s behavior, that she might be on -her guard against him. In a day or two he heard, what did not surprise -him, that Ahlberg was about to leave the country--but at the same time -that Madame Koller and her mother were to leave The Beeches rather -suddenly. Mrs. Peyton met him in the road, and stopped her carriage to -tell him about Eliza Peyton’s consummate folly in allowing that Ahlberg -to stick to her like a burr--they actually intended crossing in the -same steamer. That determined Pembroke. He rode over to The Beeches, -and sitting face to face with Madame Koller in her drawing-room, told -her the whole story. Pembroke was somewhat shocked to observe how -little she seemed shocked at Ahlberg’s conduct. It was certainly very -bad, but--but--she had known him for so long. Pembroke was amazed -and disgusted. As he was going, after a brief and very business-like -visit, Madame Koller remarked, “And it is so strange about Louis. -The very day after it happened, he was notified of his appointment -as First Secretary in the Russian diplomatic service--or rather his -re-appointment, for he was in it ten years--and he has come into an -excellent property--quite a fortune in fact for a first secretary.” -Pembroke rode back home slowly and thoughtfully. He had never before -realized how totally wanting Madame Koller was in integrity of mind. -Olivia Berkeley now-- - - - - -CHAPTER XIV. - - -IT takes a long time for a country neighborhood to recover from a -sensation. Three or four years after Madame Koller, or Eliza Peyton -had disappeared along with her mother and Ahlberg, people were still -discussing her wonderful ways. Mr. Cole was paying his court mildly to -Olivia Berkeley, but in his heart of hearts he had not forgotten his -blonde enslaver. The Colonel was the same Colonel--his shirt-ruffle -rushed out of his bosom as impetuously as of old. He continued to -hate the Hibbses. Dashaway had been turned out to grass, but another -screw continued to carry the Colonel’s colors to defeat on the county -race track. Olivia, too, had grown older, and a great deal prettier. -A chisel called the emotions, is always at work upon the human -countenance--a face naturally humane and expressive grows more so, year -by year. - -It is not to be expected that she was very happy in that time. Life -in the country, varied by short visits to watering places in the -summer and occasionally to cities in the winter, is dull at best for a -girl grown up in the whirl of civilization. There came a time--after -Pembroke, taking Miles with him had gone to Washington, when life began -to look very black to Olivia Berkeley’s eyes. She suffered for want of -an object in life. She loved her father very much, but that cheerful, -healthful and robustious old person hardly supplied the craving to love -and tend which is innate in every woman’s heart. It is at this point in -their development that women of inferior nature begin to deteriorate. -Not so with Olivia Berkeley. Life puzzled and displeased her. She found -herself full of energy, with many gifts and accomplishments, condemned -in the flower of her youth to the dull routine of a provincial life in -the country. She could not understand it--neither could she sit down in -hopeless resignation and accept it. She bestirred herself. Books there -were in plenty at Isleham--the piano was an inestimable comforter. She -weathered the storm of ennui in this manner, and came to possess a -certain content--to control the outward signs of inward restlessness. -Meanwhile she read and studied feverishly, foolishly imagining that -knowing a great number of facts would make her happy. Of course it did -not--but it made her less unhappy. - -As for Pembroke, the fate which had fallen hard on Olivia Berkeley had -fondly favored him. He was not only elected to Congress, but he became -something of a man after he got there. The House of Representatives -is a peculiar body--peculiarly unfavorable to age, and peculiarly -favorable to youth. Pembroke, still smarting under his mortification, -concluded to dismiss thoughts of any woman from his mind for the -present, and devote himself to the work before him. With that view, -he scanned closely his environment when he went to Washington. He saw -that as a young member he was not expected to say anything. This left -him more leisure to study his duties. He aspired to be a lawyer--always -a lawyer. He found himself appointed to a committee--and his fellow -members on it very soon found that the quiet young man from Virginia -was liable to be well informed on the legal questions which the House -and the committees are constantly wrangling over. Every man on that -committee became convinced that the quiet young man would some day make -his mark. This was enough to give him a good footing in the House. -His colleagues saw that election after election, the young man was -returned, apparently without effort on his part, for Pembroke was not -a demagogue, and nothing on earth would have induced him to go into a -rough and tumble election campaign. At last it got so that on the few -occasions when he rose in his place, he had no trouble in catching the -Speaker’s eye. He was wise enough not to be betrayed by his gift of -oratory into speech-making--a thing the House will not tolerate from a -young member. He had naturally a beautiful and penetrating voice and -much grace and dignity in speaking. These were enough without risking -making himself ridiculous by a premature display as an orator. He -sometimes thrilled when the great battles were being fought before his -eyes--it was in the reconstruction time--and longed for the day which -he felt would come when he might go down among the captains and the -shouting, but he had the genius of waiting. Then he was a pleasant man -at dinner--and his four years army service had given him a soldierly -frankness and directness. He lived with Miles in a simple and quiet -way in Washington. He did not go out much, as indeed he had no time. -He became quite cynical to himself about women. The pretty girls from -New York were quite captivated with the young man from Virginia. They -wanted to know all about his lovely old place, especially one charming -bud, Miss de Peyster. - -“Come and see it,” Pembroke would answer good-naturedly. “Half the -house was burned up by our friends, the enemy--the other half is -habitable.” - -“And haven’t you miles and miles of fields and forests, like an English -nobleman?” the gay creature asked. - -“Oh yes. Miles and miles. The taxes eat up the crops, and the crops eat -up the land.” - -“How nice,” cried the daughter of the Knickerbockers. “How much more -romantic it is to have a broken down old family mansion and thousands -of acres of land, than to be a stockbroker or a real estate man--and -then to have gone through the whole war--and to have been promoted on -the field--” - -Pembroke smiled rather dolefully. His ruined home, his mortgaged acres, -Miles’ life-long trouble, his four years of marching and starving and -fighting, did not appear like romantic incidents in life, but as cruel -blows of fate to him. - -But Helena de Peyster was a pleasant girl, and her mother was gentle, -amiable, and well-bred. They had one of the gayest and most charming -houses in Washington, and entertained half the diplomatic corps at -dinner during every week. They would gladly have had Pembroke oftener. -He came in to quiet dinners with them, assumed a fatherly air with -Helena, and liked them cordially. They were good to Miles too, who -sometimes went to them timidly on rainy afternoons when he would not be -likely to find anybody else. - -So went the world with Pembroke for some years until one evening, going -to his modest lodgings, he found a letter with Colonel Berkeley’s big -red seal on it awaiting him. - -He and Miles dined--then Pembroke, over the wine, opened the Colonel’s -billet. It was brief. - - “MY DEAR BOY,--Olivia and I are coming to Washington to spend the - winter. I have not been to the cursed town since the winter before the - war, when Wigfall was in the Senate, and Floyd was Secretary of War. - John B. Floyd was one of the greatest men the State of Virginia ever - produced. Now, I want to go to a decent tavern--but Olivia, who is a - girl of spirit, won’t do it. She insists on having a furnished house, - and I’ve engaged one through an agent. Don’t suppose it will suit, - but Olivia swears it will. We’ll be up in the course of a week or - two, and will let you know. Damme if I expect to find a gentleman in - public life--always excepting yourself, my dear boy. I inclose you our - address. Olivia desires her regards to you and her particular love to - Miles, also mine. - - “Sincerely, your friend, - “TH. BERKELEY.” - -“That’s pleasant news,” said Miles. - -“Very pleasant,” replied Pembroke, without smiling in the least. He -was glad to see the Colonel, but he was still sore about Olivia. -Whenever he had been at home, the same friendly intercourse had gone on -as before--but there was always an invisible restraint between them. -Colonel Berkeley had noticed it, and at last ventured to question -Olivia about it--when that young woman had turned on her father and -cowed him by a look of her eye. There were some liberties the Colonel -could not take with his daughter. - -Promptly, the Colonel and Olivia arrived. - -The house, which was after the conventional pattern of the Washington -furnished house of those days, struck a chill to Colonel Berkeley’s -heart. - -“My love,” he said, disconsolately, looking at the dull grates in the -two square drawing-rooms, “I’m afraid I’ll lose all my domestic virtues -around this miserable travesty of a hearth.” - -“Just wait, papa,” answered Olivia, with one of her encouraging smiles. - -“I knew how it would be. Wait until some of those big boxes are -unpacked that you swore so about.” - -When the boxes were unpacked, they were found to contain the old -fashioned brass andirons and fenders that had shone upon the cheerful -hearths at Isleham for many years. Olivia in a trice, had the grates -out and managed to have a wood fire sparkling where once they were. -Then she produced a great porcelain lamp they had brought from -France with them, and some tall silver candlesticks and candelabra, -which vastly improved the mantels, and she re-arranged the tasteless -furniture and bric-à-brac with such skill that she cheated herself as -well as others into believing them pretty. - -It was rather an effort to Pembroke, his first visit. He would not take -Miles with him lest he should seem to fear to go alone. It was now five -years past. Naturally they had met often, but in some way, this meeting -impressed him differently. He had at last waked up to the fact that he -could not forget Olivia Berkeley. It angered him against himself--and -so it was in rather an unamiable mood that he left the House early, and -took his way through a drizzling rain to the Berkeleys’. When he rung -the bell, Petrarch’s familiar black face greeted him. - -“Hi, howdy, Marse French. It do my heart good ter see you. Ole Marse, -I spec he everlastin’ cuss when he fin’ out you been here an’ he ain’t -home. Miss Livy, she in de settin’ room.” - -“And how are you all getting on here?” asked Pembroke, as Petrarch -officiously helped him off with his great-coat. - -“Tollerbul, tollerbul, sir. Old marse, he mighty orkard sometimes. He -swar an’ takes de Lord’s name in vain, spite o’ de commandment ‘Doan -never you swar at all.’ I try ter make him behave hisse’f ter de -policemens an’ sech, but he quile all de time he gwine long de street.” - -He ushered Pembroke through the drawing-room, into a little room -beyond. On a sofa drawn up to the wood fire, sat Olivia, making a -pretty home-like picture, in the half light, contrasted with the dreary -drawing-room beyond, and the dismal drizzle outside. - -They had not met for nearly two years. The session of Congress had -lasted almost through the year, and when he had been in the county -last, Olivia was away in the mountains. He noticed instantly that -she was very, very pretty, but her beauty had taken a graver and -more womanly cast. Oh, the elaborate ease, to cover the overpowering -awkwardness of those former tête-à-tête meetings! Pembroke felt this -acutely when he first saw her--but it vanished strangely at the moment -that Olivia held out her little hand and spoke to him. Her voice, her -manner, were pleasantly natural. It carried him back to the old days -when he was gradually slipping into love with her. How grateful and -soothing had been her native charm as an escape from Madame Koller’s -exaggerated heroics! - -“Papa will be sorry to miss you,” she said pointing him to the easiest -chair, and putting her feet comfortably on a footstool. - -“Do you think you’ll like it?” asked Pembroke. - -“That’s just what I was going to ask you.” - -“You mustn’t ask me. You know Congressmen are received in society only -on sufferance. I exist on the borders as it were, and am permitted to -dwell there in spite of, not because I am a Congressman.” - -Olivia smiled and nodded her head. - -“I know how it is,” she said, “I’ve heard.” - -“Now what do you want to do first?” - -“I think,” said Olivia, propping her rounded chin on her hand, “I -should like to go to a ball. I have not been to a real ball for six -years--not since we left Paris. You may be surprised at this frivolity -in one of my years--you know I am getting out of my twenties awfully -fast--but it is still a fact.” - -“Your age is certainly imposing. There is a superb ball to be given at -the Russian Legation next week--the Minister is a new man--just come. I -received a card, and I can get one for you and your father through one -of the secretaries of legation who is my friend.” - -Pembroke produced a handsome invitation card, bearing the name of the -Russian Minister and Madame Volkonsky. - -Olivia’s eyes sparkled. She loved balls as the normal girl always does. - -“And I shall go out to-morrow morning and buy a ball gown. Shall I have -white tulle and water lilies, or peach-blow satin?” - -“White, by all means,” answered Pembroke, gravely. “I like to see women -in white.” - -“A white gown,” continued Olivia, reflectively, “is always safest.” - -“I suppose, you will go to balls all the time after this one. It will -be like the first taste of blood to a tiger.” - -“Yes, after a long period of--what do you call it--graminivorous -diet. By the way, some friends of yours came to see me to-day. The De -Peysters.” - -“Yes, I like them very much. Helena is a charming little thing.” - -“Delightful girl,” echoed Olivia, with much more emphasis than the -subject required. - -Pembroke had only intended to pay an ordinary afternoon call, but it -was so unexpectedly pleasant sitting