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diff --git a/old/69202-0.txt b/old/69202-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 88e42d5..0000000 --- a/old/69202-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9888 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The cost of wings, by Richard Dehan - -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 cost of wings - and other stories - -Author: Richard Dehan - -Release Date: October 22, 2022 [eBook #69202] - -Language: English - -Produced by: David E. Brown and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team - at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images - generously made available by The Internet Archive/American - Libraries.) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COST OF WINGS *** - - - - - - THE COST OF WINGS - AND OTHER STORIES - - - - - THE - COST OF WINGS - AND OTHER STORIES - - BY - RICHARD DEHAN - - AUTHOR OF - “ONE BRAVER THING,” “BETWEEN TWO THIEVES,” ETC. - - [Illustration] - - NEW YORK - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - PUBLISHERS - - - - - _Copyright, 1914, by_ - FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPANY - - _All rights reserved_ - - -[Illustration] - - - - -CONTENTS - - - PAGE - - THE COST OF WINGS 1 - - A FADED ROMANCE 11 - - AN INDIAN BABY 41 - - YVONNE 52 - - THE DELUSION OF MRS. DONOHOE 70 - - PONSONBY AND THE PANTHERESS 92 - - A FAT GIRL’S LOVE STORY 104 - - IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION 116 - - THE GEWGAW 122 - - THE NIGHT OF POWER 134 - - THE MAN WHO COULD MANAGE WOMEN 145 - - OBSESSED 155 - - A VANISHED HAND 164 - - AN ORDEAL BY FIRE 179 - - HOW THE MISTRESS CAME HOME 198 - - THE MOTOR-BURGLAR 212 - - THE LOST ROOM 219 - - FATHER TO THE MAN 226 - - THE FLY AND THE SPIDER 235 - - FOR VALOR! 243 - - MELLICENT 248 - - THE COLLAPSE OF THE IDEAL 263 - - THE HAND THAT FAILED 272 - - HIS SILHOUETTE 280 - - A NOCTURNE 292 - - THE LAST EXPEDITION 298 - - - - -THE COST OF WINGS - - -Sheldrick, returning, refreshed and exhilarated, from a spin with a -friend who had brought down a racing car of forty horse-power and an -enthusiasm to match, found his wife sitting in the same chair, in the -same attitude, as it seemed to him, in which he had left her, in the -bare, dull sitting-room of their quarters at the Pavilion Hotel, on -the edge of Greymouth Links, from which starting point Sheldrick, in -fulfillment of his recent engagement with the Aero Club of France, had -arranged to take wing for Cherbourg, wind and weather permitting, on -the morrow. - -It would be difficult exceedingly to imagine Caruso as an engineer or a -bank manager, or in any capacity other than that of operatic star. It -would be equally difficult to picture Shackleton as a side-splitting -antic and quip-monger, or Pélissier in the rôle of the dauntless -explorer. Sheldrick, the most recent idol of the flying world, was the -type-ideal of the aviator. - -Mathematician, engineer, meteorologist, and athlete, his tall, lightly -built but muscular frame carried the head of an eagle. The wide -forehead, sloping to the temples, the piercing prominently set eyes, -the salient nose, and the wide, firm, deep-cut mouth characterizing -the long-winged birds of powerful flight, were Sheldrick’s. His, too, -the long, supple neck, the curiously deceptive shoulder slope that -disguises depth of chest while his long arms looked as though, were -they clothed with feathers, they might cleave the air; and his feet -gripped the ground through the thin, soft boots he always wore, as the -eagle’s talons grip the rock. - -Perhaps he was not unaware of the suggested resemblance. He had -certainly christened his recently completed monoplane “Aquila,” and -had piloted her to victory in two minor events at the Moncaster Spring -Flying Meeting in April of that year, and at the Nismes Concours -des Aviateurs of three weeks before had carried off the Grand Prix -of 25,000 francs for the longest flight under favorable weather -conditions. And at the Club dinner following the presentation of the -prizes, Sheldrick, flushed with conquest and congratulations, had given -that pledge whereby the soul of the woman who yet loved him was wrung -to torture anew. - -“After all that I have borne,” Mrs. Sheldrick had said to herself, -sitting in her hideous red moreen-covered chair by the green -Venetian-blinded window of the staring hotel sitting-room--“after three -years of agony, silently, patiently endured--after all his promises, I -am still upon the rack.” - -She looked rather like it as she sat by the window, the center one of -three that gave a view across the gray-green links, and the gray-brown -beach of smooth, sliding pebbles that gave place to the gray-white, -throbbing water of the English Channel. And the white, drawn face that -masked her frenzy of anguish, and the dark-gray, haunted eyes through -which her suffering spirit looked, greeted her husband as he burst into -the room, fresh from his banquet of speed and clean, salt, buoyant air, -and sympathetic, enthusiastic companionship, like an unexpected douche -of ice water. - -“Haven’t you been out?” - -Sheldrick uttered the words recorded, upon a pause implying the -swallowing of others less neutrally amiable. And his face, which -had already clouded, darkened sullenly as his wife replied: “I have -traveled some distance since you left here with your friend.” - -“Where have you been?” asked Sheldrick unwillingly, as a man who -suspects that the question may open some unwelcome topic. - -Mrs. Sheldrick looked at her husband full; and, though it had seemed -to him that he had read the book of her beauty from preface to finis, -there was something new to him in her regard as she answered: - -“I have gone over in memory every week of the last three years that we -have spent together, Edgar; and the road has been a rough and stony -one, without one green patch of grass to rest on by the wayside, or one -refreshing spring at which to drink. But I was patient while I plodded -after you, because I saw an end to what I was enduring. Now it seems -that I am mistaken. It is only my endurance that is at an end.” - -“Why do you talk in allegory, Ella?” Sheldrick broke out impatiently. -He threw down his leather motoring cap with the talc eye shields upon -the sofa, and pitched his heavy overcoat upon a chair in a corner of -the ugly room, and let his long, lithe body down into a hideous Early -Victorian plush armchair beside the empty fireplace, where nothing -crackled but some fantastically bordered strips of red and green -gelatine paper, shuddering under the influence of a powerful chimney -draught. “I’m not an imaginative man,” he went on. “Even if my mind -were not occupied with a dozen affairs of supreme urgency I should -still boggle at interpreting your cryptic utterances. If you want them -understood, make them to some minor poet at a garden party or an At -Home. You’ve stacks of invitations from the nicest people to all sorts -of functions ever since I pulled off those two events at Moncaster and -the Grand Prix at Nismes. And now that it’s May, and the season in full -swing, you might be having no end of a capital time at home in London -instead of----” She interrupted him with a passionate gesture. - -“I have no home!” - -“No?” said Sheldrick coolly, leaning back his head against the knobby -back of the Early Victorian armchair. - -“No!” said Mrs. Sheldrick, and her passion seemed to dash itself -against and break upon the man’s composure as a wave beats and breaks -upon a rock. “It was a home, once, when you were working partner in the -firm of Mallard, Mallard and Sheldrick, Manufacturers of Automobiles; -and the life you led was a normal, ordinary, everyday life, and the -risks you ran were everyday, ordinary risks, such as a woman who -loved you--note that I say _who loved you_--might bear without going -mad or dying of terror. But it is a prison now. I cannot breathe in -it. Even when you are there with me--and when every postman’s knock, -or telegraph boy’s ring, or telephone message has for the moment -ceased to be fraught with hideous, often-dreamed-of, never-forgotten -possibilities ... when each newsboy’s voice, yelling in the streets, -has temporarily ceased to be the voice of Fate for me--it is no longer -home! It is a caravanserai, from which Hope and Content and Peace of -Mind may go out before the next day’s dawning, leaving the door open -that Death and Despair may the more freely enter in!” - -“Ella!” exclaimed Sheldrick, looking at her open-eyed. She had always -been such a quiet, calm, self-possessed woman, that now, as she rose -up out of her chair suddenly, as though she had been prodded with a -bayonet, she was strange and new, and rather awe-inspiring. As she -stood before him, her passion-breathing face an ivory cameo between the -drooping folds of her rich blue-black hair, her gray eyes glittering -fiercely between the narrowed lids under the straight black brows, her -lips two bitterly straightened lines of scarlet showing the gleaming -teeth, her firm chin implacable in its set upon the dainty cravat of -muslin and black silk ribbon, her slight bosom panting fiercely under -her bodice folds, her slender limbs rigid beneath the sheath-fitting -gown of silken chestnut-colored cloth, the man, her husband, looked at -her more attentively than he had looked for years. - -“Ella, what is the matter? What has upset you like this? If there is -anything I can do to put things right, why not tell me, and--and----” - -Sheldrick’s voice faltered, and his eyes looked away from his wife’s -as he saw the reviving hope leap desperately into her face. It died -instantly, leaving her gray eyes more somber, and the lines of her -scarlet, parted lips more bitter than before. - -“Ah, yes!” she said. “Why not tell you what you know already, and be -coaxed and patted into compliance and meek, patient submission for the -hundredth time! You will kiss me good-bye to-morrow morning, if the -weather permits of your starting, and make this flight. It is to be the -last, the very last, like the others that have gone before it; it is -only so much more daring, only so much more risky, only so much more -dangerous than the things that other aviators have dared and risked and -braved. If it blows from the north you will not dream of making the -venture--the jagged rocks and shoals, and the towering, greedy seas of -the Channel Islands threaten things too grim. You will wait, and I with -you--oh, my God!--for a favorable wind. Your successes at Brookfields -and at Nismes have made the ‘Aquila’ patent worth a moderate fortune; -they are turning out replicas of her at your workshops as rapidly as -they can make them--your manager took on twenty more skilled hands only -last week. You have done what you set out to do; we are freed from -poverty for the rest of our lives--we might live happily, peacefully -together somewhere, if this unnatural love of peril had not bitten you -to the bone. ‘One more contest,’ you will keep on saying; ‘one more -revenge I am bound to give this and that or the other man whom I have -beaten, or who has challenged me.’” Her bosom heaved, and the ivory -paleness of her face was darkened with a rush of blood. “Honor is -involved. You are bound in honor to keep your word to others, but free -to deceive, to defraud, to cheat and lie to--your wife!” - -“Take care what you’re saying!” - -Sheldrick leaped out of his chair, fiery red and glaring angrily. Mrs. -Sheldrick looked at him out of her glittering, narrowed eyes, and -laughed, and her laugh was ugly to hear. - -“Your wife! Did you ever realize what it meant to me to be your wife? -When we were married, and for eighteen months after that! Heaven upon -earth! Have you ever dreamed what sort of life began for me when -you were first bitten by this craze of flying, three years ago? -Hell--sheer, unmitigated hell! To the public I am a woman in an ulster, -or in a dust cloak and a silk motor veil, thick to hide the ghastly -terror in my face!--a woman who kisses you before the start, and keeps -pace with your aeroplane in an automobile through the long-distance -flights, with what the English newspaper men describe as ‘unswerving -devotion,’ and the French press correspondents term ‘a tenderness of -the most touching.’ They are wrong! I am not conscious of any special -devotion. The springs of tenderness have frozen in me. I am like every -other spectator on the course, possessed, body and soul, by the secret, -poignant, momentary expectation of seeing a man hurled to a horrible -death. Only the man is--my husband! _Now_ I remember this, Edgar, but -a day will dawn--an hour will come to me--is coming as surely as there -is a God in heaven--when he will be no more than the flying man who may -possibly be killed!” - -There was silence in the room, and the hoarse, dry sound that broke it -was not a sob. It came from Sheldrick, a single utterance, like the -sound of something breaking. - -“I--understand!” - -There was no response, for the woman, having unsealed and poured out -the last drop of her vials of bitterness and wrath, was dumb. Sheldrick -added, after a long pause: - -“What do you ask? That I should give up the attempt to fly to -Cherbourg? That I should break the engagement with the Aero -Club--withdraw the challenge given to M. Ledru? Is that what you -demand?” - -She said with a hopeless gesture: - -“I ask nothing! I demand nothing!” - -Sheldrick muttered an oath. But in his soul he was yielding. “Aquila -No. 1,” “Aquila No. 2,” and “Aquila No. 3” were dear to his soul. But -he had awakened to the fact that his dearest possession was the love -of his wife. And he had been killing it by inches. He met her eyes -now--the stern gray eyes that had learned to see him as he was and look -on the bare realities of life, shorn of its love glamour, and muttered: - -“It is true. I have promised over and over.... And I owe it to you to -take no more risks, even more than if we had a living child to.... -Where are those cable-forms?” - -He strode to the ink-splashed writing table between the windows, and -routed the bundle of greenish papers out of the frowsy blotting book, -and dipped the blunt pen into the thick, dirty ink, and wrote: - - “_To Ledru, Hôtel National, Cherbourg, France._ - “Unavoidably compelled break engagement----” - -He was struck by a sudden idea, ceased writing, and left the room, -going into the adjoining bedroom. His wife, standing dumb and frozen -on the gaudy hearthrug near the empty grate, heard him rummaging -for something. He came back in a few minutes with a heavy brow and -preoccupied look, and took a leather strap from the pocket of the heavy -overcoat he had thrown upon the sofa. With this he went back into the -bedroom. The door handle rattled as though something were being hitched -about it, the stout door groaned and creaked under a violent pull from -the other side, there was a horrible, suggestive crack, and a stifled -oath from Sheldrick. Next moment he was back in the room, dipping the -blunt pen into the bad ink, and finishing the cablegram: - - “Left wrist badly sprained--SHELDRICK, _Pavilion Hotel, Links, - Greymouth, England_.” - -Having finished writing, he brought the filled form to his wife. She -read, and looked at him in eloquent silence. And, in answer to the -question in her eyes, he held out his left hand, already swollen and -purple, and with a swelling of the dimensions of a cricket ball, -indicating the dislocated joint. A cry broke from her: - -“Oh! how could you....” - -“It was the easiest way,” said Sheldrick, flushed and scowling. “Call -me a coward, if you like. I deserve it--as well as the other names!” He -rang the bell, and fished with the sound hand for silver in a trouser -pocket. - -“We’ll send the cable now,” he said. - -She bit her lips, that were no longer scarlet, and went to the -blotted blotter, dipped the worn pen into the blobby ink, and made an -alteration in the cablegram. Then she showed it to him, and the message -ran: - - “_To Ledru, Hôtel National, Cherbourg, France._ - - “Unavoidably compelled postpone engagement. Left wrist badly - sprained.--SHELDRICK, _Pavilion Hotel, Links, Greymouth, England_.” - -As Sheldrick looked at Mrs. Sheldrick, in intent amazement, the bell -was answered by a German waiter. Mrs. Sheldrick took the silver out -of Sheldrick’s sound hand, dismissed the attendant to dispatch the -message, closed and locked the door of the sitting-room against -intruders, and then went quickly to her husband and fell upon his -breast. He clasped her with his sound arm as she broke into passionate -weeping, and only whispered when at last she lifted her face to his: - -“Why ‘postponed’?” - -“Because,” whispered Ella Sheldrick, with her cheek against her -husband’s, “because you are not chained to your rock, my darling, with -iron bars between you and the free fields of space, forged by the wife -you love. You are free to give and take as many challenges as you -desire. When you have finished ‘Aquila No. 4,’ that shall be built with -a seat for a passenger beside you, run what risks you choose, brave as -many dangers as seem good to you; I will not say one word, provided -that I share the risk and brave the danger too.” - -This is why the successful aviator Sheldrick never flies without a -passenger. And the story has a moral--of a kind. - - - - -A FADED ROMANCE - -IN TWO PARTS - - -I - -The ladies of the household at Charny les Bois usually sat in the -library on sunny mornings. At the southern end of the long room, -paneled in black walnut, and possessing a hooded stone fireplace of -the fifteenth century, there was a bay, with wide glass doors opening -upon a _perron_ of wrought iron and copper work, which led down into -the lovely garden--a piece of land originally reclaimed from the heart -of the ancient beech forest, whose splendid somberness set off the -dazzling whiteness of the _château_ and made the parterres glow and -sparkle like jewels--rubies, turquoises, emeralds, sapphires--poured -out upon the green velvet lap of princess or courtesan. - -The Marquis de Courvaux, lord of the soil and owner of the historic -mansion, was absent. One must picture him leading the hunt through -the forest alleys, attired in a maroon and yellow uniform of the -most exquisite correctness, three-cocked hat, and immense spurred -jack-boots, and accompanied by a field of fifty or sixty, of which -every individual had turned out in a different costume: green corduroy -knickerbockers with gold braid accompanying cut-away coats and jockey -caps, and bowlers of English make, sported in combination with pink -and leathers, adding much to the kaleidoscopic effect. Half a dozen -_cuirassiers_ from the neighboring garrison town were upon their London -coach, driving a scratch four-in-hand and attired in full uniform; -various vehicles, of types ranging from the capacious _char-à-banc_ to -the landaulette, were laden with ardent votaries of the _chasse_. - -The distant fanfare of the horns sounding the _ragot_ reached the -ears of the ladies sewing in the library at the _château_. One of -these ladies, detained by urgent nursery reasons from joining in the -morning’s sport, was the young and pretty wife of the Marquis; the -other, old as a high-bred French lady alone knows how to be, and still -beautiful, was his mother. Over the high-arched cover of the great -carved fireplace was her portrait by Varolan, painted at sixteen, in -the full ball costume of 1870. One saw, regarding that portrait, that -it was possible to be beautiful in those days even with a chignon -and waterfall, even with panniers or bustle, and absurd trimmings of -the ham-frill type. Perhaps some such reflection passed through the -calm mind behind the broad, white, unwrinkled forehead of Madame de -Courvaux, as she removed her gold spectacles and lifted her eyes, -darkly blue and brilliant still, to the exquisite childish flower face -of the portrait. The autumn breeze coming in little puffs between the -open _battants_ of the glass doors, savoring of crushed thyme, late -violets, moss, bruised beech leaves, and other pleasant things, stirred -the thick, waving, gold-gray tresses under the rich lace, a profusion -of which, with the charming coquetry of a venerable beauty, the -grandmamma of the chubby young gentleman upstairs in the nursery, the -thirteen-year-old schoolboy on his hunting pony, and the budding belle -but newly emancipated from her convent, was fond of wearing--sometimes -tied under her still lovely chin, sometimes floating loosely over her -shoulders. - -“There again!” The younger Madame de Courvaux arched her mobile -eyebrows and showed her pretty teeth as she bit off a thread of -embroidery cotton. “The third time you have looked at that portrait -within ten minutes! Tell me, do you think it is getting stained with -smoke? In north winds this chimney does not always behave itself, and -Frédéric’s cigars and pipes----” The speaker shrugged her charming -shoulders. “But he is incorrigible, as thou knowest, _Maman_.” - -“I was not thinking of Frédéric or the chimney.” The elder lady smiled, -still looking upward at the girlish face overhead. “It occurred to -me that forty years have passed since I gave Carlo Varolan the first -sitting for that portrait. His studio in the Rue Vernet was a perfect -museum of lovely things.... I was never tired of examining them.... My -_gouvernante_ fell asleep in a great tapestry chair.... Varolan drew a -caricature of her--so laughable!--with a dozen strokes of the charcoal -on the canvas, and then rubbed it all out with a grave expression that -made me laugh more. I was only just sixteen, and going to be married -in a fortnight.... And I could laugh like that!” The antique brooch of -black pearls and pigeons’ blood rubies that fastened the costly laces -upon the bosom of Madame la Marquise rose and fell at the bidding of a -sigh. - -“I cried for days and days before my marriage with Frédéric,” the -little Marquise remarked complacently. - -“And I should cry at the bare idea of not being married at all!” said -a fresh young voice, belonging to Mademoiselle Lucie, who came up -the steps from the garden with the skirt of her cambric morning frock -full of autumn roses, her cheeks flushed to the hue of the pinkest La -France. She dropped her pretty reverence to her grandmother, kissed her -upon the hand, and her mother on the forehead, and turned her lapful of -flowers out upon the table, where vases and bowls of Sèvres and China -ware stood to receive them, ready filled with water. “You know I would, -Grandmamma!” - -“It is a mistake either to laugh or to weep; one should smile only, or -merely sigh,” said Grandmamma, with the charming air of philosophy that -so became her. “One should neither take life too much to heart, nor -make a jest of it, my little Lucie.” - -“Please go on with the story. Your _gouvernante_ was asleep in the -chair; Monsieur Varolan caricatured her. You were laughing at the -drawing and at his droll face, as he rubbed it out, and then----” - -“Then a gentleman arrived, and I did not laugh any more.” Grandmamma -took up her work, a delicate, spidery web of tatting, and the corners -of her delicately chiseled lips, pink yet as faded azalea blossoms, -quivered a little. “He was staying at the British Embassy with his -brother-in-law, who was Military Attaché, and whose name I have -forgotten. He came to see his sister’s portrait; it stood framed upon -the easel--oh! but most beautiful and stately, with the calm, cold -gaze, the strange poetic glamour of the North. He, too, was fair, very -tall, with aquiline features, and light hazel eyes, very piercing in -their regard, and yet capable of expressing great tenderness. For -Englishmen I have never cared, but Scotch gentlemen of high breeding -have always appeared to me quite unapproachable in _ton_, much like -the Bretons of old blood, with whom their type, indeed, has much in -common. But I am prosing quite intolerably, it seems to me!” said -Grandmamma, with a heightened tint upon her lovely old cheeks and an -embarrassed laugh. - -Both Lucie and the little Marquise cried out in protestation. Lucie, -snipping dead leaves from her roses, wanted to know whether Monsieur -Varolan had presented the strange Scotch gentleman to Grandmamma. - -“He did. At first he seemed to hesitate, glancing toward Mademoiselle -Binet. But she slept soundly, and, indeed, with cause, having -over-eaten herself that day at the twelve o’clock breakfast upon duck -stewed with olives, pastry, and corn salad. An excellent creature, -poor Binet, but with the failings of _ces gens-là_, and you may be -assured that I did not grudge her her repose while I conversed with -Monsieur Angus Dunbar, who spoke French almost to perfection. How it -was that I, who had been brought up by my mother with such absolute -strictness, yielded to the entreaties of Monsieur Varolan, who was -quite suddenly inspired with the idea of what afterward proved to be -one of his greatest pictures, I cannot imagine,” said Grandmamma; -“but it is certain that we posed together as the Lord of Nann and the -Korrigan standing in the forest by the enchanted well. It would have -been a terrible story to travel home to the Faubourg St. Germain, -I knew, but Mademoiselle still slept sweetly, and out of girlish -recklessness and _gaieté de cœur_ I consented, and down came my -long ropes of yellow hair, which had only been released from their -schoolroom plait, and dressed in grown young-lady fashion six months -before. Monsieur Varolan cried out, and clasped his hands in his -impulsive southern way. Monsieur Dunbar said nothing--then; but by -his eyes one could tell, child as one was, that he was pleased. But -when Varolan’s sketch was dashed in, and the painter cried to us to -descend from the model’s platform, Monsieur Dunbar leaned toward me -and whispered, as he offered me his hand, ‘If the fairy had been as -beautiful as you, Mademoiselle’--for Varolan had told him the story, -and he had pronounced it to be the parallel of an antique Highland -legend--‘had the fairy been as beautiful as you, the Lord of Nann would -have forgotten the lady in the tower by the sea.’ He, as I have told -you, my children, spoke French with great ease and remarkable purity; -and something in the earnestness of his manner and the expression of -his eyes--those light hazel, gleaming eyes”--Grandmamma’s delicate -dove-colored silks rustled as she shuddered slightly--“caused me a -thrill, but a thrill----” - -“Young girls are so absurdly impressionable,” began the little -Marquise, with a glance at Lucie. “I remember when our dancing master, -hideous old M. Mouton, praised me for executing my steps with elegance, -I would be in the seventh heaven.” - -“But this man was neither hideous, old, nor a dancing master, my dear,” -said Grandmamma, a little annoyed. She took up her tatting, which had -dropped upon her silver-gray lap, as though the story were ended, and -Lucie’s face fell. - -“And is that all--absolutely all?” she cried. - -“Mademoiselle Binet woke up, and we went home to the Faubourg St. -Germain to five o’clock tea--then the latest novelty imported from -London; and she overate herself again--upon hot honey cake buttered -to excess--and spoiled her appetite for supper,” said Grandmamma -provokingly. - -“And you never saw Monsieur Varolan or Monsieur D ...--I cannot -pronounce his name--again?” - -“Monsieur Varolan I saw again, several times in fact, for the portrait -required it; and Monsieur Dunbar, quite by accident, called at the -studio on several of these occasions.” - -“And Mademoiselle Binet? Did she always fall asleep in the tapestry -chair?” asked the little Marquise, with arching eyebrows. - -Grandmamma laughed, and her laugh was so clear, so sweet, and so -mirthful that the almost living lips of the exquisite child portrayed -upon the canvas bearing the signature of the dead Varolan seemed to -smile in sympathy. - -“No, but she was occupied for all that. Monsieur Varolan had found out -her weakness for confectionery, and there was always a large dish of -chocolate _pralines_ and cream puffs for her to nibble at after that -first sitting. Poor, good creature, she conceived an immense admiration -for Varolan; and Monsieur Dunbar treated her with a grave courtesy -which delighted her. She had always imagined Scotchmen as savages, -painted blue and feeding upon raw rabbits, she explained, until she had -the happiness of meeting him.” - -“And he--what brought him from his bogs and mountains?” asked the -little Marquise. “Was he qualifying for the diplomatic service, or -studying art?” - -Grandmamma turned her brilliant eyes calmly upon the less aristocratic -countenance of her daughter-in-law. “He was doing neither. He was -staying in Paris in attendance upon his _fiancée_, who had come over to -buy her _trousseau_. I forget her name--she was the only daughter of a -baronet of Leicestershire, and an heiress. The match had been made by -her family. Monsieur Dunbar, though poor, being the cadet of a great -family and heir to an ancient title--his brother, Lord Hailhope, having -in early youth sustained an accident in the gymnasium which rendered -him a cripple for life.” - -“So a wife with a ‘dot’ was urgently required!” commented the little -Marquise. “Let us hope she was not without _esprit_ and a certain -amount of good looks, in the interests of Monsieur Dunbar.” - -“I saw her on the night of my first ball,” said Grandmamma, laying down -her tatting and folding her delicate, ivory-tinted hands, adorned with -a few rings of price, upon her dove-colored silk lap. “She had sandy -hair, much drawn back from the forehead, and pale eyes of china-blue, -with the projecting teeth which the caricatures of ‘Cham’ gave to all -Englishwomen. Also, her waist was rather flat, and her satin boots -would have fitted a _sapeur_; but she had an agreeable expression, and -I afterward heard her married life with Monsieur Dunbar was fairly -happy.” - -“And Monsieur himself--was he as happy with her as--as he might have -been, supposing he had never visited Paris--never called at the studio -of Varolan?” asked the little Marquise, with a peculiar intonation. - -Grandmamma’s rosary was of beautiful pearls. She let the shining things -slide through her fingers meditatively as she replied: - -“My daughter, I cannot say. We met at that ball--the last ball given -at the Tuileries before the terrible events of the fifteenth of -July. I presented Monsieur Dunbar to my mother. We danced together, -conversed lightly of our prospects; I felt a _serrement de cœur_, and -he, Monsieur Dunbar, was very pale, with a peculiar expression about -the eyes and mouth which denoted violent emotion strongly repressed. I -had noticed it when Monsieur de Courvaux came to claim my hand for the -second State quadrille. He wore his uniform as Minister of Commerce -and all his Orders.... His thick nose, white whiskers, dull eyes, and -bent figure contrasted strangely with the fine features and splendid -physique of Monsieur Dunbar. Ah, Heaven! how I shivered as he smiled -at me with his false teeth, and pressed my hand within his arm.... -He filled me with fear. And yet at heart I knew him to be good and -disinterested and noble, even while I could have cried out to Angus -to save me.... But I was whirled away. Everyone was very kind. The -Empress, looking tall as a goddess, despotically magnificent in the -plenitude of her charms, noticed me kindly. I danced with the Prince -Imperial, a fresh-faced, gentle boy. Monsieur de Courvaux was much -felicitated upon his choice, and _Maman_ was pleased--that goes without -saying. Thus I came back to Monsieur Dunbar. We were standing together -in an alcove adorned with palms, admiring the porphyry vase, once the -property of Catherine the Great, and given by the Emperor Alexander to -the First Napoleon, when for the first time he took my hand. If I could -paint in words the emotion that suddenly overwhelmed me!... It seemed -as though the great personages, the distinguished crowds, the jeweled -ladies, the uniformed men, vanished, and the lustres and girandoles -went out, and Angus and I were standing in pale moonlight on the shores -of a lake encircled by mountains, looking in each other’s eyes. It -matters little what we said, but the history of our first meeting -might have prompted the sonnet of Arvers.... You recall it: - - “Mon cœur a son secret, mon âme a son mystère, - Un amour éternel dans un instant conçu: - Le mal est sans remède.” - -“_Sans remède_ for either of us. Honor was engaged on either side. So -we parted,” said Grandmamma. “My bouquet of white tea-roses and ferns -had lost a few buds when I put it in water upon reaching home.” - -“And----” - -“In three days I married Monsieur de Courvaux. As for Monsieur -Dunbar----” - -“Lucie,” said the little Marquise, “run down to the bottom of the -garden and listen for the horns!” - -“Monsieur Dunbar I never saw again,” said Grandmamma, with a smile, -“and there is no need for Lucie to run into the garden. Listen! One can -hear the horns quite plainly; the boar has taken to the open--they are -sounding the _débuché_. What do you want, Lebas?” - -The middle-aged, country-faced house-steward was the medium of a humble -entreaty on the part of one Auguste Pichon, a forest keeper, that -Madame the Marquise would deign to hear him on behalf of the young -woman, his sister, of whom Monsieur le Curé had already spoken. This -time, upon the exchange of a silent intelligence between the two elder -ladies, Mademoiselle Lucie was really dismissed to the garden, and -Pichon and his sister were shown in by Lebas. - -Pichon was a thick-set, blue-bearded, vigorous fellow of twenty-seven, -wearing a leather gun pad strapped over his blouse, and cloth gaiters. -He held his cap in both hands against his breast as he bowed to his -master’s mother and his master’s wife. His sister, a pale, sickly, -large-eyed little creature, scarcely ventured to raise her abashed -glance from the Turkey carpet as Pichon plucked at her cotton sleeve. - -“We have heard the story from Monsieur le Curé,” cried the younger -lady, “and both Madame la Marquise and myself are much shocked and -grieved. Is it not so, Madame?” - -Grandmamma surveyed the bending, tempest-beaten figure before her with -a sternness of the most august, yet with pity and interest too. - -“We did not anticipate when we had the pleasure of contributing -a little sum to your sister’s dower, upon her marriage with the -under-gardener, Pierre Michaud, that the union would be attended with -anything but happiness.” - -“Alas! Nor did I, Madame.... I picked out Michaud myself from half a -dozen others. ‘Here’s a sound, hale man of sixty,’ thinks I, ‘will make -the girl a good husband, and leave her a warm widow when he dies’; for -he has a bit put by, as is well known. And she was willing when he -asked her to go before the Maire and Monsieur le Curé and sign herself -Michaud instead of Pichon. Weren’t you, girl?” - -No answer from the culprit but a sob. - -“So, as she was willing and Michaud was eager, the wedding came off. -At the dance, for it’s a poor foot that doesn’t hop at a wedding, -what happens? Latrace, Monsieur le Marquis’s new groom, drops in. He -dances with the bride, drops a few sweet speeches in her ear. Crac! -’Tis like sowing mustard and cress.... Latrace scrapes acquaintance -with Michaud--more fool he, with respect to the ladies’ presence, -for when one has a drop of honey one doesn’t care to share with the -wasp! Latrace takes to hanging about the cottage. Ninette, the silly -thing, begins to gape at the moon, and when what might be expected to -happen happens, Michaud turns her out of house and home. What’s more, -keeps her dowry, to pay for his honor, says he. ‘Honor! leave honor -to gentlemen; wipe out scores with a stick!’ says I, ‘and eat one’s -cabbage soup in peace.’ But he’ll bolt the door and stick to the dowry, -and Ninette may beg, or worse, for all he cares. And my wife flies -out on the poor thing; and what to do with her may the good God teach -me.... Madame will understand that who provides for her keeps two! And -she so young, Madame, only seventeen!” - -The little Marquise uttered a pitying exclamation, and over the face -of the elder lady passed a swift change. The exquisite faded lips -quivered, the brilliant eyes under the worn eyelids shone through a -liquid veil of tears. Rustling in her rich neutral-tinted silks, Madame -rose, went to the shrinking figure, and stooping from her stately -height, kissed Ninette impulsively upon both cheeks. - -“Poor child! Poor little one!” whispered Grandmamma; and at the caress -and the whisper, the girl dropped upon her knees with a wild, sobbing -cry, and hid her face in the folds of what seemed to her an angel’s -robe. “Leave Ninette to us, my good Pichon,” said Grandmamma. “For -the present the Sisters of the Convent at Charny will take her, all -expenses being guaranteed by me, and when she is stronger we will talk -of what is to be done.” She raised the crying girl, passing a gentle -hand over the bowed head and the convulsed shoulders. “Life is not all -ended because one has made one mistake!” said Grandmamma. “Tell Madame -Pichon that, from me!” - -Pichon, crushing his cap, bowed and stammered gratitude, and backed -out, leading the girl, who turned upon the threshold to send one -passionate glance of gratitude from her great, melancholy, black -eyes at the beautiful stately figure with the gold-gray hair, clad -in shining silks and costly lace. As the door closed upon the homely -figures, the little Marquise heaved a sigh of relief. - -“Ouf! Pitiable as it all is, one can hardly expect anything better. The -standard of morality is elevated in proportion to the standard of rank, -the caliber of intellect, the level of refinement. Do you not agree -with me?” - -Grandmamma smiled. “Are we of the upper world so extremely moral?” - -The little Marquise pouted. - -“_Noblesse oblige_ is an admirable apothegm, but does it keep members -of our order from the Courts of Divorce? My dear Augustine, reflect, -and you will come to the conclusion that there is really very little -difference in human beings. The texture of the skin, the shape of the -fingernails, cleanliness, correct grammar, and graceful manners do -not argue superior virtue, or greater probity of mind, or increased -power to resist temptation, but very often the reverse. This poor girl -married an uninteresting, elderly man at the very moment when her heart -awakened at the sight and the voice of one whom she was destined to -love.... Circumstances, environments, opportunities contributed to her -defeat; but I will answer for it she has known moments of abnegation as -lofty, struggles as desperate, triumphs of conscience over instinct -as noble, as delicate, and as touching as those experienced by any -Lucretia of the Rue Tronchet or the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. She has been -beaten, that is all, worsted in the conflict; and it is for us, who are -women like herself, to help her to rise. But I prose,” said Grandmamma; -“I sound to myself like a dull tract or an indifferent sermon. And -Lucie must be getting tired of the garden!” - -Grandmamma moved toward the open _battants_ of the