there with Olivia that the fall of -night and the Colonel’s return both took him unawares. The Colonel was -delighted to see him. - -“This is pleasant,” cried he, standing with his broad back to the -fire, and stroking his white mustache. “I brought my riding horse up, -and Olivia’s, too, and I sent Petrarch around this morning to make -a permanent arrangement. The rogue of a livery man asked me such a -stupendous price that I was forced to send him word I didn’t desire -board for myself and my daughter included with the horses. Ah, times -are changed--times are changed! Sad lot of you in public life now, -begad.” - -“Very sad lot, sir.” - -“If we could only get back to Old Hickory in the White House, and the -mail twice a week from New York, brought in the stage coach--” - -“And Old Hickory’s _penchant_ for Mrs. Eaton, and half the Congress -getting tight at the White House New Year’s Day. We ought to have it -all.” - -“Yes--yes--Zounds, sir, we ought to have it all!” - -Then there was the ball to talk about, and presently, Pembroke -declining the Colonel’s hearty invitation to stay and dine off whatever -miserable fare a city market afforded, and try some port he had brought -from Virginia, knowing there was nothing fit to drink to be had in -Washington, he left. Olivia’s invitation to stay was rather faint--had -it been heartier, perhaps he might have remained. As it was, he went -home, and surprised Miles by coming in whistling jovially. - - - - -CHAPTER XV. - - -THE night of the ball arrived. Olivia and her father, the De Peysters -and Pembroke had all agreed to go in one party. The De Peysters had -been very kind and attentive to Olivia. Her gentle ways had captivated -Mrs. De Peyster, and the fun innate in her had done the same for -Helena. They had asked Olivia to receive with them on their reception -day, and she had made quite a little success on her first appearance -in Washington society. She sat behind a cosy tea table in an alcove, -and poured tea with much grace. She was a good linguist, and put two or -three young diplomatists, struggling with the English tongue, at ease -by talking to them in their own language. She possessed the indefinable -charm of good breeding, never more effective than when contrasted with -the flamboyant, cosmopolitan Washington society. The women soon found -out that the men flocked around her. She had half a dozen invitations -before the day was out. Helena, a soft, blonde, kittenish young thing, -was in raptures over her, admiring her as only a very young girl can -admire and adore one a little older than herself. Pembroke was among -the later callers, and, strange to say, Miles was with him. There were -but few persons there by that time, and these Mrs. De Peyster was -entertaining in the large drawing-room. Helena brought Miles into the -little alcove and plied him with soft speeches, tea and cakes. Pembroke -and Olivia sitting by exchanged smiles at the two enjoying themselves -boy and girl fashion. Helena was but nineteen, and Miles had not yet -passed his twenty-third birthday. The horror of his wound was added to -by the youth of his features. - -“Now take this little cake,” said Helena, earnestly. “I made these -myself. Do you know that I can make cakes?” - -“What an accomplished girl! I shall be afraid of you. I learned to make -ash cakes during the war,” answered Miles as gravely. - -“What is an ash cake, pray?” - -“Why, it’s--it’s--corn bread baked in the ashes.” - -“Oh, how funny! And how do you get the ashes off?” - -“Wash them off.” - -In the course of the discussion Miles had quite forgotten a piteous -and ineffective little stratagem of his to turn the uninjured side -of his face toward whom he was addressing. He leaned forward, gazing -into Helena’s pretty but somewhat meaningless face, just as any other -youngster might have done, and Helena, with youthful seriousness, had -plunged into the sentimental discussion wherein the American girl is -prone to fall. Pembroke would have gone after ten minutes, but Miles -was so evidently enjoying himself, that the elder brother stayed -on. It was like the afternoon at Olivia’s house--so home-like and -pleasant--Olivia and himself keeping up a desultory conversation while -they sipped tea and listened half-amused to the two youngsters on the -other side of the round table. Olivia glanced at the clock over the -mantel--it was half-past six. - -“I must go,” she said. “I shall just have time for my dinner and for an -hour’s rest before I dress for the ball.” - -Mrs. De Peyster and Helena urged her to remain and dine, but Olivia -declined, and the servant announced her carriage. Pembroke put her -white burnous around her in the hall, and handed her to her carriage. -They were all to meet at the Russian Legation at half-past ten. - -At that hour the broad street in front of the Legation was packed with -carriages. An awning for the waiting footmen extended on each side of -the broad porte cochére. Half a dozen policemen kept the carriages in -line and the coachmen in order--for this was the great ball of the -season, a royal grand duke was to be present, and the fame of Madame -Volkonsky’s beauty had gone far and wide. The vast house blazed with -lights, and amid the rolling of wheels, and the hubbub of many voices -could be heard the strains of an orchestra floating out. - -Almost at the same moment the carriages containing Olivia and her -father, Pembroke and the De Peysters drove up, and the party vanished -upstairs. - -“How beautiful you are!” cried Helena delightedly, up in the dressing -room, as Olivia dropped her wraps and appeared in her dainty white -toilette, Olivia blushed with gratified vanity. Her dress was the -perfection of simplicity, soft and diaphanous, and around her milk -white arms and throat were her mother’s pearls. - -As the three ladies came out into the brilliant corridor to meet their -escorts, Pembroke received a kind of thrill at Olivia’s beauty--a -beauty which had never struck him very forcibly before. She was -undoubtedly pretty and graceful, and he had often admired her slight -and willowy figure--but she had grown beautiful in her solitary country -life--beautiful with patience, courage and womanliness. The Colonel, in -a superb swallow-tail of the style of ten years past, his coat-tails -lined with white satin, his snowy ruffle falling over the bosom of his -waistcoat, his fine curling white hair combed carefully down upon his -velvet collar in the old fashion, offered his arm like a prince to Mrs. -De Peyster, herself a stately and imposing matron, and proud to be -escorted by such a chevalier. Pembroke walked beside Olivia and Helena -down the broad staircase. - -Is there any form of social life more imposing than a really splendid -ball? The tall and nodding ferns and palms, the penetrating odor of -flowers, the clash of music, the brilliant crowd moving to and fro -through the great drawing-rooms and halls, brought a deeper flush to -Olivia’s cheek. She felt like a débutante. - -They made their way slowly toward the upper end of the last of a noble -suite of rooms. Pembroke was just saying in low tone to the two girls, -“I have looked out for your interests with the Grand Duke. My friend -Ryleief has promised to present both of you--an honor I waived for -myself, as being quite beneath the Grand Duke’s notice, and--” - -“Colonel and Miss Berkeley, Mrs. and Miss de Peyster; Mr. Pembroke--” -was bawled out by Pembroke’s friend, Ryleief who was making the -introductions to the new Minister and his wife--and the party stood -face to face with Ahlberg and Madame Koller. - -The rencontre was so staggering and unexpected that Pembroke quite lost -his self-possession. He gazed stupidly at the pair before him--M. and -Madame Volkonsky, who had formed much of his life five years before -as Ahlberg and Elise Koller. He saw Ahlberg’s breast covered with -orders, and he wore an elaborate court suit. Madame Koller, or Madame -Volkonsky, blazed with diamonds. Her hair was as blonde and as abundant -as ever, and far behind her streamed a gorgeous satin train of the same -golden hue as her hair. - -Olivia, too, felt that sudden shock at meeting people who rise, as it -were, like the dead from their graves. She felt also that repulsion -that came from a knowledge of both of them. She could only silently bow -as they were presented. But both M. and Madame Volkonsky expressed more -than mere surprise at the meeting. Ahlberg or Volkonsky as he now was, -turned excessively pale. His uncertain glance fell on Pembroke, and -turned again on his wife. As for her, the same pallor showed under the -delicate rouge on her cheek, but women rally more quickly under these -things than men do. Besides, she had contemplated the possibility of -meeting some of these people, and was not altogether unprepared for it. - -If, however, the blankness of amazement had seized upon Olivia and -Pembroke, and if the De Peysters were also a little unnerved by the -strangeness of what was occurring before them, Colonel Berkeley was -as cool as a cucumber. He held out his hand warmly. He rolled out his -salutations in a loud, rich voice. - -“Why, how do you do Eliza. You’ll excuse an old man, my dear, for -calling you by your first name, won’t you? And my friend Ahlberg that -was. This is delightful,” he added, looking around as if to challenge -the whole party. - -In the midst of the strange sensations which agitated him, Pembroke -could scarcely forbear from laughing at the Colonel’s greeting, and the -effect it produced. Madame Volkonsky flushed violently, still under her -rouge, while Volkonsky’s face was a study in its helpless rage. Poor -Ryleief, with a mob of fine people surging up to be introduced, was yet -so consumed with curiosity, that he held them all at bay, and looked -from one to the other. - -“Does Madame understand that gentleman?” he asked in French, eagerly-- - -“Of course she does, my dear fellow,” heartily responded Colonel -Berkeley in English. “She spoke English long before she learned -Rooshan, if she ever learned it. Hay, Eliza?” - -The Colonel’s manner was so very dignified, and although jovial, so far -removed from familiarity, that Madame Volkonsky did not know whether -to be pleased by the recognition or annoyed. If, as it was likely, it -should come out that she was an American, here were people of the best -standing who could vouch at least for her origin. She held out her hand -to the Colonel, and said rapidly in French: - -“I am very glad to meet you. I cannot say much here, but I hope to see -you presently.” When Pembroke made his bow and passed, Volkonsky called -up all his ineffable assurance and gave him a scowl, which Pembroke -received with a bow and a cool smile that was sarcasm itself. Madame -Volkonsky did not look at him as she bowed, nor did he look at her. - -In a moment they were clear of the press. The De Peysters were full of -curiosity. - -“Who were they? Who are they?” breathlessly asked Helena. - -“My dear young lady,” responded the Colonel, smoothing down his -shirt-frill with his delicate old hand, “Who they were I can very -easily tell you. Who they are, I am blessed if I know.” - -While the Colonel was giving a highly picturesque account of Eliza -Peyton through all her transformations until she came to be Elise -Koller, since when Colonel Berkeley had no knowledge of her whatever, -Pembroke had given his arm to Olivia, and they moved off into a quiet -corner, where the spreading leaves of a great palm made a little -solitude in the midst of the crowd, and the lights and the crash of -music and the beating of the dancers’ feet in the distance. Pembroke -was alternately pale and red. Madame Volkonsky was nothing to him -now, but he hated Volkonsky with the reprehensible but eminently -human hatred that one man sometimes feels for another. Volkonsky was -a scoundrel and an imposter. It made him furious to think that he -should have dared to return to America, albeit he should come as the -accredited Minister of a great power. It showed a defiance of what -he, Pembroke, knew and could relate of him, that was infuriating -to his self-love. For Elise, he did not know exactly what he most -felt--whether pity or contempt. And the very last time that he and -Olivia Berkeley had discussed Madame Koller was on that April night in -the old garden at Isleham--a recollection far from pleasant. - -“Papa’s remark that this meeting was delightful, struck me as rather -ingeniously inappropriate,” said Olivia, seeking the friendly cover of -a joke. “It is frightfully embarrassing to meet people this way.” - -“Very,” sententiously answered Pembroke. He was still in a whirl. - -Then there was a pause. Suddenly Pembroke bent over toward her and said -distinctly: - -“Olivia, did you ever doubt what I told you that night in the garden -about Madame Koller? that she was then, and had been for a long time, -nothing to me? Did you ever have a renewal of your unjust suspicions?” - -“No,” answered Olivia, as clearly, after a short silence. - -In another instant they were among the crowd of dancers in the ball -room. Neither knew exactly how they happened to get there. Pembroke -did not often dance, and was rather surprised when he found himself -whirling around the ball room with Olivia, to the rhythm of a dreamy -waltz. It was soon over. It came back to Olivia that she ought not so -soon to part company with the De Peysters, and she stopped at once, -thereby cutting short her own rapture as well as Pembroke’s. Without a -word, Pembroke led her back to where the Colonel and Mrs. De Peyster -and Helena were. Helena’s pretty face wore a cloud. She had not yet -been asked to dance, and was more puzzled than pleased at the meeting -which she had witnessed in all its strangeness. Pembroke good naturedly -took her for a turn and brought her back with her card half filled and -the smiles dimpling all over her face. - -Meanwhile, the ball went on merrily. Ryleief escaped from his post as -soon as possible and sought Pembroke. - -“So you knew M. Volkonsky?” he said eagerly, in a whisper. - -“Yes,” said Pembroke--and his look and tone expressed volumes. - -Ryleief held him by the arm, and whispered: - -“This is confidential. I suspected from the first that our new chief -was--eh--you know--not exactly--” - -“Yes,” answered Pembroke, “not exactly a gentleman. An arrant knave and -coward, in short.” - -Ryleief, a mature diplomatic sprig, looked fixedly at Pembroke, his -hard Muscovite face growing expressive. - -“Speaking as friends, my dear Pembroke--and, you understand in my -position the necessity of prudence--M. Volkonsky is not unknown among -the Russian diplomats. He has been recalled once--warned repeatedly. -Once, some years ago, it was supposed he had been dismissed from -the