glass doors to call -Mademoiselle, but arrested her steps to answer the interrogation which -rose in the eyes, but never reached the lips, of the little Marquise. -“I have said, my dear, that we never met again. Whether Monsieur Angus -Dunbar was nobler and stronger than other men--whether I was braver and -purer than others of my sex--this was a question which never came to -the test. Fate kept us apart, and something in which Monsieur le Curé, -and perhaps ourselves, would recognize the hand of Heaven!” - -Grandmamma went out through the glass doors and stood upon the -_perron_, breathing the delicious air. The sun was drowning in a sea of -molten gold, the sweet clamor of the horns came from an island in the -shallow river. “Gone to the water! Gone to the water!” they played.... -And then the death of the boar was sounded in the _hallali_. But a -nobler passion than that of the hunter, who follows and slays for the -mere momentary lust of possession, shone in the exquisite old face that -lifted to the sunset the yearning of a deathless love. - - -II - -The boar, a _ragot_, had met his end at the point of the Marquis’s -hunting knife, an ancestral _couteau de chasse_ with a blade about -three feet long. The field had dispersed, one or two of the _valets -de chien_ gone after the missing hounds, leading the decoy dogs on -leashes. Afternoon tea at the _château_ was a very lively affair, -the clatter of tongues, cups, and teaspoons almost deafening. A -_cuirassier_, whose polished boot had suffered abrasion from the -tusk of the wounded animal, recounted his adventure to a circle of -sympathetic ladies. A fire of beech logs blazed on the wide hearth, -the leaping flames playing a color symphony, from peacock green to -sapphire, from ruby to orange, dying into palest lemon-yellow, leaping -up in lilac, deepening to violet, and so _da capo_.... The silver -andirons had sphinx heads adorned with full-bottomed periwigs of the -period of Louis le Grand.... The exquisite Watteaus and Bouchers, set -in the paneling--painted white because the little Marquise had found -oak so _triste_--shone with a subdued splendor. The perfume of fine -tobacco, green tea, and many roses, loaded the atmosphere, producing a -mild intoxication in the brain of the tall, fair, well-dressed young -fellow, unmistakably British, whom a servant had announced as Monsieur -Brown.... - -“Monsieur Brown?” Monsieur de Courvaux read the card passed over to him -by his wife. “Who under the sun is Monsieur Brown?” - -“Fie, Frédéric!” rebuked the little Marquise. “It is the English tutor!” - -Then they rose together and welcomed the newcomer with hospitable -warmth. Charny les Bois was hideously difficult of access; the railway -from the junction at which one had to change was a single line, and a -perfect disgrace. Monsieur de Courvaux had long intended to bring the -question--a burning one--before the proper authorities. Both Monsieur -and Madame were horrified to realize that Monsieur Brown had walked -from the station, where cabs were conspicuous by their absence. A -conveyance had been ordered to be sent, but at the last moment it was -wanted for the hunt. Monsieur Brown had hunted in England, of course? - -Mr. Brown admitted that he had followed the hounds in several counties. -Looking at the new tutor’s square shoulders, sinewy frame, long, -well-made limbs, and firmly knit, supple hands, tanned like his face -and throat by outdoor exercise, Monsieur de Courvaux did not doubt it. -Brown came of good race, that was clear at the first glance. Harrow -and Oxford had added the _cachet_ of the high public school and the -university. He had recommendations from the Duke of Atholblair, who -mentioned him as the son of a dear old friend. And Atholblair was -of the old _régime_, a great nobleman who chose his friends with -discretion. Clearly Brown would do. His French was singularly pure; his -English was the English of the upper classes. Absolutely, Brown was the -thing. He was, he said, a Scotchman. The late Queen of England, to whom -the little Marquise had the honor of being god-daughter’s daughter, had -had a valuable attendant--also a Scotchman--of the name of Brown! Did -Monsieur Brown happen to be any relation? - -“Unhappily no, Madame!” said Mr. Brown, who seemed rather tickled by -the notion. He took the next opportunity to laugh, and did it heartily. -He was standing on the bear-skin before the fireplace, measuring an -equal six feet of height with Monsieur de Courvaux, when he laughed, -and several people, grouped about a central figure--that of the elder -Madame de Courvaux, who sat upon a gilt _fauteuil_ with her back to -the great windows, beyond which the fires of the sunset were burning -rapidly away--the people glanced round. - -“What a handsome Englishman!” a lady whispered, a tiny brunette, with -eyes of jet and ebony hair, who consequently adored the hazel-eyed, the -tawny-haired, the tall of the opposite sex. Madame de Courvaux, superb -in her laces and dove-colored silks, sat like a figure of marble. Under -her broad white brow, crowned by its waves of gray-gold hair, her eyes, -blue and brilliant still, fixed with an intensity of regard almost -devouring upon the face of the new tutor, whom the Marquis, stepping -forward, presented to his mother with due ceremony, and to whom, -offering her white, jeweled hand, she said: - -“Welcome once more to France, Monsieur Dunbar!” - -“But, Mamma,” put in Monsieur de Courvaux, as young Mr. Brown started -and crimsoned to the roots of his tawny hair, “the name of Monsieur is -Brown, and he has never before visited our country.” - -“Monsieur Brown will pardon me!” Madame de Courvaux rose to her full -height and swept the astonished young fellow a wonderful curtsy. “The -old are apt to make mistakes. And--there sounds the dressing gong!” - -Indeed, the metallic _tintamarre_ of the instrument named began at that -instant, and the great room emptied as the chatterers and tea drinkers -scurried away. A rosy, civil footman in plain black livery showed Mr. -Brown to his room, which was not unreasonably high up, and boasted a -dressing cabinet and a bath. As Brown hurriedly removed the smuts of -the railway with oceans of soap and water, and got into his evening -clothes--much too new and well cut for a tutor--he pondered. As he -shook some attar of violets--much too expensive a perfume for a tutor, -who, at the most, should content himself with Eau de Cologne of the -ninepenny brand--upon his handkerchief, he shook his head. - -“I’ll be shot if she didn’t, and plainly too! It wasn’t the -confusion of the beastly all-night train journey from Paris. It -wasn’t the clatter of French talk, or the delusion of a guilty -conscience--decidedly not! The thing is as certain as it is -inexplicable! I arrive under the name of Brown at a country house in -a country I don’t know, belonging to people I have never met, and the -second lady I am introduced to addresses me as Mr. Dunbar. There’s the -second gong! I wonder whether there is a governess for me to take in, -or whether I trot behind my superiors, who aren’t paid a hundred and -fifty pounds a year to teach English?” - -And Mr. Brown went down to dinner. Somewhat to his surprise, he was -placed impartially, served without prejudice, and conversed with as an -equal. The De Courvaux were charming people, their tutor thought--equal -to the best-bred Britons he had ever met. His pupils--the freckled boy -with hair cropped _à la brosse_, and the pretty, frank-mannered girl -of sixteen--interested him. He was uncommonly obliged to the kind old -Duke for his recommendation; the bread of servitude eaten under this -hospitable roof would have no bitter herbs mingled with it, that was -plain. He helped himself to an _entrée_ of calves’ tongues stewed with -mushrooms, as he thought this, and noted the violet bouquet of the -old Bordeaux with which one of the ripe-faced, black-liveried footmen -filled his glass. And perhaps he thought of another table, at the -bottom of which his place had been always laid, and of the grim, gaunt -dining-room in which it stood, with the targets and breast-pieces, -the chain and plate mail of his--Brown’s--forebears winking against -the deep lusterless black of the antique paneling; and, opposite, -lost in deep reflection, the master of the house, moody, haggard, -gray-moustached and gray-haired, but eminently handsome still, leaning -his head upon his hand, and staring at the gold and ruby reflections -of the wine decanters in the polished surface of the ancient oak, or -staring straight before him at the portrait, so oddly out of keeping -with the Lord Neils and Lord Ronalds in tartans and powdered wigs, -the Lady Agnes and the Lady Jean in hoops and stomachers, with their -hair dressed over cushions, and shepherds’ crooks in their narrow, -yellowish hands.... That portrait, of an exquisite girl--a lily-faced, -gold-haired, blue-eyed child in the ball costume of 1870--had been the -object of Mr. Brown’s boyish adoration. Varolan painted it, Mr. Brown’s -uncle--whose name was no more Brown than his nephew’s--had often said. -And on one occasion, years previously, he had expanded sufficiently to -tell his nephew and expectant heir that the original of the portrait -was the daughter of a ducal family of France, a star moving in the -social orbit of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, married to a Minister of -the Imperial Government a few weeks previous to that Government’s -collapse and fall. - -“I believe the dear old boy must have been in love with her before -Uncle Ronald died, and he came in for the family honors,” mused Mr. -Brown, and then began to wonder whether he had treated the dear old -boy badly or _vice versa_. For between this uncle and nephew, who, -despite a certain chilly stiffness and rigor of mental bearing, often -mutually exhibited by relations, were sincerely attached to each other, -a breach had opened, an estrangement had occurred. Hot words and bitter -reproaches had suddenly, unexpectedly been exchanged, old wrongs -flaming up at a kindling word, forgotten grudges coming to light in the -blaze of the conflagration.... - -And so it had come to pass that the son of Lord Hailhope’s younger -brother, named Angus after his uncle, had not been thrown, had hurled -himself upon his own resources. And the Duke of Atholblair had found -him the place of English tutor in the family of Madame de Courvaux. - -“It is the only thing that presents itself,” the aged peer had -explained, “and therefore, my dear boy, you had better take it until -something better turns up.” - -For the present. But the future? Mr. Brown wondered whether he and the -English grammar and lexicon--the phrase book, dictionary, and the other -volumes which constituted his tutorial equipment--were doomed to grow -gray and dog’s-eared, drooping and shabby together? - -Then he looked up, for some one touched him upon the arm. - -“The ladies permit us to smoke in the library, which is the best -room for music in the house,” said the pleasant voice of Monsieur de -Courvaux; “so we will take our _café_ and _chasse_ in their company, if -you please.” - -Mr. Brown reached the door in time to open it, and to comprehend -that the act of gallantry was not expected of him. And the feminine -paroquets and the sable-coated male rooks went by, and Mademoiselle -Lucie gave the handsome, well-groomed Englishman a shy glance of -approval from under her black eyelashes, and Monsieur Frédéric, puffy -with incipient indigestion, grinned feebly. Brown put his hand upon the -boy’s shoulder, and followed the rest. - -“You don’t want me to do any English to-night, do you, Monsieur Brown?” -young hopeful insinuated, as they went into the long walnut-paneled -room with another bay at the southern end with blinds undrawn, -revealing a wonderful panorama of moonlit forest and river and -champaign. “I can say ‘all-a-raight!’ ‘wat-a-rot!’ and ‘daddle-doo!’ -already,” the youth continued. “The English groom of papa, I learned -the words of him, _voyez_! You shall know Smeet, to-morrow!” - -“Thanks, old fellow!” said Mr. Brown, with a good-humored smile. - -“Grandmamma is making a sign that you are to go and speak to her, -Monsieur,” said Mademoiselle Lucie, Brown’s elder pupil-elect. -“Everybody in this house obeys Grandmamma, and so must you. Mamma says -it is because she was so beautiful when she was young--young, you -comprehend, as in that portrait over the fireplace--that everybody fell -down and worshiped her. And she is beautiful now, is she not, sir? Not -as the portrait; but----” - -“The portrait, Mademoiselle?... Over the fireplace.... Good Lord, -what an extraordinary likeness!” broke from Mr. Brown. For the -counterpart of the exquisite picture of Varolan that had hung in the -dining hall of the gray old northern castle where Mr. Brown’s boyhood, -youth, and earliest manhood had been spent, hung above the hooded -fifteenth-century fireplace of the noble library of this French château. - -There she stood, the golden, slender, lily-faced, sapphire-eyed young -aristocrat of the Faubourg Saint-Germain, with her indefinable air of -pride and hauteur and exclusiveness mingled with girlish merriment -and mischief. And there she sat--the original in the flesh--Madame la -Marquise de Courvaux, the Grandmamma of these young people--regal in -sweeping folds of amethyst velvet and wonderful creamy Spanish point -lace. - -Obedient to the bidding of her fan, Mr. Brown crossed the library and -took the chair she indicated near her. And the diamond cross upon her -still beautiful bosom moved quickly, with the beating of Grandmamma’s -heart, as he did this. - -“How like he is!--how like!” she whispered to herself; and the electric -lights became crystal girandoles, and the library became a ballroom at -the Tuileries. The Empress, beautiful and cold, passed down the ranks -of curtsying, bare-backed, bejeweled women and bowing, gold-laced men. -Monsieur de Courvaux, with his orders, his bald forehead, and his white -whiskers, released mademoiselle at the claim of a tall, tawny-haired, -hazel-eyed, fair-faced partner, a Highland gentleman, in plaid and -philabeg, with sporran and claymore, the antique gold brooch upon his -shoulder set with ancient amethysts, river pearls and cairngorms. And -he told her how he loved her, there in the alcove of palms, and heard -her little confession that, had she not been bound by a promise of -marriage to Monsieur de Courvaux she would--oh, how gladly!--become the -wife of Monsieur Angus Dunbar. - -“As you say.... Fate has been cruel to both of us.... And--and I am -engaged. She lives in Leicestershire. I met her one hunting season. She -is in Paris, staying at Meurice’s with her mother now. They’re buying -the trousseau.... God help me!” groaned Angus Dunbar. - -But the little lady of the Faubourg Saint-Germain drew back the hand he -snatched at, and swept him a haughty little curtsy, looking straight -in his face: “The State Quadrille is beginning. Be so good as to take -me to Mamma.... And I wish you all happiness, sir, and your _fiancée_ -also.” Another little curtsy he got, poor lad, with her “Adieu, and -a thousand thanks, Monsieur!” and then--he walked the dusty streets -of Paris until morning; while Mademoiselle lay sleepless on her -tear-drenched lace pillows. And---- - -Grandmamma awakened as though from a dream, to meet the frank hazel -eyes of Mr. Brown, the English tutor. - -“Monsieur will forgive the curiosity of an old woman,” she said, with -her inimitable air of grace and sweetness. “I wished to ask whether -you were not of Northern race--a Scot, for example? Yes? Ah, I thought -I had guessed correctly. The type is not to be mistaken, and I once -had--a dear friend!--whom Monsieur resembles to identity. But his name -was not Brown.” - -“I was within an ace of telling her mine was not, either,” reflected -the English tutor as, an hour or so later, he got into bed. “How -perfectly beautiful Madame--not the _agaçante, espiègle_ little Madame, -but the old one--must have been in the rich prime of her womanhood! Did -she and my uncle ever meet again, I wonder? No, I should think not. The -dear old boy is just the sort of character to hug a romance all his -life, and she--she is just the woman to be the heroine of one. Are -all French country-house beds in this style, and is one supposed to -draw these rosebudded chintz curtains modestly round one, or let them -alone?” Mr. Brown concluded to let them alone, and fell very soundly -asleep. - -At the late breakfast, an elaborate meal, beginning with soup and -fish, and ending with tea and cakes, it was explained to the tutor -that no English lesson was to be given that day, as a costume ball of -the calico type was to take place that evening, and the children’s -study, a homely, comfortable little wainscoted parlor on the ground -floor, looking out upon a grass-grown courtyard with a bronze fountain -in the middle, was to be given up to hats, coats, and opera cloaks. -Monsieur Frédéric was to personate one of his own ancestors, page to -the Duke of Burgundy, killed in a jousting match in 1369, Monsieur le -Marquis and Madame respectively appearing as the Chevalier de Courvaux -and his lady, parents of the youth referred to, represented in a -miniature by Othea. Mademoiselle Lucie chose to be “Undine” in gauze -and water-lilies. For Monsieur Brown a character could surely be found, -a costume devised, even at the eleventh hour. There were jack-boots, -_salades_, and coats of mail innumerable in the great hall, Mr. Brown, -who shared the objection of his British countrymen to being made to -appear ridiculous, shook his head. He preferred not to dress up; but he -had, or thought he had, packed away in one of his portmanteaux (which -were too numerous for a tutor) something that would do. A Highland -costume, in fact, of the modified kind worn by gentlemen of Caledonia -as dinner dress or upon occasions of festivity. - -Thus Mr. Brown unconsciously pledged himself to bring about a crisis -in the lives of two people, one of whom was actively engaged at that -moment in trying to find him. For Lord Hailhope was genuinely attached -to his nephew, and the basis of the quarrel between them, never very -secure, had been shaken and shattered, firstly, by the indifference -manifested by the young lady concerned, a rather plain young heiress, -at the news of the said nephew’s disappearance, and, secondly, by -her marriage with her father’s chaplain, a Presbyterian divine of -thunderous eloquence and sweeping predestinary convictions. - -“Tell him that I was in the wrong--that I apologize--that everything -shall be as it was before, if he will come back! The money shall be -secured to him; I will guarantee that,” Lord Hailhope wrote to the -London solicitor employed in the search for Young Lochinvar, who had -sprung to the saddle and ridden away--without the lady. “If he will not -come to me, I will go to him. The insult _was_ gross; I admit it, and -will atone to the best of my ability!” - -“The hot-headed old Highlander!” commented the man of law, as he filed -the letter. “He adopts the boy--his dead brother’s son--brings him up -in the expectation of inheriting his private fortune as well as the -title, and then turns him out of doors because he won’t marry a girl -with teeth like tombstones and a fancy for another man. If Master Angus -Dunbar is wise, he will hold out against going back until that question -of the money has been disposed of irrevocably. Though people never have -sense--lucky for my profession!” - -Meanwhile, at Charny les Bois preparations for the ball--the materials -of which owed much more to the lordly silkworm than the plebeian cotton -pod--went on apace. Evening came, the band of the _cuirassiers_, -generously lent by Monsieur the Colonel, drove over from the barracks -in a couple of _chars-à-bancs_, the Colonel and the officers of that -gallant regiment, arrayed to kill in the green and gold costumes of -the hunt of the Grand Monarque, followed upon their English _drague_. -_Voitures_ of every description disgorged their happy loads. Monsieur, -Madame, the young ladies and the young gentlemen, hot, happy, smiling, -and fearfully and wonderfully disguised. - -“Their unconsciousness, the entire absence of the conviction that they -are ridiculous, makes them quite lovable,” thought Mr. Brown. “That -fat, fair papa, with spectacles and large sandy whiskers, as Pluton, -from _Orphée aux Enfers_, in red satin tunic and black silk tights -spotted with yellow, a satin cloak with a train, a gilt pasteboard -crown and trident pleases me tremendously. He is, I believe, a -magistrate from Charny. His wife is the even fatter and fairer lady -attired as Norma, and those three little dumpy girls, flower girls of a -period decidedly uncertain.” - -“Does not Monsieur dance?” said Mademoiselle Lucie, looking, with her -filmy green draperies, her fair locks crowned, and her slim waist -girdled with water-lilies and forget-me-nots, a really exquisite river -sprite. - -“If Mademoiselle would accord me the honor of her hand in a valse,” Mr. -Brown began; then he broke off, remembering that in England the tutor -did not usually dance with the daughters of the house--if, indeed, that -functionary danced at all. But---- - -“Mamma has been telling me that Englishmen dance badly,” observed -Mademoiselle, with a twinkle in her blue eyes. “Grandmamma will have -it, by the way, that you are Scotch! Do not look round for her; she -was a little fatigued by so much conversation and fuss, and will not -come down to-night.... Heavens! look at Frédéric,” she added, in a -tone of sisterly solicitude, as the page of the Court of Burgundy -moved unsteadily into sight, clinging to the arm of a bosom friend in -a “celadon” costume and a condition of similar obfuscation. “Alas! I -comprehend!” she continued. “Those plums conserved in cognac have a -fatal fascination for my unhappy brother. Quick, Monsieur! make to -remove him from the view of Papa, or the consequences will be of the -most terrible.... Frédéric has been already warned....” - -And outwardly grave and sympathetic, albeit splitting with repressed -laughter, Mr. Brown went in chase of the unseasoned vessels, and -conveyed them to the safe harbor of the small study on the second -floor, which had been allotted to him as a den. Locking them in, he -was about to descend in search of seltzer water, when, in the act of -crossing the gallery, unlighted save for the dazzling moonlight that -poured through the long mullioned windows, giving a strange semblance -of fantastic life to the dark family portraits on the opposite wall, -and lying in silver pools upon the shining parquet islanded with -threadbare carpets of ancient Oriental woof, he encountered the elder -Madame de Courvaux, who came swiftly toward him from the opposite end -of a long gallery, carrying a light and a book that looked like a -Catholic breviary. With the glamour of moonlight upon her, in a loose -silken dressing robe trimmed with the priceless lace she affected, her -wealth of golden-gray tresses in two massive plaits, drawn forward and -hanging over her bosom, almost to her knees, her beauty was marvelous. -Mr. Brown caught his breath and stopped short; Madame, on her part, -uttered a faint cry--was it of delight or of terror?--and would have -dropped her candle had not the tutor caught it and placed it on a -_console_ that stood near. - -“Pardon, Madame!” he was beginning, when.... - -“Oh, Angus Dunbar! Angus, my beloved, my adored!” broke from Madame de -Courvaux. “There is no need that either of us should ask for pardon.” -Her blue eyes gleamed like sapphires, her still beautiful bosom heaved -and panted, her lips smiled, though the great tears brimmed one by one -over her underlids and chased down her pale cheeks. “We did what was -right. The path of honor was never easy. You married, and I also, and -all these years no news of you has reached me. But I understand now -that you are dead, and bound no longer by the vows of earth, and that -you have come, brave as of old, beautiful as of old, to tell me that -you are free!” - -With an impulse never quite to be accounted for, Angus Dunbar, the -younger, stepped forward and enclosed in his own warm, living grasp -Madame’s trembling hands.... - -“My name is Angus Dunbar, Madame,” he said, “but--but I believe you -must be speaking of my uncle. He succeeded to the peerage twenty years -ago; he is now Lord Hailhope, but he--he never married, though I -believe he loved, very sincerely and devotedly, a lady whose portrait -by Varolan hangs in the dining-room at Hailhope, just as it hangs in -the library here at Charny les Bois.” - -“I--I do not understand.... How comes it that----” Madame hesitated -piteously, her hands wringing each other, her great wistful eyes fixed -upon the splendid, stalwart figure of the young man. “You are so -like.... And the costume----” - -“It is customary for Highland gentlemen to wear the kilt at social -functions; and when I left Hailhope--or, rather, was turned out of -doors, for my uncle disowned me when I refused to marry a girl who did -not care for me, and who has since married to please herself--Gregor -packed it in one of my kit cases. The cat is out of the bag as well -as the kilt.... I came here as English tutor to your grandchildren, -Madame, at the suggestion of an old friend, the Duke of Atholblair, to -whom I told the story of the quarrel with my uncle.” - -Madame began to recover her courtly grace and self-possession. Her -hands ceased to tremble in Dunbar’s clasp; she drew them away with a -smile that was only a little fluttered. - -“And I took you for a ghost ... a _revenant_.... I was a little -agitated.... I had been suffering from an attack of the nerves.... -Monsieur will make allowances for a superstitious old woman. To-morrow, -after breakfast, in the garden Monsieur will explain the whole story to -me--how it came that Monsieur Dunbar, his uncle, now Lord Hailhope--ah, -yes! there was a crippled elder brother of that title--disowned his -nephew for refusing to give his hand to one he did not love.... I -should have imagined---- Good-night, Monsieur!” - -In the garden, after breakfast, Angus