diplomatic corps. But he reappeared about five years ago under -another name--he was originally an Ahlberg. He certainly inherited -some money, married some more, and took the name of Volkonsky--said -it was a condition of his fortune. He has been _chargé d’affaires_ at -Munich--later at Lisbon--both promotions for him. What his power is at -the Foreign Office I know not--certainly not his family, because he has -none. It is said he is a Swiss.” - -“He will not be long here,” remarked Pembroke. Then Pembroke went away -and wandered about, feeling uncomfortable, as every man does, under the -same roof as his enemy. He felt no compunction as to being the guest of -Volkonsky. The legation was Russian property--the ball itself was not -paid for out of Volkonsky’s own pocket, but by his government. Pembroke -felt, though, that when it came out, as it must, the part that he would -take in exposing the Russian Minister, his presence at the ball might -not be understood, and he would gladly have left the instant he found -out who Volkonsky really was but for the Berkeleys and the De Peysters. - -He stood off and watched the two girls as they danced--both with -extreme grace. There was no lack of partners for them. Mrs. De Peyster, -with the Colonel hovering near her, did not have her charges on her -hands for much of the time. The truth is, Olivia, although the shock -and surprise of meeting two people who were connected with a painful -part of her life was unpleasant, yet was she still young and fresh -enough to feel the intoxication of a ball. The music got into her feet, -the lights and flowers dazzled her eyes. She was old enough to seize -the present moment of enjoyment, and to postpone unpleasant things to -the morrow, and young enough to feel a keen enjoyment in the present. -She would never come to another ball at the Russian Legation, so there -was that much more reason she should enjoy this one. - -As Pembroke passed near her once she made a little mocking mouth at him. - -“Your friend, Ryleief, promised that I should be introduced to the -Grand Duke--and--” - -“Look out,” answered Pembroke, laughing, “he is coming this way. Now -look your best.” - -At that very instant Ryleief was making his way toward them with the -Grand Duke, a tall, military looking fellow, who surveyed the crowd -with very unpretending good humor. Pembroke saw the presentation -made, and Olivia drop a courtesy, which Helena De Peyster, at her -elbow, imitated as the scion of royalty bowed to her. The Grand Duke -squared off and began a conversation with Olivia. She had the sort -of training to pay him the delicate flattery which princes love, but -she had the American sense of humor which the continental foreigners -find so captivating. Pembroke, still smiling to himself, imagined the -platitudes his royal highness was bestowing upon the young American -girl, when suddenly the Grand Duke’s mouth opened wide, and he laughed -outright at something Olivia had said. Thenceforth her fortune was made -with the Grand Duke. - -The next thing Pembroke saw was Olivia placing her hand in the Grand -Duke’s, and the pair went sailing around the room in the peculiar slow -and ungraceful waltz danced by foreigners. Olivia had no difficulty -in keeping step with her six-foot Grand Duke, and really danced the -awkward dance as gracefully as it could be done. Mrs. De Peyster’s face -glowed as they passed. Olivia was chaperoned by her, and as such she -enjoyed a reflected glory. The great maternal instinct welled up in -her--she glanced at Helena--but Helena was so young--a mere chit--and -Mrs. De Peyster was not of an envious nature. Colonel Berkeley felt -a kind of pride at the success Olivia was making, but when a superb -dowager sitting next Mrs. De Peyster asked, in a loud whisper, if he -was “the father of Miss Berkeley,” the Colonel’s wrath rose. He made -a courtly bow, and explained that Miss Berkeley was the daughter of -Colonel Berkeley, of Virginia. - -Not only once did the Grand Duke dance with Olivia, but twice--and he -asked permission to call on her the next afternoon. - -“With the greatest pleasure,” answered Olivia gayly--“and--pray don’t -forget to come.” - -At which the Grand Duke grinned like any other man at a merry challenge -from a girl. - -At last the ball was over. Toward two o’clock Pembroke put the ladies -of his party in their carriages and started to walk home. Madame -Volkonsky had not been able to spoil the ball for Olivia. - -“Good-bye,” she cried to Pembroke, waving her hand. “To-morrow at four -o’clock he comes--I shall begin making my toilette at twelve.” - -“Very pretty ball of Eliza Peyton’s,” said the Colonel, settling -himself back in the carriage and buttoning up his great-coat. -“Volkonsky--ha! ha! And that fellow, Ahlberg--by Gad! an infernal -sneaking cur--I beg your pardon, my dear, for swearing, but of all the -damned impostors I ever saw M. Volkonsky is the greatest, excepting -always Eliza Peyton.” - - - - -CHAPTER XVI. - - -WHILE Olivia might wince, and the Colonel chuckle over the Volkonsky -incident, it was a more serious matter to Volkonsky. He had certainly -taken into account the possibility of meeting some old acquaintances, -but neither he nor Madame Volkonsky had cared to keep up with events -in the remote county in Virginia, where they had passed some agitating -days. Volkonsky therefore was quite unaware that Pembroke was in -Congress. The first meeting to him was an unpleasant shock, as he -had learned to fear Pembroke much in other days. But when he began -to inquire quietly about him of Ryleief, who evidently knew him, -Volkonsky’s discomfort was very much increased. For Ryleief, who -rather exaggerated the influence of a representative in Congress, -impressed forcibly upon Volkonsky that Pembroke possessed power--and -when Volkonsky began to take in that Pembroke’s determined enmity as -a member of the Foreign Affairs Committee might amount to something, -he began to be much disturbed. Before the last guest had rolled away -from the door on the night of the ball, Volkonsky and his wife were -closeted together in the Minister’s little study. Whatever passing -fancy Madame Volkonsky might have entertained for Pembroke some years -ago, Volkonsky was quite indifferent--and if Pembroke retained any -lingering weakness for her--well enough--he might be induced to let -Volkonsky dwell in peace. - -When Madame Volkonsky entered the room, her husband placed a chair for -her. Often they quarreled, and sometimes they were reported to fight, -but he never omitted those little attentions. Madame Volkonsky’s face -was pale. She did not know how much lay in Pembroke’s power to harm -them, but she was shaken by the encounter. It was hard, just at the -opening of a new life, to meet those people. It was so easy to be good -now. They were free for a time from duns and creditors--for during her -marriage to Ahlberg she had become acquainted with both. She had a -fine establishment, a splendid position--and at the very outset arose -the ghost of a dead and gone fancy, and the woman before whom she -had in vain humiliated herself, and the man who knew enough to ruin -her husband. It was trying and it made her look weary and very old. -Volkonsky began in French: - -“So you met your old acquaintances to-night.” - -“Yes.” - -“That charming M. le Colonel called you Eliza Peyton.” - -“Yes,” again answered Madame Volkonsky. - -“This comes of that crazy expedition to America which I tried to -dissuade you from.” - -Madame Volkonsky again nodded. She was not usually so meek. - -“And that haughty, overbearing Pembroke. Does he still cherish that -romantic sentiment for you, I wonder.” - -Madame Volkonsky blushed faintly. She was not as devoid of delicacy as -her husband. - -“If he does,” continued Volkonsky, meditatively, “he might be -induced--if you should appeal to him--” - -“Appeal to him for what?” inquired Madame Volkonsky, rising and turning -paler. The contempt in her tone angered Volkonsky. - -“Not to ruin us. That man is now in the Congress. He has to do with -foreign affairs. He hates me, and, by God, I hate him. He knows things -that may cause you to give up this establishment--that may send us back -across the water under unpleasant circumstances. You know about the -dispute at cards, and other things--you have not failed to remind me -of them,--and if Pembroke is disposed he can use this with frightful -effect now.” - -Madame Volkonsky remained perfectly silent. She was stunned by the -information Volkonsky gave her--but Volkonsky was quite oblivious of -her feelings. He was gnawing his yellow mustache. - -“You might see him,” he said. “You might appeal to him--throw yourself -on his mercy--” - -“What a wretch you are,” suddenly burst out Madame Volkonsky in -English. They had talked in French all this time, which she spoke -apparently as well as English--but like most people, she fell into -the vernacular when under the influence of strong emotion. Volkonsky -glanced up at her. - -“What is it now?” he asked, peevishly. - -His wife turned two blazing eyes on him. The fact that she was not upon -a very high plane herself did not prevent her from being indignant at -his baseness--and wounded pride drove home the thrust. - -“That you should dare, that any man should dare--to propose that a wife -should work on a man’s past liking for her to serve her husband’s ends. -Ahlberg, every day that I have lived with you has shown me new baseness -in you.” - -This was not the first time Volkonsky had heard this--but it was -none the less unpleasant. Also, he rather dreaded Madame Volkonsky’s -occasional outbursts of temper--and he had had enough for one night. - -“It is no time for us to quarrel--and particularly do not call me -Ahlberg. My name is now legally Volkonsky, and I would wish to forget -it ever was anything else. We should better design how to keep this -Pembroke at bay. I am sure,” continued Volkonsky plaintively, “I have -never sought to injure him. Why should he try to ruin me for a little -scene at a card table that occurred five years ago? I wonder if that -ferocious Cave will turn up soon?” - -Madame Volkonsky turned and left him in disgust. In spite of her -cosmopolitan education, and all her associations, there was born -with her an admiration for Anglo-Saxon pluck which made her despise -Volkonsky methods. The idea of scheming and designing to placate a man -who had caught him cheating at cards filled her with infinite contempt. - -In the course of the next few days, Madame Volkonsky was deeply -exercised over the influence that Pembroke would have upon her future. -She had talked their affairs over often with her husband in those -few days. He had not failed to convey to her the rather exaggerated -impression that he had received from Ryleief, as to Pembroke’s power to -harm. - -One afternoon, when Volkonsky and his wife were driving in their -victoria, they passed the Secretary of State’s carriage drawn up to the -sidewalk. Pembroke was about to step into it. The Secretary himself, a -handsome, elderly man, was leaning forward to greet him, as Pembroke -placed his foot on the step. Madame Volkonsky looked at her husband, -who looked blankly back in return. The Secretary’s carriage whirled -around, and both gentlemen bowed--the Secretary to both the Minister -and his wife, Pembroke pointedly to Madame Volkonsky. - -Volkonsky turned a little pale as they drove off. - -“I wonder if the Secretary will ever speak to us again,” said Madame -Volkonsky, half maliciously. - -Yet it was as much to her as to him. It would indeed be hard were they -driven in disgrace from Washington. Volkonsky had been surprisingly -lucky all his life, but luck always takes a turn. Now, his recall as -Minister would be of more consequence than his escapades as attaché or -Secretary of Legation. Then, he had played wild works with her fortune, -such as it was. Madame Volkonsky’s thoughts grew bitter. First had come -that struggle of her girlhood--then her artistic career--ending in a -cruel failure. Afterward the dreadful years of life tied to Koller’s -bath chair--followed by her stormy and disappointed widowhood. This -was the first place she had ever gained that promised security or -happiness--and behold! all was likely to fall like a house of cards. - -They paid one or two visits, and left cards at several places. Madame -Volkonsky had imagined that nothing could dull the exquisite pleasure -of being a personage, of being followed, flattered, admired. She -found out differently. The fame of her beauty and accomplishments had -preceded her. Everywhere she received the silent ovation which is the -right of a beautiful and charming woman--but her heart was heavy. At -one place she passed Olivia and her father coming out as they were -going in. Olivia, wrapped in furs, looked uncommonly pretty and free -from care. As the two women passed, each, while smiling affably, -wore that hostile air which ladies are liable to assume under the -circumstances. The Colonel was all bows and smiles to Madame Volkonsky -as usual, and refrained from calling her Eliza. - -Nor did the presence of the Volkonskys in Washington conduce to -Olivia’s enjoyment although it certainly did to her father’s. The -Colonel was delighted. In the course of years, Eliza Peyton had -afforded him great amusement. He was a chivalrous man to women, -although not above teasing Madame Volkonsky, but he refrained from -doing what poor Elise very much dreaded he would--telling of her -American origin. She had admitted that her mother was an American--an -admission necessary to account for the native, idiomatic way in which -she spoke the English language, and Colonel Berkeley knowing this, -did not hesitate to say that in years gone by, he had known Madame -Volkonsky’s mother, and very cheerfully bore testimony to the fact that -the mother had been of good family and gentle breeding. So instead -of being a disadvantage to her, it was rather a help. But Olivia and -herself were so distinctly antipathetic that it could scarcely fail to -produce antagonism. And besides her whole course about Pembroke had -shocked Olivia. Olivia was amazed--it was not the mere difference of -conduct and opinion--it was the difference of temperament. Remembering -that Madame Volkonsky had at least the inheritance of refinement, and -was quite at home in the usages of gentle breeding, it seemed the more -inexcusable. In all those years Olivia had been unable to define her -feelings to Pembroke. She could easily have persuaded herself that she -was quite indifferent to him except that she could not forget him. It -annoyed her. It was like a small, secret pain, a trifling malady, of -which the sufferer is ashamed to speak. - -Not so Pembroke. The love that survives such a blow to pride and -vanity as a refusal, is love indeed--and after the first tempest -of mortification he had realized that his passion would not die, -but needed to be killed--and after five years of partial absence, -awkward estrangement, all those things which do most effectually kill -everything which is not love, her presence was yet sweet and potent. -The discovery afforded him a certain grim amusement. He was getting -well on in his thirties. His hair was turning prematurely gray, and he -felt that youth was behind him--a not altogether unpleasant feeling to -an ambitious man. Nevertheless, they went on dining together at the -Berkeleys’ own house, at the De Peysters’, at other places, meeting -constantly at the same houses--for Pembroke went out more than he had -ever done in Washington before, drawn subtly by the chance of meeting -Olivia--although where once she was cool and friendly, she was now a -little warmer in her manner, yet not wholly free from embarrassment. -But neither was unhappy. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII. - - -A MONTH--six weeks--two months passed after the Russian Minister’s -ball. The Grand Duke had called informally on the President, -accompanied of course by the Minister, but his visit to Washington was -so brief that all formal courtesies were postponed until he returned -from his travels in the Northwest, which would not be until spring. -This was the time that Volkonsky looked forward to as deciding his -fate. During the Grand Duke’s first brief visit, Pembroke did not know -of Volkonsky’s diplomatic short-comings--nor until the last moment -did he know that Volkonsky was Ahlberg. He was one of those intensely -human men, who like fighting, especially if there is glory to be -won--and he enjoyed a savage satisfaction in thinking that he would -be the instrument of Ahlberg’s punishment--and the prospect of the -catastrophe occurring during the Grand Duke’s visit, so there could be -no misunderstanding or glozing over of the matter, filled him with what -the moralists would call an unholy joy. He and Volkonsky had met often -since the night of the ball, but never alone. The fact is, Volkonsky -had his wife for a body guard. She was always with him in those days, -sitting by his side in her carriage, or else close at his elbow. One -day, however, as Volkonsky was coming out of the State Department, he -met Pembroke face to face. - -Pembroke had chafed with inward fury at the cleverness with which -Volkonsky had managed to avoid him. Therefore when he passed the -Russian Minister’s carriage with Madame Volkonsky sitting in it alone -at the foot of the steps, he was certain that Volkonsky was in the -State Department, and that he could catch him--for it had assumed the -form of a flight and a pursuit. Pembroke took off his hat and bowed -profoundly to Madame Volkonsky. She could not but fancy there was a -glimmer of sarcasm in his manner--a sarcasm she returned by a bow still -lower. Pembroke could have leaped up the steps in his anxiety to reach -the building before Volkonsky left--but he controlled himself and -mounted leisurely. Once inside the door, he started at a long stride -down the corridor, and in two minutes he had, figuratively speaking, -collared Volkonsky. - -“I want to speak with you,” said Pembroke. - -“With pleasure,” responded Volkonsky, “but I may ask you to be brief, -as Madame Volkonsky awaits me in her carriage.” - -“I will be brief. But I desire you to come to my club--here is my -card--at six o’clock this evening.” - -Volkonsky straightened himself up. He determined not to yield without -making a fight for it. - -“Are you aware of your language, Meestar Pembroke?” - -“Perfectly,” answered Pembroke coolly. “Come or stay--do as you -like. It is your only chance of getting away from the United States -quietly--and this chance is given you not for yourself but for your -wife.” - -Pembroke had kept his hat on his head purposely all this time. -Volkonsky had removed his, but seeing Pembroke remain covered, put it -back also. The two men gazed at each other for a moment, and then each -went his way. But Pembroke knew in that moment that Volkonsky would -come. - -Once down in the carriage, Volkonsky directed the coachman to drive -toward the country. It was a charming morning in early spring. Madame -Volkonsky had expected to enjoy the drive, but when she saw Volkonsky’s -face she changed her anticipations. - -“What did he say?” she asked, almost before the footman had mounted. - -Volkonsky reflected for a moment, and then answered grimly: - -“He has offered me a chance to get away quietly.” - -Madame Volkonsky said no more. Volkonsky began gnawing his mustache--a -trick that Ahlberg had before. He did not speak until they were out -in the country lanes. The fresh spring air brought no bloom to Madame -Volkonsky’s pallid face. - -“But for the frightful insolence of the fellow,” began Volkonsky after -a while, “it might not be so bad. He is willing to negotiate. He has -not gone yet to the Secretary of State with--with--his accusations. -But the Secretary suspects me. I saw it in his face more plainly this -morning than ever before. And there are certain things in connection -with my negotiations--Great God! What a country! I communicate with the -Department of State on certain diplomatic matters. The Department tells -me that the Senate has called for information in the matter, and all my -communications are handed over to a Senate Committee. Then the Lower -House imagines there is a commercial question involved, and invites its -Foreign Affairs Committee to take charge of it. There is no diplomacy -in this miserable country,” he cried, throwing out his hands. “The -State Department is a puppet in the hands of Congress. No diplomatist -can understand this when he comes here--or after.” - -“That is true,” responded Madame Volkonsky, with a spice of sarcasm in -her that never wholly left her. “None of you Foreign Office people know -anything of the workings of the United States Government.” This angered -Volkonsky. He broke out-- - -“There is more yet to tell. This wretched _canaille_ they call the -Lower House, this Foreign Affairs Committee--is subdivided into -numerous smaller committees--and the one in charge of our negotiation -is virtually Pembroke--Pembroke himself!” - -Madame Volkonsky fell back in the carriage. She did not wholly -understand what this meant, but she knew from Volkonsky’s manner, -assisted by her own slight knowledge, that Pembroke was in some way -the arbiter of Volkonsky’s fate. - -“And there are documents--letters--that Pembroke has called for, and -the State Department has produced--that in the hands of an enemy--” - -He struck his knee with his clinched fist. Disgrace stared him in the -face--and the Grand Duke himself here--lying would do no good--and -when that device would no longer avail him, Volkonsky felt that his -situation was indeed desperate. - -Both remained silent a long time. The carriage rolled along slowly. The -road was smooth and bordered with beech and poplar trees, upon whose -silvery branches the first tender shoots were coming out. The air was -full of the subtle perfume of the coming leaves. But both the man and -the woman were city bred. They neither understood nor cared for such -things. Presently Madame Volkonsky touched her husband. Ahead of them -they saw two figures. They were Olivia Berkeley and Miles Pembroke, -walking gayly along the path, talking merrily. The sight of their -innocent gayety smote Madame Volkonsky to the heart with envy. She had -never been able to enjoy simple pleasures. A country walk, with a mere -nobody, a boy younger than herself, with no one to admire, to notice, -could never have pleased her. All her pleasures were of the costly -kind--costly in money, in talents, in rank. She blamed fate at that -moment for making her that way, and envied instead of despising Olivia. - -The two by the roadside bowed--and the two in the carriage returned it -smilingly. But the smile died the instant their heads were turned. - -Volkonsky said presently to his wife: - -“We must not show the white feather. You must sing to-night.” - -This brought Madame Volkonsky up with a turn. Her conversation with -her husband had quite put out of her mind something that had engrossed -her very much, and that was an amateur concert at the British Legation -that evening, at which she was to sing, and for which she had been -preparing earnestly for weeks. Singing, to her, was the keenest edge -of enjoyment. She had begun to feel the delight of the applause, of -the footlights, already in anticipation. It is true it was only an -amateur concert--but it would be before an audience that was worthy -of anybody’s efforts--for was not everybody, even the President and -his wife, to be present? And Madame Volkonsky had speedily found out -that she would have no rival. She had looked forward with intense -anticipation to this triumph--the one pleasure without alloy--the one -chance of being justly admired and applauded. But in the last hour all -had been forgotten. Even the artist’s instinct was quenched. She turned -cold at the idea of singing that night. But with her husband, she felt -it was no time to quail. Then Volkonsky explained to her that he must -meet Pembroke at six, and would afterward dine alone at home, while she -would be on her way to the concert. - -“And Elise,” he said--he rarely called her by her name--“while there is -yet hope--for he has not so far done anything, and I think he would not -willingly make you miserable--if you have an opportunity, make--make an -appeal to him.” - -Before, when the danger had not been so immediate, she had derided him -to his face for this, but now, like him, she was ready to do anything. -The sweets of her position had grown upon her. For the first time in -her life she had commanded instead of asking admiration and attention. -She made no promises, but Volkonsky knew that she was thoroughly -frightened. - -They went home, and Madame Volkonsky, directing that she be excused to -visitors that day, went to her room. Like all people who have something -to conceal, she hated and dreaded to be seen when an emergency was at -hand. She lay all day on the sofa in her bedroom, ostensibly resting -and preparing for the concert of that night--but she did not sing -a note, and the professor of music, who came for a last rehearsal, -was ruthlessly turned away like everybody else. In the midst of her -own misery, Olivia Berkeley’s calm and luminous face haunted her. -Olivia’s destiny was not a particularly brilliant one--the daughter -of a Virginia country gentleman of modest fortune, condemned to a -humdrum life for the best part of the year--already past her first -youth--and Madame Volkonsky, wife of the Russian Minister, twice as -beautiful as Olivia, gifted and admired--apparently everything was -on Madame Volkonsky’s side. And the two had begun life under much the -same auspices. Madame Volkonsky, who was a clever woman in her way, -was not silly enough to suppose that her present miseries had any -real connection with the honors and pleasures she enjoyed. But being -a shrewd observer, she saw that the excellent things of life are much -more evenly divided than people commonly fancy--and she believed in a -kind of inexorable fate that metes out dyspepsia and ingratitude and -deceit to Dives, that the balance may be struck between him and Lazarus. - -So all day she lay on the sofa, and thought about those early days of -hers, and Olivia and Pembroke, and even her Aunt Sally Peyton and poor -Miles and Cave, and everybody linked with that time. When she thought -of Pembroke, it came upon her that he might be induced to spare her. -She had never really understood Pembroke, although she had admired -him intensely. If she had, things would have been very different with -both of them. She never could understand her own failure with him. -Of course she hated him, but love and hatred of the same person are -not unfrequently found in women. She could not but hate him when she -remembered that if he spared them and let them get away quietly, it -would be because she was a woman, not because she was Elise Koller. -But after all she would be rather pleased to get away from Washington -now, if she could do so without being ruined. She wondered at her -own rashness in returning. It seemed a kind of madness. There were -pleasanter places--and it brought her early life and associations too -much before her. She was not fond of reminiscences. - -Occasionally as she lay upon the sofa, wrapped in a silk coverlet and -gazing at the cheerful fire that blazed in the fireplace, she dropped -into an uneasy sleep. This made her nerves recover their tone, and even -somewhat raised her spirits. She was anxious and very much alarmed, but -not in despair. About four o’clock her husband came into her room. His -face was ashy and he held a dispatch in his hand. - -“The Grand Duke arrives within half an hour. This dispatch has been -delayed several hours. I go to the train now to meet him.” - -Madame Volkonsky sat upright on the sofa. - -“Will it make--any difference to us?” she asked. - -Volkonsky shrugged his shoulders. - -“It will simply bring matters to a crisis. It may restrain Pembroke--if -not, it is his opportunity to ruin me. I shall of course tell his -royal highness and his suite of the concert, and they may choose to -go. Russians must always be amused. Perhaps you will have the honor of -singing for his royal highness as well as the President.” His tone as -he said this was not pleasant. - -“I met the old Colonel Berkeley just now. He asked me how Eliza was. Is -it that he is a fool or that he wishes to be impertinent?” - -A ghost of a smile came to Madame Volkonsky’s face. Her husband’s total -inability to understand Anglo-Saxon character, manners, sarcasm and -humor could not but amuse her. - -“Colonel Berkeley is not a fool at least,” she replied. - -Volkonsky went out and drove rapidly to the station. All the people -attached to the Russian Legation were there, and in five minutes the -train rolled in. The Grand Duke and his suite alighted, and the royal -young man, taking Volkonsky’s arm, entered his carriage and was driven -to his hotel. - -During all this time, Volkonsky was battling with his nervousness. He -was afraid that the Grand Duke would invite him to dine--and in that -case, he would miss Pembroke, and perhaps exasperate him. However the -Grand Duke did not, much to the Minister’s relief and the attachés’ -disgust. But the concert at the British Legation was mentioned, and the -Grand Duke signified his august pleasure to attend. The Minister was to -call for him at half-past eight--just the hour the concert began, but -royalty