Dunbar, no longer handicapped by -the plebeian name of Brown, told his story to a sympathetic listener. -Madame’s head was bent--perhaps her hearing was not so good as it -had been when, more than forty years previously, Angus Dunbar, the -elder, had whispered his secret in that delicate ear. But as footsteps -sounded upon the terrace, and one of the fresh-faced, black-liveried -footmen appeared, piloting a stranger, a tall, somewhat stern-featured, -gray-moustached gentleman, she started and looked round. In the same -moment the late Mr. Brown jumped up, over-setting his chair, the pugs -barked, and---- - -“I owed it to you to make the first move,” said Lord Hailhope, rather -huskily, as the uncle and nephew grasped hands. “Forgive me, Angus, my -dear boy!” - -“Lady Grisel has married the Presbyterian minister, sir, and we’re all -going to be happy for ever after, like people in a fairy tale,” said -Angus Dunbar. Then he turned to Madame de Courvaux, and bowed with his -best grace. “Madame, permit me to present my uncle, Lord Hailhope, who -I believe has had the honor of meeting you before!” - -And, being possessed of a degree of discretion quite proper and -desirable in a tutor, Mr. Angus Dunbar moved away in the direction of -a rose walk, down which Mademoiselle Lucie’s white gown had flitted a -moment before, leaving the two old lovers looking in each other’s eyes. - - - - -AN INDIAN BABY - - -When old Lovelace-Legge sank into a stertorous final coma which his -lovely marble tombstone called by a much prettier name, and the blinds -were drawn up after a decent interval, and a tremendous heraldic joke, -furnished by Heralds’ College, was dismounted from over the front door, -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge, after the requisite period of seclusion, took an -exquisite little gem of a house in Sloane Street, furnished it to a -marvel, and began, with discreetness, to enjoy herself. All her affairs -flourished, her pet plans prospered, her gratifications were many, her -disappointments nil; people began to call her “Lucky Lotta Legge.” She -took her good fortune as her due. - -“Perhaps she feels she deserves something of Providence for putting up -patiently with old Lovelace-Legge during those ten awful years,” said -Lady Cranberry, her dearest friend, to another just a shade less dear, -as they walked up Sloane Street one fine morning. - -“I suppose he _was_ awful?” hazarded the second-best beloved. - -Lady Cranberry crumpled her eyebrows. “He had a complexion like New -Zealand meat,” she said. “Next time you walk up the King’s Road with -Lotta, watch her as you pass a cheap butcher’s shop. She will wince and -look the other way, and you may guess what she is thinking of, poor -darling!” - -“She said to me once,” remarked the second-best one, “‘_I always -fretted for children, but perhaps they were wisely withheld._’” - -“I should think so,” consented Lady Cranberry. “When there is a chance -of an infant’s coming into the world with three chins and a nose like -Punch, to say nothing of bandy legs and patent shoes like bicycle gear -cases----” - -The second-best reminded Lady Cranberry that children were not usually -born with shoes. - -“Of course, I meant feet,” said Lady Cranberry. “Feet of that size and -flatness, too. And if there is the merest chance of a child’s coming -into the world thus handicapped, it is infinitely better that the child -should keep out of it. Here we are at Lotta’s door. Isn’t that cream -enamel with the old Florentine copper-embossed knocker and bells too -divine for anything? Great Heavens!” - -She had evidently received a shock, for she was paler than her powder, -and as she clutched her companion’s arm her eyes were fixed in quite a -ghastly stare. - -“Mercy!” the next best-beloved friend of the owner of the cream-white -door with the Florentine copper work adjuncts exclaimed, “you saw -something--what?” - -But Lady Cranberry, with more energy than her weak state seemed to -warrant, had ascended Mrs. Lovelace-Legge’s brown doorsteps, and was -plying the Florentine knocker. The servant who responded to the summons -thought that Mrs. Lovelace-Legge was at home, but knew her to be -profoundly engaged. - -“Take up the names. We will wait,” said Lady Cranberry. Then, as the -respectful servant went upstairs, she drew her companion into the -shelter of a little reposeful niche, in Liberty draperies and Indian -carved wood, where palms and things flourished in pots, and an object -of familiar shape, in bamboo work, and newly freed from swathings of -brown paper, stood upon a table. To this she pointed with a neatly -gloved forefinger that trembled with emotion. - -“Oh! Why,” cried the other, “it is A BABY’S CRADLE!” - -“It was delivered,” said Lady Cranberry, “at this door as we came up. -It cannot be for a doll: it is full-sized. What on earth can Lotta want -with such a thing?” - -As she uttered these words the servant returned. His mistress begged -the ladies to come upstairs. He delivered his message, and then, with -well-trained gravity, lifted the compromising cradle and led the way -upstairs. Mrs. Lovelace-Legge did not purpose to receive her friends -in the drawing-room, it appeared, or even on the floor above, where -her bedroom and boudoir were situated. The ladies were conducted by -their guide to regions more airy still; indeed, their progress knew -no pause until they reached the highest landing. Here Lady Cranberry -received another shock, for a gaily-painted wooden gate, newly hung, -gave access to a space where a rocking-horse stood rampant in all -the glory of bright paint and red leather trappings; and beyond, -through an open door, shone a glimpse of an infantile Paradise, all -rosebud dimity, blue ribbons, and brightness, in the midst of which -moved Mrs. Lovelace-Legge radiant in a lawn apron with Valenciennes -insertion, issuing directions to a head nurse of matronly proportions, -an under-nurse of less discretionary years, and a young person dressed -in blue baize, trimmed with red braid and buttons, whose functions were -less determinable. - -“My dears!” Mrs. Lovelace-Legge fluttered to her friends and kissed -them, and nothing save Lady Cranberry’s imperative need of an -explanation kept that lady from swooning on the spot. “You find me all -anyhow,” said Lotta, with beaming eyes. “But come--come and look.” -She pioneered the way into the room beyond, with its Lilliputian -fittings, its suggestive cosiness, its scent of violet powder and new -flannel. “Do you think he will be happy here?” she asked, with a tender -quasi-maternal quaver of delightful anticipation. - -“Who is--He?” - -Lady Cranberry hardly recognized her own voice, so transformed was -it by the emotions she suppressed; but Mrs. Lovelace-Legge noticed -nothing. “Who?” she echoed, and then laughed with moist, beaming eyes. -“Who but the baby? Is it possible I haven’t told you? Or Lucy?” The -second-best-beloved shook her head. “No. You see--the news of his -coming was broken so suddenly that I was carried off my feet, and since -then I’ve done nothing but engage nurses and buy baby things. This is -Mrs. Porter”--she turned to the matronly person--“who will have entire -charge of my pet--when he arrives; and this is Susan, her assistant. -This”--she indicated the anomaly in blue baize and red braid--“is Miss -Pilsener, from the Brompton Kindergarten. She is going to teach me how -to open his little--_little_ mind, and be everything to him from the -very beginning!” - -“Won’t you open _our_ little minds?” implored the second-best friend. -“You know we are in a state of the darkest ignorance.” - -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge dismissed her attendants, and made her friends -sit down on the nursery sofa, and sank into a low nursing-chair. She -absently tried on an india-rubber apron as she spoke, and it was plain -her heart was with the invisible infant. “Ask me questions,” she -said. “I don’t seem able to keep my thoughts concentrated on anything -but--baby!” - -“You must understand, Lotta,” said Lady Cranberry, “that to find you in -possession of”--she gulped--“a baby is a shock in itself to your most -intimate friends. And in the name of your regard for Lucy, supposing -myself to have no claim upon your confidence, I must ask you to explain -how you come to be in possession of such a--such a thing? And to--to -whom it belongs--and where it is coming from?” - -“I came into possession of baby through a dear friend,” explained -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge. She added: “Perhaps you have heard of General -Carabyne--Lieutenant-General Ranford Carabyne of the Ordnance -Department, Calcutta?” - -Her friends replied simultaneously: “Never!” - -“He is the father of my child,” continued Mrs. Lovelace-Legge, “and, I -am given to understand, a charming person!” - -Lady Cranberry’s lips moved soundlessly. She might have been breathing -a prayer for patience. - -“The General,” went on Lotta, “married my old school-fellow, Julia -Daubeny, in the spring of last year. He had already been married--in -fact, had been twice a widower--when Julia met him at a Garrison -Gymkhana. It was a case of love at first sight, and I gave Julia her -trousseau as my wedding present. And now she is sending me home the -General’s baby--the child of his last wife--as it cannot stand the -climate, and she knows how I dote on little children.” - -“How old is this child?” queried Lady Cranberry. - -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge produced a thin crackling envelope from her pocket, -and unfolded Mrs. Carabyne’s letter. “Julia always writes without -punctuation, and all her capitals are in the wrong places,” she said, -apologizing for the hesitation with which she attacked the scrawled -pages. “‘_I forgot to mention_,’” wrote Julia, “‘_that the General -has one son quite a darling and a favorite with everybody. He was -christened Dampierre. There is French blood on the mother’s side, but -everybody calls him ‘Dumps.’ He has the sweetest nature and splendid -teeth until about six months old----_’” - -“Incoherent, isn’t she, rather?” hinted Lady Cranberry. - -“‘_Six months old when he was thrown out of his -bamboo-cart_’--Anglo-Indian for perambulator, I suppose--‘_thrown out -of his bamboo-cart with a woman who had got hold of him at the time a -most dreadful creature and sustained a severe concussion of the brain. -You will gather by this that the poor dear is inclined to be more than -a little child._’” - -“Is not the sense of that rather--involved?” - -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge held out the letter. - -“It is ‘child’ or else ‘wild,’” Lady Cranberry said, dropping her -eyeglasses. - -“As if an infant of six months old could be called ‘wild’!” giggled -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge. She read on: - -“‘_Now the doctors have positively ordered him home, and we have not -the least idea where to send him. In this dilemma I thought of you. The -General shakes his head, but I have carried my point, and Dumps and -his nurse sail by the “Ramjowrah” next Thursday, and when arrived in -London will come straight to you. I have every faith in your goodness -of heart, and know that poor dear Dumps could be placed in charge of no -kinder friend. He is extremely affectionate--from pursuits which ruin -many of the most promising young._’” - -“Humph!” ejaculated the puzzled Lady Cranberry. - -“Perhaps Julia means tearing his clothes and sucking the paint off his -toys?” suggested the second-best dearest friend. - -Mrs. Lovelace-Legge read on: “‘_Men in India if you have read Rudyard -Kipling I need not be more definite we shall look to your gentle -influence to wean him._’” - -“One thing at least is clear,” remarked Lady Cranberry. “The child is -not yet weaned. As to your correspondent’s style, Lotta----” She said -no more, but in her mind she harbored a most definite conviction that -Julia Carabyne drank. “Eau de Cologne or red lavender,” she thought, -“or pure, unadulterated cognac. I pity the General from my heart!” - -A few more confused and comma-less paragraphs, and the letter wound up. - -“You think I did right?” Mrs. Lovelace-Legge glanced round at her -preparations. “But, indeed, I had no choice. How could any woman with a -heart--and a nursery----” - -“Both unoccupied?” said Lady Cranberry. - -“Close her doors against a little sick baby, coming all the -way from India in a nurse’s arms? The bare idea strikes one as -horrible! Besides, the poor darling may arrive at any moment!” Mrs. -Lovelace-Legge dried her pretty eyes with a fragment of gossamer -cambric, and then--rat-tatter, tatter, TAT! went the hall-door knocker. - -The three ladies started to their feet. Mrs. Lovelace-Legge rushed to -the window. - -“Can it be?” - -“The baby--arrived?”