does not mind little things like that. As the Grand Duke had -not paid his respects to the President, the attendance at the concert -was a little unofficial affair, that was to be made as informal as -possible--under the rose as it were. At a quarter before six Volkonsky -got off--and drove to the club. - -Pembroke had not yet arrived, but the servants had orders to show M. -Volkonsky to a private room, where Mr. Pembroke would join him. This -delay enraged Volkonsky. He thought it was a premeditated slight on -Pembroke’s part to keep him waiting. He went to the room, however, and -sat down and played with his gloves and waited impatiently and angrily. - -It was nearly half an hour after Volkonsky had arrived that Pembroke -came in looking hurried and flushed. He did not mind at all crushing -Volkonsky, and could with pleasure have kicked him into the street, -but he was not disposed to the small revenges, like keeping an enemy -waiting. He said at once: - -“Pray excuse my delay. I apologize--” - -“No apology is required,” answered Volkonsky haughtily; “I have this -instant myself arrived. I have been in attendance upon his royal -highness, the Grand Duke Alexis, who has just reached town.” - -“And I,” responded Pembroke bowing, “have been in attendance upon -his excellency, the President of the United States--which of course, -obliges me to postpone any other appointment.” - -Volkonsky fancied a lurking smile in the corners of Pembroke’s mouth. -These incomprehensible Americans, he thought bitterly, never tell -people when they are joking. But Pembroke was in no joking mood. He sat -down by a little table between them, and looked Volkonsky full in the -eye. - -“I have been with the President and the Secretary of State, and it is -upon your affairs that we met.” - -Volkonsky shifted uneasily in his chair. These terrible Americans. They -outraged all diplomacy. - -“And may I ask the result of that conference?” he inquired. - -“Certainly. That if you will agree to go quietly, you may.” - -Volkonsky drew himself up. Pembroke remembered a similar gesture and -attitude in a country road, some years before. - -“And if I decline?” - -Pembroke nodded gravely. - -“Then the President, through the State Department will feel compelled -to notify your government of the correspondence of yours which came -into the hands of the Department, and was upon my request presented -to the Foreign Affairs sub-committee. This is enough, you understand, -for your recall, and perhaps dismissal. But I thought proper to inform -the President of what _I_ knew personally regarding you--and I also -informed him that your wife was entitled to some consideration of -which you were totally unworthy. So you had best take advantage of the -President’s leniency in allowing you to go, without a peremptory demand -for your recall.” - -“You perhaps have gone too fast,” answered Volkonsky in a quiet -voice--for the whole conversation had been conducted in a -conversational key. “You are no doubt aware that the United States -Government is bound by some obligations to the Government of the Czar, -owing to the stand taken by Russia during your civil war, when you, Mr. -Pembroke, were in rebellion. If you will remember, when there seemed a -strong probability that the Confederate government would be recognized -by England and France, the Czar signified, that if such a contingency -arose, he would be prepared to render the United States active help. -As a guarantee, you will recollect the appearance of a small Russian -fleet off the Pacific Coast. Now, upon the first occasion that a member -of the royal family comes to the United States, to have a diplomatic -scandal--to dismiss the Russian Minister the day after the Grand Duke’s -arrival--when arrangements are made for the presentations, and certain -formal entertainments--will certainly be most awkward, and I may say, -embarrassing, for his royal highness as well as the Russian Government.” - -“Quite true,” answered Pembroke. “This phase of the question was -discussed fully by the Secretary of State, who was present at the -interview with the President. He mentioned that the strongest proof -of friendship this Government could give the Russian Government -would be for the Secretary to state privately to the Grand Duke how -matters stand, and to offer, on his account, to permit your presence -temporarily in Washington.” - -Volkonsky stood up for a moment and sat down again. His face was quite -desperate by this time. And the amazing audacity of this American! - -“How can it be arranged? It is impossible; you must yield,” he gasped. - -“The President himself has arranged everything. That is,” he added, -with some malice, “he agreed to my proposition, as did the Secretary of -State. The Secretary, to-morrow, will have an interview with the Grand -Duke, and--” - -“Will follow the Grand Duke’s wishes?” eagerly asked Volkonsky, rising -again. - -“Not at all,” replied Pembroke, with dignity. “Such is not the practice -of this government. The Secretary will notify the Grand Duke what -the President is prepared to yield out of courtesy to the Russian -Government, and respect for the Czar’s family. You will be allowed to -present the Grand Duke to the President, according to the original -programme. But you will be careful not to offer your hand to the -President, or to presume to engage him in conversation. Don’t forget -this.” - -“And the State dinner to his royal highness?” asked Volkonsky, in a -tremulous voice. - -“A card will be sent you, but you must absent yourself. It was agreed -that you had abundant resources by which you could avoid coming, -which I warn you will not be allowed. You might be called away from -Washington upon imperative business.” - -“Or I might be ill. It would perhaps be the best solution of the -difficulty if I should be taken ill now, and remain so for the next two -weeks.” - -Pembroke could not for his life, refrain from smiling at this. -Volkonsky, however, was far from smiling. He regarded these things as -of tremendous import. - -“And Madame Volkonsky--and the State dinner?” he said. - -“That,” answered Pembroke, with a bow, “rests solely with Madame -Volkonsky. This government fights men, not women.” - -Volkonsky had been restless, getting up and walking about, and then -sitting down at the table and resting his face on his hands. Pembroke -had not moved from his first position, which was one of easy dignity. -Presently Volkonsky burst out with: - -“But did the President himself say anything of me?” - -“He did.” - -“Then I insist on hearing it.” - -“M. Volkonsky, it would do you no good. The arrangements I have told -you of are final, and I will be present with other members of the -Foreign Affairs Committee at your meeting with the President.” - -Volkonsky at once thought that the President had said something which -was favorable to him. He said violently: - -“But I demand to know. I am still the accredited Minister of all the -Russias. I have certain rights, which must be respected. I demand to -know the President’s exact language.” - -“M. Volkonsky, I expressly disclaim any sympathy with the President’s -remarks. His language is far from diplomatic. He did not expect it to -be repeated.” - -“I demand to know,” shouted Volkonsky, furiously. - -“He said, he knew you were an infernal scoundrel the instant he put his -eyes on you.” - -Volkonsky fell back in his chair almost stunned. Pembroke, whose sense -of humor was struggling with his anger and disgust, almost felt sorry -for him. After a pause, Volkonsky raised himself up and looked fixedly -at Pembroke. - -“Why do you not enter the diplomatic service?” he said. “You have great -talents in that direction.” - -“Because,” answered Pembroke, smiling in a way that made Volkonsky feel -like strangling him, “the diplomatic service is no career for a man--” - -“In America, yes. But in Europe?” - -“Nor in Europe, either. Before the railroad and the telegraph, -Ministers had powers and responsibilities. Now, they are merely -agents and messengers. However, we will not discuss that. Our affairs -are finished. I only have to warn you not to abuse the reasonable -indulgence of this government. You are to take yourself off--and if -not, you will be driven out.” - -After Volkonsky left him, Pembroke dined alone at the club. He felt -singularly depressed. As long as he had Volkonsky before him, he -enjoyed the pleasure of beating his enemy according to the savage -instincts which yet dwell in the human breast. Volkonsky gone, he -began to think with a certain remorse of Elise. The thought of her -misery gave him pain. - -Suddenly he remembered the concert. He recollected that Miles had -engaged for both of them to go with Colonel Berkeley and Olivia. But -for Miles, he would have excused himself from his engagement--but the -boy could seldom be induced to go anywhere, and he had seemed eager -to go to this place--but not without Olivia. For she had the gentle -tact to make him feel at ease. She screened him from the curious and -unthinking--he did not feel lost and abashed with Olivia as he did -without her. So Pembroke finished his dinner hurriedly, and went back -to his lodgings, where Miles was awaiting him, after having dined -alone--and in a little while they were at the Colonel’s house, where -Olivia came out on her father’s arm, and the big landau, brought from -Isleham, with Petrarch on the box as of old, rolled along toward the -British Legation and took its place in line. - -When they reached the brilliantly lighted ball-room, where a concert -stage had been erected and chairs arranged in rows, Pembroke took -Miles’ usual place at Olivia’s side. He always felt with her, the charm -of a sweet reasonableness and refinement. After the man he had talked -with, and the thoughts and evil passions he had just experienced, it -was refreshment to sit beside Olivia Berkeley, to look into her clear -eyes and to listen to her soft voice. - -The great ball-room was full and very brilliant. Pembroke looked and -felt distrait. He was glad it was a concert, and that he could sit -still and be silent, instead of moving about and being obliged to talk. -He had altogether forgotten Madame Volkonsky’s connection with it until -he saw her name on the programme. It gave him an unpleasant shock--and -presently there was a slight commotion, and the British Minister -escorted the President and his wife up the room to the arm-chairs -placed for them--and a few minutes after, the Grand Duke and his -suite--and in the suite Pembroke saw Volkonsky. - -Olivia did not look at Volkonsky as he passed. He always excited strong -repulsion in her. Then the music began. - -It was a very ordinary concert, as concerts are apt to be by very -distinguished persons. The programme was long and amateurish. But when -Madame Volkonsky’s first number was reached the audience waked up. She -was the only artist in the lot. - -She came on the stage smiling and bowing, which raised the applause -that greeted her to a storm. She need not have wished a better foil -for her art as well as her manner and appearance than those who -had preceded her. It had been her terror, amid all the pleasure of -exhibiting her accomplishments, that the professional would be too -obvious. She was always afraid that some practised eye--which indeed -sometimes happened--would discover that her art was no amateur’s art. -But to-night she was troubled by nothing like this. She knew all. She -knew that invited to the house of the President, she could not go--she -knew that she must slip away like a criminal from her own country, -and from those very men and women who now admired and envied her. She -had married Ahlberg deliberately, knowing who he was, and had schemed -with him and for him. She had done nothing very wrong, she had said to -herself, a dozen times that day--nothing but to prefer present interest -to ever-lasting principles--nothing but to join her fate with full -knowledge, to a scoundrel--nothing but to have preferred money and -pleasure and crooked ways to the straight. Meanwhile many women did -as she did and were not so cruelly punished. But fate had overtaken -her. No fear now lest people should know she was once a professional -singer--they would know all about her soon enough. She knew that -the storm that would break upon her was only delayed a little. She -would therefore enjoy to the most this last time--this one feast at -the king’s table. She sang her best--sang as if inspired, and in the -subtile harmonies, the deep mysterious cries, the passionate meaning -of Schumann and Schubert, her soul found utterance through her voice. -Had she been permitted to sing thus always--had that glorious but -capricious voice always remained like that, she would have been a -proud and satisfied artist, instead of this trembling and disappointed -worldling, about to be hurled from her place in the eyes of the world -she loved and feared so much. - -The applause, which soon became as wild and earnest as if it were a -real stage, warmed her and brought the red blood to her face. She bowed -right and left with the grace and precision of one trained to receive -applause beautifully. Then in response to the tremendous encores, she -sang a little German song--so simple, so low and clear, that it sounded -like a mother’s lullaby. Even those arrayed against her felt the spell -of her thrilling voice. Olivia Berkeley, who had always antagonized her -strongly, felt her cheeks flush and her heart trembled with a kind of -remorse. - -Pembroke was pierced again, and more strongly, by the self-accusing -spirit that this woman was to be stricken by his hand. He felt himself -right in what he had done--but neither happy, nor self-approving, nor -guiltless. - -The rest of the concert seemed tamer than ever. When it was over -there was to be a supper to a few invited guests. When the music came -to an end, Pembroke rose, glad to get away from Madame Volkonsky’s -presence. But just then the British Minister came up and asked Colonel -Berkeley and Olivia and the two Pembrokes to remain. Olivia accepted, -but Pembroke was about to decline. He had begun in a deprecatory way, -when Olivia said smiling, “You will be sorry if you go.” Something -in the tone, in the expression of her eye, conveyed more than the -simple words, and fixed the fact in an instant that he would remain. -He accepted, and almost before he knew it, he found himself near -Madame Volkonsky, and the host invited him to give her his arm to the -dining-room. - -Like most women of her nature, Madame Volkonsky had a blind dependence -upon what she called fate--which means upon any accidental conjunction -of circumstances. She had been turning over in her mind, eagerly -and feverishly, all day long the chances of five minutes’ talk with -Pembroke. She had not been able to hit upon anything that would insure -it that night, because she had no warrant that she should see him--and -even if he came to the concert, it was a chance whether he would remain -to the supper. Again, everything pointed to one of the diplomatic corps -taking her into supper--and only the charming indifference which the -diplomatic corps manifests at Washington to diplomatic usages, could -pair the wife of the Russian Minister with a young member of Congress. -But in truth, the British Minister and all his diplomatic colleagues -had got wind of what was coming, and it was an opportunity of giving -Volkonsky a kick which pleased them all. The supper was quite informal, -and the Grand Duke did not remain. - -In the first flush of her joy at having a word with Pembroke, Madame -Volkonsky entirely forgot the slight offered her by barring her out -of a diplomatic escort. She was seated at a little round table where -sat Ryleief, and by another strange turn of fate, Olivia Berkeley. -Madame Volkonsky had drawn off her long black gloves and was talking to -Pembroke with smiling self-possession, when she remembered that however -Pembroke might rank as a man, she was entitled to go out to supper with -a person of diplomatic rank. The British Minister might play tricks, -as all of the diplomats did, with the Americans, but among themselves, -etiquette was strictly observed, even at small and jolly supper -parties. She was so well pleased with what destiny had done for her in -giving her Pembroke as an escort, that she had no quarrel with destiny -whatever. But with the British Minister and his wife, she did have a -quarrel. She felt her anger and indignation rising every moment against -them. It was the first stab of the many she was destined to receive. - -Madame Volkonsky had most of the conversation to herself. Pembroke, -in spite of every effort, felt heavy hearted. Olivia Berkeley was -painfully embarrassed, and it required all her savoir faire to keep -Ryleief from finding it out. As for Ryleief, he was so taken up with -watching his three companions that he scarcely opened his mouth except -to put something in it. - -There was a great pretense of jollity at the little table--so much -so, that Volkonsky turned from a remote corner into which he had been -shoveled, with a faint hope that Madame Volkonsky had accomplished -something. He was a hopeful scamp. - -At last the opportunity came that Madame Volkonsky had longed for. -They rose and went back to the drawing-rooms. She and Pembroke were in -front, and by a gesture she stopped him in a recess under the broad -staircase, that was half concealed by great palms. Perhaps Pembroke -might have had a weak moment--but as Olivia passed him on Ryleief’s -arm, though she avoided his glance he saw her face--he saw a kind of -gentle scorn in her delicate nostril--a shade of contempt that hardened -his heart toward Madame Volkonsky on the instant. - -In a moment or two everybody but themselves had gone. They were -virtually alone. - -“Pembroke,” said Madame Volkonsky. The tone, and the piercing look -which accompanied it, had all the virtue of sincerity. - -“You know what I would say,” she continued. “You have everything in -your hands. You may drive me away from here--away from respectable -society--away from all that makes life tolerable. What have I done to -you that you should deny me mercy?” - -“But I can do nothing now,” responded Pembroke. “It is too late. And -besides I have done very little. If I may say it, M. Volkonsky has done -it all himself.” - -“Yes,” answered Madame Volkonsky. “It is true he has done it all. But -surely, you might make some plea. At least you might try. Oh, you -cannot know what it is to feel one’s self sinking, sinking, and not a -hand held out to save.” - -Pembroke’s face was quite impassive, but his soul was not so impassive. -It cost him much to withstand the entreaties of a woman--and a woman -who fancied she had some claim upon him, although in the bottom of -his heart, he knew that he had got more trouble, pain and annoyance -from Elise Koller than he had pleasure by a great deal--more bad than -good--more war than peace. - -“Madame Volkonsky,” he continued, after a pause, “you are putting your -appeal on the wrong ground. You will find that your husband has been -mercifully dealt with--and that mercy was for your sake alone. Had you -married him in ignorance--but Elise, you knew him as well five years -ago as now.” - -Pembroke feared that his tone did not convey his unalterable decision, -but it did, indeed, to the unfortunate woman before him. - -“There is no pity in the world,” she began--and then kept on, gasping -with hysterical excitement. “No pity at all. I thought that you at -least had a heart--but you are as cold--I never asked for mercy in my -life that I was not denied. Even when I humiliated myself before Olivia -Berkeley.” - -In the midst of her own frenzy of despair, she saw something in -Pembroke’s face that forced her to stop there. She was trembling -violently and gasping for breath. Every moment he thought she would -break into cries and screams. He took her firmly by the arm and led -her to a side door, and out to where the street was blocked with -carriages. Madame Volkonsky submitted without a word. It was useless. -He was always so prompt. He had no hat, nor had Madame Volkonsky any -wrap around her. He called for the Russian Minister’s carriage, and in -a moment it came. He placed Madame Volkonsky in it, and she obeyed him -silently. Her head hung down, she wept a little, and was the picture of -despair. - -“Now, wait for the Minister,” he said to the coachman--and he sent the -footman for Madame Volkonsky’s wrap. - -Then he went back in the house, and through the drawing-rooms until he -saw Volkonsky. “You had better go at once to your wife. She is waiting -in her carriage,” he said. - -Volkonsky did not take time even to bid his host good-night, but -slipped out, Pembroke a little behind him. When they reached the -carriage, Madame Volkonsky was inside weeping violently. Pembroke had -not got her out a moment too soon. - -Volkonsky looked at Pembroke for a moment. “Madame has not her wrap,” -he said. “She has a mantle of sable that cost--ah, here is the footman -with it.” Pembroke turned away sick at heart. - -Within a week the Grand Duke’s visit was over, and the Russian Legation -was suddenly turned over to Ryleief. The Minister was ill, and his -doctors ordered him to the south of France. The day before Madame -Volkonsky left Washington, a parcel was delivered into her hands. -It was a rouleau containing a considerable sum of money. There was -nothing to indicate where it came from. - -“It must have cost a good deal of self-denial for Pembroke to send me -this,” she said, after counting the money. “He is not a rich man. It -will perhaps serve me in some dreadful emergency”--for she had learned -to expect dreadful emergencies by that time. - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII. - - -WASHINGTON society did not see much of Pembroke that winter. He -worked very hard, and in the afternoons he took long, solitary rides. -Sometimes in his rides he would meet Olivia Berkeley, generally with -her father, and often Miles was with them. Then he would join the -cavalcade, and exert himself to be gay--for it cannot be denied that he -was not in very good spirits at that time. It is one thing to perform -an act of rigid justice and another to take pleasure in it. Madame -Volkonsky’s last words rang in his ears. - -He could not but smile at Olivia. She pierced his outward pretense of -gayety, and saw that at heart he was sad. She fancied she knew why. -By a mighty effort she brought herself to regard his infatuation for -Madame Volkonsky with pity. - -“It is written that Olivia shall always misunderstand me,” he said to -himself. - -The Volkonsky matter did not end there. The treatment of the Russian -representative suddenly presented a party phase. The party in power saw -that capital could be made out of it. Pembroke had carried the whole -thing through. Pembroke was a Southern man. Russia had offered her -fleet during the civil war, in the event that France and England should -depart from the strictest neutrality. It was easy enough to make the -Russian Minister, who had departed, a martyr. In those unhappy days of -sectional strife, these things were seized upon eagerly by both sides. - -Pembroke heard that an attack was to be made upon him on the floor of -the House. This gave him great satisfaction. He knew that his course -was not only justifiable but patriotic in the highest degree. The -question of Volkonsky’s iniquities in the first instance had been -thrust upon him by his political adversaries in the committee, who -thought it at best but a diplomatic squabble. The sub-committee to -which it was referred, had a chairman who was taken ill early in the -session, and was not able to attend any of the committee meetings. His -other colleague was incurably lazy--so this supposed trifling matter -was wholly in his hands, and it had turned out a first-class sensation. - -The visit of the Grand Duke, and the complications from Russia’s -extreme friendliness toward the Government at a critical time, had -suddenly made the question assume a phase of international importance. -Without scandal, and without giving offense, the State Department, -acting on Pembroke’s information, had managed to rout Volkonsky, and -incidentally to give a warning to continental governments regarding -the men they should send as diplomatic representatives to the United -States. The Secretary of State, a cold, formal, timid, but dignified -man, was infinitely gratified and relieved at the manner in which -Pembroke had managed Volkonsky. - -The President had laughed with grim humor at the account of Volkonsky’s -utter rout. Altogether it was a chain of successes for Pembroke, and it -gave him his opportunity to show the debater’s stuff there was in him. -Therefore, when he was informed that on a certain day he would have to -answer for himself on the floor of the House, he felt in high spirits, -for the first time in weeks. - -Miles was full of excitement. Colonel Berkeley, whose sectionalism -was of the robust and aggressive kind indigenous in Virginia, was in -high feather. He charged Pembroke repeatedly to wallop those infernal -Yankees so that they would never forget it, and recalled all the -forensic glories of all the Pembrokes to him. Olivia brightened into -wonderful interest. She said it was the subject that interested her. - -The evening before the resolution was to be called up, Pembroke walked -over to the Berkeleys, Olivia and her father sat in the cosy library. -The Colonel began immediately. - -“My dear fellow, you ought not to be here this minute. Remember you -have got to speak for the State of Virginia to-morrow. You ought to be -sharpening your blade and seeing to the joints in your armor.” - -“You should, indeed,” struck in Olivia, with great animation. -“You can’t imagine how nervous I feel. You see, you are to be the -mouth-piece of all of us. If you don’t do your best, and show that we -have some patriotism, as well as the North, I believe there will be a -general collapse among all the Southern people here.” - -Pembroke could not help laughing. - -“Your anxiety, Colonel, and Miss Berkeley’s doesn’t bespeak great -confidence in me.” - -Olivia blushed and protested more earnestly. - -“Not so, not so, sir,” cried the Colonel. “We have every confidence -in you, but my boy, you had better take a look at Cicero’s orations -against Catiline--and read over to-night Sheridan’s speeches--and Hayne -against Webster.” - -Pembroke threw himself back in his chair, and his laugh was so boyish -and hearty, that Olivia was startled into joining in it. - -“This is fearful,” said Olivia, bringing her pretty brows together -sternly. “This is unpardonable levity. At a time like this, it is -dreadful for us to stand so in awe of your self-love. Really now, we -know that you are eloquence and cleverness itself, but it isn’t safe,” -she continued, with an air of infinite experience, “to trust anything -to chance.” - -“Come down to the House to-morrow and encourage me,” replied Pembroke -good humoredly, “and keep up Miles’ spirits when I begin to flounder.” - -The evening was very jolly, like those old ones in Paris and in -Virginia. Pembroke at last rose to go, and in parting, the Colonel -clapped him on the back, while Olivia held his hand and pressed it so -warmly that Pembroke’s dark face colored with pleasure, as she said: - -“Now, I know I am offending you--but you can’t imagine how frightened -I am. You may come out all right--but the suspense will be dreadful--” -She was laughing, too, but Pembroke saw under her badinage a powerful -interest in his success. He went away elated. “At least she will -see that I was worthy of more consideration than she gave me,” he -thought--a common reflection to men who have been refused. - -Next day the floor of the House was crowded and the galleries packed. -Administration and anti-administration people were interested. Society -turned out in force to hear the revelations about the late Russian -Minister--the private and diplomatic galleries were filled. The Senate -was not in session, and many Senators were on the floor. - -After the morning hour, and the droning through of some unimportant -business, the leader of the majority rose, and demanded the -consideration of the resolution of inquiry relating to the recall of -the Russian Minister from this country. At that a hush fell upon the -crowd. The leader of the opposition rose to reply. He stated briefly -that it was a matter concerning the Foreign Affairs Committee, and a -member of one of the sub-committees had sole charge of it owing to the -illness of the chairman. Another member then rose, and sarcastically -referring to the fact that the gentleman referred to could scarcely -be supposed to entertain friendly feelings toward the representative -of the only foreign government which showed the slightest sympathy -toward the Union in the Civil War, demanded to know by what right had -the Russian Minister’s position in Washington been made untenable--and -that too, at the time of the visit of a member of the Czar’s -family--and was this the return the United States Government made for -the Czar’s extreme friendliness? Then Pembroke stood up in his place, -at a considerable distance from the Speaker. This gave him a great -advantage, for it showed the fine resonant quality of his voice, clear -and quite free from rant and harshness. Olivia Berkeley, who watched -him from the front row in the gallery, saw that he was pale, but -perfectly self-possessed. As