... - -“It has! I see the top of a cab piled with luggage!” cried Mrs. -Lovelace-Legge, leaning eagerly from the nursery window. “I can make -out the Harries Line label on the portmanteaux----” - -The second-best friend joined her at the casement. - -“One thing puzzles me,” she said, peering downward. “Would a child of -that age travel with gun-cases and a bicycle?” - -“They may belong to a passenger friend who promised to see the dear -child delivered safely into my hands. Ah, here is Simmons!” - -Simmons it was, with a salver and a card. He wore a peculiar, rather -wild expression, and his countenance was flushed and somewhat swollen; -perhaps with the effort of climbing so many stairs. All three ladies -hurried to meet him. - -“He--it--the----” - -“_They_ have arrived?” gasped little Mrs. Lovelace-Legge. - -Simmons bowed his head. His mistress could not speak. She took the card -without looking at it, and turned away. - -“Show them up here!” commanded Lady Cranberry, sympathetically -comprehending Lotta’s emotion. - -“And pay the cabman,” added the second-best friend. - -Left together, the three women broke out into anticipatory ejaculations: - -“The pet!” - -“The wumpsy!” - -“Will it be pretty?” - -“Oh, I hope so! But even if it is not,” cried little Mrs. -Lovelace-Legge, clasping her hands, “I feel that I shall love it. Ought -we”--her eyebrows crumpled inquiringly--“ought we to give it a warm -bath at once? Where is Nurse?” - -Nurse and her understrapper appeared on the scene with the young lady -from the Kindergarten. Six eager feminine heads were projected over the -balusters of the top landing as masculine footsteps creaked upon the -staircase, and a tall young man, dressed in a rough yachting suit of -blue serge, raised his eyes--a handsome and ingenuous pair--and blushed -under the salvo of optical artillery which greeted his appearance. -Behind him followed a grizzled, middle-aged person, evidently a -soldier-servant in mufti. - -“I--I presume ...,” the young gentleman began, “I--I have the honor....” - -“I am Mrs. Lovelace-Legge,” cried the charming widow, craning forward, -“and where--oh, where is the baby?” - -The young man turned pale. “The--the baby?” - -“Haven’t you brought it?” cried all the ladies. - -Tears welled up in Mrs. Lovelace-Legge’s lovely eyes. - -“Don’t tell me it is dead!” she gasped. “Oh, if that were true, how -could I break the news to Julia and General Carabyne?” - -“Madam,” stammered the young gentleman, “I am the only son of General -Carabyne--Dampierre Carabyne.” He blushed again. “People usually call -me ‘Dumps,’” he said, and broke off as all six women screamed at once: - -“YOU! YOU THE BABY!” - -And the nurses flung their clean cambric aprons over their heads, and -rushed in titters from the scene, as poor little Mrs. Lovelace-Legge -went into screaming hysterics in the arms of her second-dearest friend. - -“It is all a ridi--a ridiculous misunderstanding!” gasped Lady -Cranberry, an hour later, as the recovered hostess, her friends, and -her newly-arrived guest sat together in the drawing-room. “Let him -see Mrs. Carabyne’s letter, Lotta. Perhaps he will be able to---- -No! Better give it to me.” She mounted her gold eyeglasses upon her -aquiline nose, and conned the Runic scroll a while. “We were misled,” -she explained to the young man, “principally by a reference to your -nurse.” - -“Molloy _is_ my nurse,” explained Mr. Dampierre Carabyne. “He was one -of the hospital orderlies at Calcutta, and looked after me when I was -ill. And the Pater thought it best that he should valet me on the -voyage, being a useful, experienced kind of man.” - -“As to this illness you speak of?” said Lady Cranberry. - -“It happened six months ago....” - -“Ago! I see a glimmer,” said Lady Cranberry. - -“When I was thrown out of a bamboo-cart in which I was driving a friend -of mine--a very great friend.” - -Again the young man colored. - -“_The woman who had got hold of him_,” murmured Lady Cranberry to -herself. “And ‘_more than a little child_’ means ‘_more than a little -wild_.’ I should have seen _that_ in his eye without a hint from Mrs. -Carabyne.” - -Thus, bit by bit, the determined lady translated Julia’s letter, which -ran as follows: - -“He was christened Dampierre (there is French blood on the mother’s -side); but everybody calls him ‘Dumps.’ He has the sweetest nature, and -splendid health until six months ago, when he was thrown out of his -bamboo-cart with a woman who had got hold of him at the time--a most -dreadful creature--and sustained a severe concussion of the brain. -(You will gather by this that the poor dear is inclined to be more than -a little wild.) Now the doctors have positively ordered him home, and -we have not the least idea where to send him. In this dilemma I thought -of you. The General shakes his head, but I have carried my point, and -Dumps and his nurse sail by the _Ramjowrah_ next Thursday, and when -arrived in London will come straight to you. I have every faith in your -goodness of heart, and know that poor dear Dumps could be placed in -charge of no kinder friend.... He is extremely affectionate.... From -pursuits which ruin many of the most promising young men in India (if -you have read Rudyard Kipling I need not be more definite) we look to -your gentle influence to wean him.” - -Lady Cranberry took off her _pince-nez_ and refolded the letter. As -she did so she glanced toward the snug nook by the fireplace, where -the pretty widow, entrenched behind the barricade of her afternoon -tea-table, was making but a feeble show of resistance to the raking -fire of Dumps’s handsome eyes. In such a mood such a woman as Lady -Cranberry shares a corner of the mantle of the Prophets. It occurred to -her that the infantile Paradise upstairs might not, if all went merrily -as marriage bells, remain so very long untenanted. - -And, indeed, at the expiration of a twelvemonth from that date Mrs. -Dampierre Carabyne---- - -Please see the left-hand top corner reserved in the morning papers for -these delicate and personal intimations. - - - - -YVONNE - -IN TWO PARTS - - -I - -A mile or so north of the fishy little Breton harbor town of Paimpol, -the hamlet of Pors Lanec is represented by a scattered cluster of -low-pitched, straggling cottages built of gray granite boulders -splashed with yellow lichen, their thatch of furze and reeds or -broom-bush secured by lashings of rope, and heavy flagstones from the -fierce assaults of the western gales. One in especial stands on an -incline trending toward the beach, below the level of the Paimpol road. -Its rear wall is formed by a low cliff against which it has been built, -and which, rearing some twenty feet above the level of its shaggy brown -roof, and throwing out a natural buttress toward the sea, protects the -poor dwelling from the icy northern winds. Three uneven steps, worn by -the feet of generations of fisher-dwellers, lead to the door, whose -inner latch is lifted by a length of rope-yarn, reeved through a hole. -On each side of the door a window has been hollowed out in the solid -masonry of the wall, and roughly glazed; and beneath the rude slate -ledge of each is a weather-beaten bench of drift-oak, blackened by age -and usage. The door standing open gives a glimpse of the usual Breton -interior, bunches of dried herbs, nets, and baskets depending from -the blackened rafters, carved sleeping-bunks set about the walls, a -few quaint pewter and copper flagons hanging on pegs driven into the -chimney, and reflecting the leaping blaze of the pine and beechwood -branches burning on the hearth. - -I do not know who lives in Mademoiselle Yvonne’s cottage now, but a -year ago the western gale was churning the gray sea into futile anger, -and thrashing the stunted bushes into a more bending shape. The sky was -somber as the sea, with eastward-hurrying drifts of slaty cirrus, which -separated to reveal pale, sun-washed sky-spaces, and closed again, -making the gloom seem deeper than before. - -It was the eighth of December, the Feast of the Immaculate -Conception--the day of the Pardon des Islandais--and the morning -Angelus was ringing from the storm-beaten little chapel on the heights -above, where nosegays of artificial flowers and strings of shells -adorned the image of Our Lady of Good Help, and white-capped women, and -rugged-faced, long-haired men knelt, rapt and serious, on the sandy -stone pavement. Others were hurrying into Paimpol, where the streets -were decorated with white sheets bordered with holly and ivy leaves in -readiness for the procession. And a fine, icy rain was driving before -the wind, and Yvonne’s tables and chairs stood out of doors while their -owner beat and scrubbed them vigorously with a birch-broom dipped in -soap-suds. - -“She works upon the _fête_ day, yes; but for all that she is no -heretic, the poor Yvonne,” a passer-by explained to a companion--a -stranger who showed surprise at the unusual spectacle. “All days are -alike to her--and Our Lady understands.” - -The speaker, a brown-faced, vigorous woman of fifty, paused on the -pathway, littered with brown trails of slippery seaweed, and cried: - -“Hey! So you’re not going with us to Paimpol, Mademoiselle Yvonne?” - -Mademoiselle Yvonne ceased flogging her table, and turned her face -toward the questioner. It was a full, straight-featured, rather massive -face, framed in the shell-fluted cap worn by unmarried women. The brows -were broad, and from under the straight eyebrows looked a pair of eyes -that were blue and clear and candid as those of the little boy who -clung to the skirts of the woman who addressed her. As she drew herself -up, resting on her birch-broom, it might be seen that she was tall and -deep-chested and broad-bosomed, and that the massive plaits of hair -coiled upon her temples were gray. - -“Going to Paimpol! Sure, it is impossible,” said Mademoiselle Yvonne. -“There is so much to do getting the house ready.” A rich deep color -flushed her cheeks, staining her temples and tinting her full throat -to the edge of her bodice. “When one is to be married, Madame -understands----” - -“So then! You have heard?” cried the neighbor with an elaborate -pantomime of delight at the good news. “You have had a letter from -Iceland at last?” - -The clear blue eyes looked troubled for a moment. - -“No. Not that,” said Mademoiselle Yvonne. “Not precisely a letter, but -I have made out why the _Marie au Secours_ delays so long. You see, -they must have had a great catch at the cod-fisheries, and, being a -man of brains, my Yann set out to make the most of his good luck. So -the _Marie au Secours_ will have merely touched at Paimpol, and then -sailed down to the Gulf of Gascony, where fish fetch high prices, or -even to the Sandy Isles.” One of her massive plaits, released by her -vigorous movements from the confining pin, uncoiled and fell below her -waist. “That is how it will have been, Madame Pilot!” exclaimed Yvonne, -smiling and coiling up the beautiful hair. - -“Without doubt, that is how it will have been!” assented the other. - -She drove her stout elbow into the ribs of the woman who had whispered -to her. “Not so loud! We people of the coast have sharper ears than you -folks from inland.” - -“When did he sail?” - -“Twenty years ago, when she was eighteen, and all that gray hair gold.” - -“Pfui! There was a blast!” - -“We shall have to pick the wind’s bones all the way to Paimpol. So -good-day, Mademoiselle.... Gaos, run and bid Mademoiselle Yvonne -good-day.” - -Madame Pilot nudged the other woman again, as much as to say: “Watch -her with the child!” - -Gaos obediently quitted his mother’s skirts, and Yvonne knelt down -to kiss him. She whispered in the child’s ear coaxingly, and, as -he hesitated, watched the innocent lips as though her fate in some -inexplicable way hung upon their utterance. - -“She always tries to get him to say it, and he never will!” said Madame -Pilot under her breath. - -“What?” mouthed the inland woman, with round, interested eyes. - -The child spoke at that moment loudly and clearly. - -“He will come back to-day!” - -“Lord above! if he hasn’t said it!” cried Madame Pilot, and crossed -herself under her ample cloak as the boy came running to her. - -She caught his hand, and clattered on in her heavy wooden shoes, -fighting her way resolutely against the wind, followed more slowly by -the gaping inlander. - -“You rogue! You little villain!” she cried to the child she dragged. -“What made you say it?” - -“Be-be-cause--bub--bub--boo--because it’s true!” roared Gaos, through -angry sobs. - -His mother, with a hasty invocation of her patron saint, dropped his -hand, stopped where the beach-pathway merged in the Paimpol road, and -looked back. Mademoiselle Yvonne was nowhere to be seen at first, but -presently her figure mounted into view climbing the pathway to the -chapel. - -“She has gone to burn a candle for her good news,” said Madame Pilot. -“Now which have I for a son ... a liar or a prophet? If one were -to mistake and smack the prophet, it’s enough to bring a judgment -down....” She shook her head mournfully. “But it is to be prayed for, -all the same, that that great rogue Yann may never come wheedling back. -Drowned, did you suppose? Dead? Not a bit of it!... He’s living on the -fat of the land in Ploubazou, where he landed his last cargo of fish -nineteen years ago, married a tavern-keeper’s daughter, and set up a -sailor’s