he caught her eye, in rising, he smiled at -her. - -“Mr. Speaker.” - -The Speaker fixed his piercing eyes upon him, and with a light tap of -the gavel, said “The gentleman from Virginia has the floor.” - -Pembroke used no notes. He began in a clear and dignified manner to -recite the part taken by him in Volkonsky’s case--his suspicions, -his demand for documents from the State Department, Volkonsky’s -compromising letters, of which he read copies--the dilemma of the -Department, anxious not to offend Russia but indignant at the baseness -of Volkonsky--the further complication of the Grand Duke’s visit, and -all which followed. He then read his statement of what had occurred -at his interviews with Volkonsky, and which he had filed at the State -Department. - -“And here let me say,” he remarked, pausing from the reading of his -minutes of his last conversation with Volkonsky, “that in some of my -language and stipulations I had no authority from either the President -or Secretary of State--but with the impetuosity of all honest men, I -felt a profound indignation at a man of the late Minister’s character, -daring to present himself as an accredited agent to this Government. -In many of these instances, as for example, when I stipulated that the -late Minister should not presume to shake hands with the President at -his parting interview, or address him in any way, no doubt the late -Minister supposed that I was instructed to make that stipulation. Sir, -I was not. It was an outburst of feeling. I felt so clearly that no man -of Volkonsky’s character should be permitted to touch the hand of the -President of the United States, that I said so--and said so in such a -way that the late Minister supposed I had the President’s authority for -it.” - -At this, there was an outburst of applause. The Speaker made no move to -check it. Pembroke bowed slightly, and resumed in his calm and piercing -voice. - -Members of the House and Senate had settled themselves to hear a -speech. In five minutes the old stagers had found out that there was -the making of a great parliamentary speaker in this stalwart dark -young man. Members leaned back and touched each other. Pens refrained -from scratching. The pages, finding nothing to do, crept toward -the Speaker’s desk and sat down on the carpeted steps. One little -black-eyed fellow fixed his gaze on Pembroke’s face, and at the next -point he made, the page, without waiting for his elders, suddenly -clapped furiously. A roar of laughter and applause followed. Pembroke -smiled, and did not break silence again until the Speaker gave him a -slight inclination of the head. In that pause he had glanced at Olivia -in the gallery. Her face was crimson with pride and pleasure. - -Outside in the corridors, the word had gone round that there was -something worth listening to going on inside. The aisles became packed. -A slight disturbance behind him showed Pembroke that a contingent -of women was being admitted to the floor--and before him, in the -reporters’ gallery, where men were usually moving to and fro, every man -was at his post, and there was no passing in and out. - -Pembroke began to feel a sense of triumph. His easy, but forcible -delivery was not far from eloquence. He felt the pulse of his audience, -as it were. At first, when he began, it was entirely cold and critical, -while his blood leaped like fire through his veins, and it took all his -will-power to maintain his appearance of coolness. But as his listeners -warmed up, he cooled off. The more subtly he wrought them up, the more -was he master of himself. His nerve did not once desert him. - -Gradually he began to lead up to where he hoped to make his -point--that, although of the party in opposition, he felt as deeply, -and resented as instantly, any infringement of the dignity of the -Government as any citizen of the republic--and that such was the -feeling in his party. His own people saw his lead and applauded -tremendously. Just then the Speaker’s gavel fell. Loud cries of “Go -on! Go on! Give him half an hour more! Give him an hour!” rang out. -Pembroke had ceased in the middle of a sentence, and had sat down. - -“Is there objection to the gentleman from Virginia continuing?” asked -the Speaker, in an animated voice. “The Chair hears none. The gentleman -will proceed.” - -The applause now turned into cheers and shouts. One very deaf old -gentleman moved forward to Pembroke and, deliberately motioning a -younger man out of his seat, quietly took possession of it, to the -amusement of the House. The little page, who was evidently a pet of the -old gentleman, stole up to him and managed to crowd in the same chair. -Shouts of laughter followed this, followed by renewed applause for -Pembroke, in which his opponents good-naturedly joined. Then Pembroke -felt that the time had come. He had the House with him. - -He spoke for an hour. He merely took the Volkonsky incident for a text. -He spoke of the regard for the common weal exhibited by his party, and -he vigorously denounced his opponents for their attempt to make party -capital out of that which was near and dear to all Americans. He spoke -with temper and judgment, but his party realized that they had gained a -powerful aid in their fight with the majority. At the last he artfully -indulged in one burst of eloquence--in which he seemed carried away -by his theme, but in which, like a genuine orator, he played upon his -audience, and while they imagined that he had forgotten himself he was -watching them. Truly they had forgotten everything but the ringing -words of the speaker. He had touched the chord of true Americanism -which sweeps away all parties, all prejudices. Then, amidst prolonged -and vociferous cheering, he sat down. Senators and Representatives -closed around him, congratulating him and shaking hands. The House -was in no mood for anything after that, and a motion to adjourn was -carried, nobody knew how. When at last, to escape being made to appear -as if he remained to be congratulated, Pembroke was going toward the -cloak room the Speaker passed near him and advanced and offered his -hand. “Ah,” he cried, in his pleasant, jovial way, “right well have you -acquitted yourself this day. You’ll find much better company on our -side of the House, however, my young friend.” - -“Thank you,” said Pembroke, smiling and bowing to the great man. “It’s -not bad on my own side.” - -The Speaker laughed and passed on. - -Pembroke slipped out. It was a pleasant spring afternoon. The world -took on for him a glorious hue just then, as it does to every man -who finds his place in life, and that place an honorable one. But -one thing was wanting--a tender heart to sympathize with him at that -moment. Instead of turning toward his lodgings, he walked away into -the country--away where he could see the blue line of the Virginia -hills. It gave him a kind of malicious satisfaction, and was yet pain -to him, that Olivia would be expecting him, and that she should be -disappointed. As the hero of the hour she would naturally want to greet -him. - -“Well,” he thought, as he struck out more vigorously still, “let us see -if my lady will not peak and pine a little at being forgotten.” And yet -her hurt gave him hurt, too. Love and perversity are natural allies. - -It was quite dark when he returned to his lodgings. Miles was not -there--gone to dinner with the Berkeleys. - -About ten o’clock Miles turned up, the proudest younger brother in -all America. He had all that he had heard to tell his brother. But -presently he asked: - -“Why didn’t you come to the Berkeleys’? The Colonel kept the carriage -waiting at the Capitol for you. Olivia listened at dinner for your -step, and jumped up once, thinking you had come.” - -“I needed a walk in the country,” answered Pembroke, sententiously. - -Miles sighed. A look came into his poor face that Pembroke had seen -there before--a look that made the elder brother’s strong heart ache. -Any disappointment to Olivia was a stab to this unfortunate young -soul. Men, as nature made them, are not magnanimous in love. Only some -frightful misfortune like this poor boy’s can make them so. - -Presently Miles continued, hesitatingly: - -“You must go to see her very early to-morrow. You know they return to -Virginia early in the week.” - -“I can’t go,” answered Pembroke, wounding himself, and the brother that -he loved better than himself, in order to wound Olivia. “I must go to -New York early to-morrow morning, on business. I was notified ten days -ago.” - -Miles said no more. - -Early the next morning Pembroke was off, leaving a note for Olivia, -which that young lady showed her father, and then, running up to her -own room, tore into bits--and then she burst into tears. And yet it -was a most kind, cordial, friendly note. When Pembroke returned, the -Berkeleys had left town for the season. - - - - -CHAPTER XIX. - - -THE quaint old house, and the straggling, half-kept grounds at Isleham -were never lovelier than that spring. Sometimes the extreme quiet and -repose had weighed upon Olivia’s spirits as it would upon any other -young and vigorous nature. But now she had a good deal of a certain -sort of excitement. She was country-bred, and naturally turned to -the country for any home feeling she might have. The Colonel and -Petrarch were a little bored at first. Both missed the social life at -Washington. Pete had been a success in his own circle. His ruffled -shirt-front, copied from his master’s, had won infinite respect among -his own color. As for the natty white footmen and coachmen, their -opinion and treatment, even their jeers, he regarded with lofty -indifference, and classed them as among the poorest of poor white trash. - -His religion, too, had struck terror to those of the Washington darkies -to whom he had had a chance to expound it. His liberal promises of -eternal damnation, “an’ sizzlin’ an’ fryin’ in perdition, wid de devil -bastin’ ’em wid de own gravy,” had not lost force even through much -repetition. “Ole marse,” Petrarch informed Olivia, “he cuss ’bout dem -dam towns, an’ say he aint had nuttin’ fittin’ ter eat sence he lef’ -Verginny. Ole marse, he jis’ maraudin’ an’ cussin’ ’cause he aint got -nuttin’ ter do. I lay he gwi’ back naix’ year. Ef he does, I got some -preachments ter make ter dem wuffless niggers d’yar, totin’ de sins -’roun’ like twuz’ gol’ an’ silver.” - -It seemed as if Olivia were destined to suffer a good deal of secret -mortification on Pembroke’s account. That last neglect of his had cut -her to the soul. She had waked up to the fact, however, that Pembroke -had taken his first rebuff in good earnest, and that nothing was left -for her but that hollow pretense of friendship which men and women who -have been, or have desired to be, more to each other, must affect. It -was rather a painful and uncomfortable feeling to take around with her, -when listening to Mrs. Peyton’s vigorous talk, or the Rev. Mr. Cole’s -harmless sermons, and still more harmless conversation. But it was -there, and it was unconquerable, and she must simply adjust the burden -that she might bear it. - -The county was full of talk about Pembroke’s speech. The older people -were sure that some information of his father’s great speeches in -their court-house about 1849 must have reached Washington, and that -Pembroke’s future was predicated upon them. Then there was a good deal -in the newspapers about it. The Richmond papers printed the speech in -full, together with a genealogical sketch of his family since the first -Pembroke came over, with a grant of land from Charles the Second in -his pocket. Likewise, Pembroke’s success was attributed almost wholly -to his ancestry, and he himself was considered to have had a merely -nominal share in it. - -It was the long session of Congress, and there was no talk of -Pembroke’s returning to the county. Whenever he did come, though, it -was determined to give him a public dinner. - -One afternoon in May, about the same time of year that Pembroke and -Olivia had had their pointed conversation in the garden, Olivia was -trimming her rose-bushes. She was a famous gardener, and a part of -every morning and afternoon she might have been found looking after -her shrubs and flowers. Sometimes, with a small garden hoe, she might -have been seen hoeing vigorously, much to Petrarch’s disgust, who -remonstrated vainly. - -“Miss ’Livy, yo’ mar never did no sech a thing. When she want hoein’ -done, she sen’ fur Susan’s Torm, an’ Simon Peter an’ Unc’ Silas’ Jake. -She didn’t never demean herself wid no hoe in her han’.” - -“But I haven’t got Susan’s Tom, nor Simon Peter nor Uncle Silas’ Jake. -And besides, I am doing it because I like it.” - -“Fur Gord A’mighty’s sake, Miss ’Livy, doan’ lemme hear dat none o’ de -Berkeleys likes fur ter wuk. De Berkeleys allus wuz de gentlefolks o’ -de county. Didn’t none on ’em like ter wuk. Ketch ole marse wukkin! -Gord warn’t conjurin’ ’bout de fust families when He say, ‘By de sweat -o’ de brow dey shall scuffle fer de vittals.’ He mos’ p’intedly warn’t -studyin’ ’bout de Berkeleys, ’kase dey got dat high an’ mighty sperrit -dey lay down an’ starve ’fo’ dey disqualify deyselfs by wukkin’.” - -But Olivia stuck bravely to her plebeian amusement. On this particular -afternoon she was not hoeing. She was merely snipping off straggling -wisps from the great rose-trees--old-fashioned “maiden’s blush,” and -damasks. She was thinking, as, indeed, she generally did when she found -herself employed in that way, of Pembroke and that unlucky afternoon -six years ago. - -Before she knew it Pembroke was advancing up the garden walk. In a -moment they were shaking hands with a great assumption of friendliness. -Olivia could not but wonder if he remembered the similarity between -that and just such another spring afternoon in the same place. Pembroke -looked remarkably well and seemed in high spirits. - -“The Colonel was out riding--and I did not need Pete’s directions to -know that you were very likely pottering among your flowers at this -time.” - -“Pottering is such a senile kind of a word--you make me feel I am in my -dotage. Doddering is the next step to pottering. And this, I remember, -is the first chance I have had to congratulate you in person on your -speech. Papa gives your father and your grandfather the whole credit. I -asked him, however, when he wrote you to give my congratulations.” - -“Which he did. It was a very cold and clammy way of felicitating a -friend.” - -Olivia said nothing, but she could not restrain an almost imperceptible -lifting of the brows. - -“The result of that speech has been,” continued Pembroke, after a -little pause, “that I am in public life to stay as long as I can. That -means that I shall never be a rich man. Honest men, in these times, -don’t get rich on politics.” - -A brilliant blush came into Olivia’s face at that. In the midst of -suggestive circumstances Pembroke seemed determined to add suggestive -remarks. - -“But I hardly think you could take that into consideration,” she -answered, after a moment. “A man’s destiny is generally fixed by his -talents. You will probably not make a great fortune, but you may make a -great reputation--and to my way of thinking the great reputation is the -more to be coveted.” - -“Did you always think so?” - -“Always.” - -Then there came an awkward pause. Olivia was angry with him for asking -the first question, but Pembroke seemed determined to pursue it. - -“Even when I asked you to marry me on this very spot, six years ago? -Then I understood that you could not marry a poor man.” - -“Then,” said Olivia, calmly, and facing him, “you very much -misunderstood me. I did think, as I think now, that poverty is a weight -about the neck of a public man. But I can say truthfully, that it was -_your_ ability to cope with it, rather than mine, that I feared.” - -“And it seems to me,” said Pembroke, calmly, “on looking back, that I -was a little too aggressive--that I put rather a forced construction on -what you said--and that I was very angry.” - -“I was angry, too--and it has angered me every time I have thought of -it in these six years, that I was made to appear mercenary, when I am -far from it--that a mere want of tact and judgment should have marked -me in your esteem--or anybody else’s, for that matter--as a perfectly -cold and calculating woman.” - -She was certainly very angry now. - -“But if I was wrong,” said Pembroke, in a low, clear voice--for he used -the resources of his delightful voice on poor Olivia as he had done on -many men and some women before--“I have paid the price. The humiliation -and the pangs of six years ago were much--and then, the feeling that, -after all, there was but one woman in the world for me--ah, Olivia, -sometimes I think you do not know how deep is the hold you took upon -me. You would have seen in all these years, that however I might try, I -could not forget you.” - -Olivia was not implacable. - - * * * * * - -When they came in the house, the Colonel was come, and in a gale of -good humor. He had, however, great fault to find with Pembroke’s -course. He was too conciliatory--too willing to forget the blood shed -upon the battlefields of Virginia--and then and there they entered -upon a political discussion which made the old-fashioned mirrors on -the drawing-room wall ring again. The Colonel brought down his fist -and raved. “By Jove, sir, this is intolerable. My black boy, Petrarch -(Petrarch continued to be the Colonel’s boy), knows more about the -subject than you do; and he’s the biggest fool I ever saw. I’ll be -hanged, sir, if your statements are worth refuting.” Pembroke withstood -the sortie gallantly, and at intervals charged the enemy in splendid -style, reducing the Colonel to oaths and splutterings and despair. - -Olivia sat in a low chair by the round mahogany table, on which the -old-fashioned lamp burned softly, casting mellow lights and shades -upon her graceful figure. Occasionally a faint smile played about her -eyes--whereat Pembroke seemed to gain inspiration, and attacked the -Colonel’s theories with renewed vigor. - -Upon the Colonel’s invitation he remained all night--the common mode of -social intercourse in Virginia. Next morning, the Colonel was ripe for -argument. Pembroke, however, to his immense disgust, refused to enter -the lists and spent the morning dawdling with Olivia in the garden. -About noon, the Colonel, in a rage sent Petrarch after the renegades. -Three times did he return without them. The fourth time Petrarch’s -patience was exhausted. - -“Marse French, fur de Lord’s sake come ter ole marse. He done got de -sugar in de glasses, an’ de ice cracked up, an’ he fyarly stan’nin’ on -he hade. He got out all dem ole yaller _Richmun Exameters_, printed -fo’ de wah, an’ he say he gwi’ bust yo’ argifyins’ all ter pieces. He -mighty obstroporous, an’ you better come along.” - -To this pathetic appeal Pembroke at last responded. Olivia, with -downcast face, walked by his side. The Colonel was very much worked up -and “mighty discontemptuous,” as Petrarch expressed it. - -“This is the third time, sir--” he began to roar. - -“Never mind, Colonel,” replied Pembroke, laughing. “We will have a -plenty of time to quarrel. Olivia has promised to marry me in the -summer.” - -“By Gad, sir--” - -“Have a cigar. Now, where did we leave off last night? Oh, the Virginia -Resolutions of 1798.” - - - - -D. APPLETON & CO.’S PUBLICATIONS. - - - _ON THE PLANTATION._ By JOEL CHANDLER HARRIS, author of “Uncle Remus.” - With 23 Illustrations by E. W. KEMBLE, and Portrait of the Author. - 12mo. Cloth, $1.50. - -The most personal and in some respects the most important work which -Mr. Harris has published since “Uncle Remus.” Many will read between -the lines and see the autobiography of the author. In addition to the -stirring incidents which appear in the story, the author presents a -graphic picture of certain phases of Southern life which have not -appeared in his books before. There are also new examples of the -folk-lore of the negroes, which became classic when presented to the -public in the pages of “Uncle Remus.” - - “The book is in the characteristic vein which has made the - author so famous and popular as an interpreter of plantation - character.”--_Rochester Union and Advertiser._ - - “Those who never tire of Uncle Remus and his stories--with whom - we would be accounted--will delight in Joe Maxwell and his - exploits.”--_London Saturday Review._ - - “Altogether a most charming book.”--_Chicago Times._ - - “Really a valuable, if modest, contribution to the history of the - civil war within the Confederate lines, particularly on the eve of the - catastrophe. While Mr. Harris, in his preface, professes to have lost - the power to distinguish between what is true and what is imaginative - in his episodical narrative, the reader readily finds the clew. Two or - three new animal fables are introduced with effect; but the history - of the plantation, the printing-office, the black runaways, and white - deserters, of whom the impending break-up made the community tolerant, - the coon and fox hunting, forms the serious purpose of the book, - and holds the reader’s interest from beginning to end. Like ‘Daddy - Jake,’ this is a good anti slavery tract in disguise, and does credit - to Mr. Harris’s humanity. There are amusing illustrations by E. W. - Kemble.”--_New York Evening Post._ - - “A charming little book, tastefully gotten up.... Its simplicity, - humor, and individuality would be very welcome to any one who was - weary of the pretentiousness and the dull obviousness of the average - three-volume novel.”--_London Chronicle._ - - “The mirage of war vanishes and reappears like an ominous shadow on - the horizon, but the stay-at-home whites of the Southern Confederacy - were likewise threatened by fears of a servile insurrection. This - dark dread exerts its influence on a narration which is otherwise - cheery with boyhood’s fortunate freedom from anxiety, and sublime - disregard for what the morrow may bring forth. The simple chronicle - of old times ‘on the plantation’ concludes all too soon; the fire - burns low and the tale is ended just as the reader becomes acclimated - to the mid-Georgian village, and feels thoroughly at home with Joe - and Mink. The ‘Owl and the Birds,’ ‘Old Zip Coon,’ the ‘Big Injun and - the Buzzard,’ are joyous echoes of the plantation-lore that first - delighted us in ‘Uncle Remus.’ Kemble’s illustrations, evidently - studied from life, are interspersed in these pages of a book of - consummate charm.”--_Philadelphia Ledger._ - - - _FROM DUSK TO DAWN._ By KATHARINE P. WOODS, author of “Metzerott, - Shoemaker.” 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - -This book is an original one, like its predecessor, in that it follows -none of the beaten paths of fiction, and it raises questions of vital -interest, and addresses itself to the reader’s thought instead of -merely tickling his fancy. The influence of one human being over -another is a subject of curious analysis, as well as the relation -of the individual to the community, a subject, with its varied -amplifications, which is of the first moment to-day. There is a story, -a romance, which will interest novel-readers, but the book will hold -the attention of those for whom the average novel has little charm. - - - _GOD’S FOOL._ A Koopstad Story. By MAARTEN MAARTENS, author of - “Joost Avelingh.” 12mo. 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Cloth, $1.50. - - “One of _the_ novels of the decade.”--_Rochester Union and - Advertiser._ - - “It is extremely fortunate that the fine subject indicated in the - title should have fallen into such competent hands.”--_Pittsburgh - Chronicle-Telegraph._ - - “The author of ‘The Hoosier Schoolmaster’ has enhanced his - reputation by this beautiful and touching study of the character - of a girl to love whom proved a liberal education to both of her - admirers.”--_London Athenæum._ - - “‘The Faith Doctor’ is worth reading for its style, its wit, and its - humor, and not less, we may add, for its pathos.”--_London Spectator._ - - “Much skill is shown by the author in making these ‘fads’ the basis - of a novel of great interest.... One who tries to keep in the current - of good novel-reading must certainly find time to read ‘The Faith - Doctor.’”--_Buffalo Commercial._ - - - _AN UTTER FAILURE._ By MIRIAM COLES HARRIS, author of “Rutledge.” - 12mo. Cloth, $1.25. - - “A story with an elaborate plot, worked out with great cleverness - and with the skill of an experienced artist in fiction. The interest - is strong and at times very dramatic.... Those who were attracted by - ‘Rutledge’ will give hearty welcome to this story, and find it fully - as enjoyable as that once immensely popular novel.”--_Boston Saturday - Evening Gazette._ - - “In this new story the author has done some of the best work that - she has ever given to the public, and it will easily class among the - most meritorious and most original novels of the year.”--_Boston Home - Journal._ - - “The author of ‘Rutledge’ does not often send out a new volume, but - when she does it is always a literary event.... Her previous books - were sketchy and slight when compared with the finished and trained - power evidenced in ‘An Utter Failure.’”--_New Haven Palladium._ - - - _A PURITAN PAGAN._ By JULIEN GORDON, author of “A Diplomat’s Diary,” - etc. 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - - “Mrs. Van Rensselaer Cruger grows stronger as she writes.... The lines - in her story are boldly and vigorously etched.”--_New York Times._ - - “The author’s recent books have made for her a secure place in current - literature, where she can stand fast.... Her latest production, ‘A - Puritan Pagan,’ is an eminently clever story, in the best sense of the - word clever.”--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ - - “It is obvious that the author is thoroughly at home in illustrating - the manner and the sentiment of the best society of both America and - Europe.”--_Chicago Times._ - - - _ELINE VERE._ By LOUIS COUPERUS. Translated from the Dutch by J. T. - GREIN. With an Introduction by EDMUND GOSSE. Holland Fiction Series. - 12mo. Cloth, $1.00. - - “Most careful in its details of description, most picturesque in its - coloring.”--_Boston Post._ - - “A vivacious and skillful performance, giving an evidently - faithful picture of society, and evincing the art of a true - story-teller.”--_Philadelphia Telegraph._ - - “The _dénoûment_ is tragical, thrilling, and picturesque.”--_New York - World._ - - - _STRAIGHT ON._ A story of a boy’s school-life in France. By the author - of “The Story of Colette.” With 86 Illustrations by Edouard Zier. 320 - pages. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. - - “It is long since we have encountered a story for children which we - can recommend more cordially. It is good all through and in every - respect.”--_Charleston News and Courier._ - - “A healthful tale of a French school-boy who suffers the usual - school-boy persecution, and emerges from his troubles a hero. The - illustrations are bright and well drawn, and the translation is - excellently done.”--_Boston Commercial Bulletin._ - - “A real story-book of the sort which is difficult to lay down, - having once begun it. It is fully illustrated and handsomely - bound.”--_Buffalo Courier._ - - “The story is one of exceptional merit, and its delightful interest - never flags.”--_Chicago Herald._ - - -ILLUSTRATED EDITION OF “COLETTE.” - - _THE STORY OF COLETTE_, a new, large-paper edition. With 36 - Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth, $1.50. - -The great popularity which this book has attained in its smaller form -has led the publishers to issue an illustrated edition, with thirty-six -original drawings by Jean Claude, both vignette and full-page. - - “This is a capital translation of a charming novel. It is bright, - witty, fresh, and humorous. ‘The Story of Colette’ is a fine example - of what a French novel can be, and all should be.”--_Charleston News - and Courier._ - - “Colette is French and the story is French, and both are exceedingly - pretty. The story is as pure and refreshing as the innocent yet - sighing gayety of Colette’s life.”--_Providence Journal._ - - “A charming little story, molded on the simplest lines, thoroughly - pure, and admirably constructed. It is told with a wonderful lightness - and raciness. It is full of little skillful touches, such as French - literary art at its best knows so well how to produce. It is - characterized by a knowledge of human nature and a mastery of style - and method which indicate that it is the work rather of a master than - of a novice.... Whoever the author of ‘Colette’ may be, there can be - no question that it is one of the prettiest, most artistic, and in - every way charming stories that French fiction has been honored with - for a long time.”--_New York Tribune._ - - - _HERMINE’S TRIUMPHS._ A Story for Girls and Boys. By MADAME COLOMB. - With 100 Illustrations. 8vo. Cloth. - -The popularity of this charming story of French home life, which has -passed through many editions in Paris, has been earned by the sustained -interest of the narrative, the sympathetic presentation of character, -and the wholesomeness of the lessons which are suggested. One of the -most delightful books for girls published in recent years. It is bound -uniformly with “Straight On.” - - -New York: D. 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