drinking-house himself; ‘The Chinese Cider Cellars,’ they call -it. May Heaven punish such vagabonds!” panted Madame Pilot. “As for us -in Pors Lanec, we’re peace-lovers and law-abiders, but there are stones -and cudgels waiting for Monsieur Yann Tregnier whenever he shows his -nose here.” - -Madame Pilot stopped, as a broad-shouldered young man in a sailor’s -cap and pilot-cloth jacket came tramping toward her along the puddly -Paimpol road, whistling a cheerful tune. He wore thick town-made -brogues instead of wooden _sabots_, and saluted the women in the -country fashion, though to him personally they were unknown, and passed -by, leaving the mother of the possible prophet staring; for he was -known to her as the son of the Ploubazou tavern-keeper Yann Tregnier, -christened Jean-Marie after his mother’s father. He was a well-looking, -sturdy young fellow of eighteen, who had always hankered to join the -Icelanders, as the cod-trawlers are called, and sail with the yearly -fleet on the last day of February for the big, dangerous fisheries in -the icy regions where the summers have no night. But Yann, his father, -would not hear of it, and Jean-Marie had been apprenticed to a cooper -in Paimpol. He had grumbled, but his fate appeared less hard now that -he was in love with Gaud. Gaud lived with an aunt in the village of -Pors Lanec, a place Jean-Marie knew as yet only by hearsay, since her -parents lived in Paimpol, and she had met her lover while upon a visit -to them. Pors Lanec lay by the beach a mile or two from Paimpol, Gaud -had told him. The cottage was built against a great rock, the doorstep -was the beach, and the sea the duck-pond before the door; he could not -fail to recognize the place, Gaud had described it so clearly. - -Gaud was a little delicate creature, with hair of burning gold hidden -under her shell cap, and great violet-gray eyes, full of possible -adoration for any likely young fellow who should come wooing to Pors -Lanec, and the likely young fellow had come along in the person -of Jean-Marie. And he had won her promise, and meant to marry her -and settle down to the cooper’s trade in earnest. True, the girl -was without a dower, and his father, with whom he had had a talk -at Ploubazou last Sunday, had pulled a long lip at that piece of -information, and he had said to the old man straight out: “Either I get -Gaud or go to sea!” - -“Either I get Gaud--or go to sea!” Jean-Marie repeated now in the -most deep and manly voice he had at command. For the cottage built -against the cliff had come in sight, a dwelling so weather-worn and -lichen-stained that it might have been an excrescence upon the side of -the rock that sheltered it. “Either I get Gaud....” Jean-Marie squared -his shoulders, and marched down upon the cottage where Gaud lived. As -his firm footsteps crossed the plateau of sandy rock that lay before -the cottage door he heard a cry from within, and before he could lift a -hand to the rope-yarn of the latch, the door was pulled violently back, -thrown open, and a woman fell upon his breast with a sobbing shriek of -joy. - -“Yann! Oh, my beloved, at last!” - -“Madame!” he stuttered. - -“Our Lady sent me word you would return to-day, and even as I was upon -my way to thank her for such grace, I turned back thinking. ‘If he -should come and miss me!’” - -The wind blew shrilly; the sky grew black with storm. Jean-Marie’s -cheek was wet with rain or the woman’s tears. He was conscious of a -dizziness. It was as though a web of some strange tissue were weaving -in the chambers of his brain, and the pattern grew more and more -familiar. The arms that clasped him were not those of a stranger; the -heart that throbbed upon his own had rested there before. Even the -cottage interior shown through the low doorway was familiar, and the -oaken benches to right and left, had he not carved his name on one of -them, his and another’s? - -But even as these strange questions awakened in the mind of the young -man, he was thrust violently back, and Yvonne was gazing, with still -streaming eyes, at the face of a stranger, while, partly hidden by -the tall figure of her aunt, appeared the little shrinking figure of -Mademoiselle Gaud! - -“Who is it?” asked Yvonne dully, without removing her eyes from that -unknown face of the man whose step was like Yann’s. - -“I--I believe--I think--’tis Monsieur Jean-Marie,” panted Gaud. “Sweet -St. Agnes!” she prayed inwardly to her patron saint, “make her not ask -me his other name! If she does I am sure I shall lie and say I do not -know; so, sweetest St. Agnes, preserve me from sinning!” Next moment -she breathed freely, for Yvonne stepped aside, leaving the threshold -free to the stranger. - -“Ask of his business, little one!” she said, without looking at Gaud, -“and let him know that he was mistaken for one who has a right to be -welcomed with open arms.” - -She had a black woollen cloak loosely thrown about her shoulders. She -sat down upon the seat to the right of the door, her elbow on her -knee, her chin upon her hand, the dark folds half concealing the noble -outlines of her form, her eyes fixed upon the most distant turn in the -Paimpol road. - -Jean-Marie was at liberty to proceed with his courting; Yvonne seemed -to hear and see him no longer. Only as the lover grew gayer, and the -clear laugh of Gaud sounded in unison with his, a quiver passed over -the face of Yvonne. At twelve o’clock, when the dinner was ready, Gaud -came dutifully to tell her. She only shook her head, and the midday -meal of salt fish, potatoes, and cider was shared by the lovers. - -When the dishes were washed, Jean-Marie proposed a stroll to the chapel -on the cliff. Gaud, her pale cheeks tipped with a little crimson, like -the leaves of a daisy, came to ask Yvonne’s permission. - -“My mother allowed him to visit us in Paimpol,” she said meekly, -flushing deeper as she remembered that she had introduced him as -Monsieur Jean-Marie, the cooper’s apprentice, and that her mother knew -nothing of his relationship to the man who had used her Aunt Yvonne -so wickedly. Through the crystal of Gaud’s nature ran a little streak -of deceptiveness. Like all weak things, she could be cunning where -her love or her interest was concerned, and what did it matter what -Jean-Marie’s father had done? she argued. He was not Jean-Marie. So she -and her sweetheart set out upon their walk, keeping a decorous distance -of at least six feet between them, and swinging unoccupied hands that, -when the path grew narrow, would meet and cling. And Yvonne saw two -figures appear in the distance upon the Paimpol road, neither of which -caused her any emotion. Monsieur Blandon, the Paimpol doctor, was -hirpling out upon his old white mare, to visit some of his Pors Lanec -patients; half an hour must elapse before he could dismount at Yvonne’s -door, the mare was so old and the road so stony. She looked away, far -out to sea, and watched a tossing white sail upon the inky horizon, -and with the instinct of one bred by the sea knew that there would be -weather yet more stormy, for the seagulls and kittiwakes were hurrying -inland. Then a heavy pair of wooden shoes clacked over the stones, and -a vinous voice gave her “good-day.” It was one Piggou Moan, once a -smart young fisherman and avowed rival of Yann, now the smuggler, the -loafer, the drunkard of the hamlet. - -“A drop o’ cider, Mademoiselle Yvonne, for old friendship’s sake and -charity,” begged the toper. Yvonne scarcely looked at him, but made a -slight motion of her hand toward the cottage door. With a slobbered -blessing, red-nosed, ragged Piggou lurched in, lucky in the absence -of Gaud, who would have found enough courage, at need, to have driven -him forth with a broomstick. He reached a copper flagon from its peg, -and went as if by instinct to the cider-cask that stood by the great, -carved clothes-press. Minutes passed, and Piggou came out, brighter of -eye if redder of nose than when he entered, wiping his dripping beard -on his ragged sleeve. - -“It’s long since you and Piggou had a crack together, Mademoiselle -Yvonne--years it is, and years! I’m not as fine a fellow as I used to -be, though you’re a comely figure of a woman still. Excuse the freedom, -Mademoiselle!...” - -She looked at the drunkard with cold dislike, and moved toward the -farther end of the bench as his liquored breath and flaming face came -near her. - - -II - -Piggou took the movement of Yvonne toward the end of the bench as an -invitation, and sat down, as the doctor, hidden by a bend in the road, -hirpled nearer on his old white mare. - -“I bear no malice,” the toper went on, “though, I take the saints to -witness, what I am I owe to you, Mademoiselle Yvonne--for being so -handsome and so proud, for giving me the back of your hand, and the -whole of your heart to Monsieur Yann Tregnier, who went away with it -and never came back.” - -“He is coming back!” said Yvonne quietly, her eyes upon the most -distant turn of the Paimpol road. - -Piggou chuckled drunkenly. - -“So you’ve said, Mademoiselle, for twenty years, since the _Marie au -Secours_ sailed for Iceland, Captain Yann aboard her.” - -She repeated: “He is coming back to-night!” - -Piggou leered drunkenly. - -“Come, my old gossip, my handsome Yvonne, don’t play the fool with -Daddy Piggou. You’re not so cracked as you pretend to be, d’ye -comprehend me? You know this waiting game’s a farce. He, your Yann, -won’t come back; not because he’s dead, but because he’s alive. Alive -and married to Louet Kergueven, that he had an eye on because of her -dad’s money; and they’ve as many children as peas in a pod--the eldest -as fine a lad of eighteen as ever trod in his father’s footsteps all -the ways to Pors Lanec. Didn’t I see him just now with that little -white cat, Mademoiselle Gaud....” - -The rest was strangled in the drunkard’s throat as upon the whitewashed -wall behind him fell the stout shadow of Dr. Blandon, and the -serviceable horn handle of an old-fashioned hunting-crop wielded by an -arm still muscular hooked itself in Piggou’s cravat and plucked him -from his seat. He sprawled, spluttering oaths. - -“Begone, rascal! and if I ever hear of your trying this again, I’ll -poison you next time I catch you in hospital,” foamed the doctor. - -“Why shouldn’t one tell the truth and shame the devil!” grunted Piggou. - -“Would you like me to tell Messieurs les Douaniers at the Paimpol Quay -House the truth about those fine cod you were carrying when I met you -last month on the road to Ploubazou? Ten whopping fellows, each with -a box of prime Habanas in his gullet, and every box wrapped round in -Spanish lace?... Be off with you!” And, assisted by some additional -impetus from the toe of the doctor’s riding-boot, Piggou scrambled to -his feet and clattered away. - -Yvonne had not stirred while this little scene was in action. Her elbow -on her knee, her chin upon her hand, she sat and watched that distant -bend in the Paimpol road as she had watched it, to quote Madame Pilot, -“when all that hair was gold.” Now she turned toward the doctor, who -was her good friend. - -“That is done with,” Monsieur Blandon pointed to the ragged figure of -the receding Piggou. “He knows what he will get if he troubles you with -his rubbish again. And how is the heart, Mademoiselle? Those drops I -left last time.... You take them?” - -“I take them; but,” said Yvonne, her quiet eyes upon the road, “they -make my heart beat.” - -“That’s what they are for, Mademoiselle.” - -“They make my heart beat,” she said, “until night and day, day and -night, the beating seems like the sound of footsteps coming to me -along the road. Nearer and nearer--louder and louder. Then they grow -hesitating, irregular, and stop. Stop, and then go back. And as they -become fainter in the distance, I seem to grow more quiet and more -cold.” - -Said the doctor, possessing himself of Yvonne’s wrist and watching her -as he counted the pulse-beats as intently as she watched the road: - -“They are footsteps of one you know, Mademoiselle?” - -She turned on him those startlingly blue and brilliant eyes. - -“Surely.... They are his!” - -The doctor had often met a tall man muffled in a great country cape of -frieze walking on the Paimpol road. They had never exchanged words, -scarcely even looks, but the brass buttons in the back of Blandon’s old -riding-coat were eyes, and he had observed how the walker turned back -before reaching that last bend from which the cottage could be plainly -seen. - -“His evil conscience keeps him restless--or he loves her still, though -he bartered her love for a tavern and a scolding wife,” the Doctor -thought, noting, without seeming to do so, the changes time had made in -the bold, handsome face and giant frame of Captain Yann Tregnier, late -of the _Maria au Secours_, now landlord of the Chinese Cider Cellars at -Ploubazou. “But to set foot in Pors Lanec he will not dare. The men and -women would rise up and stone him out of the village.” - -And Monsieur Blandon bade Yvonne adieu, and turned up his collar and -got upon his shambling old white horse to ride back to Paimpol. - -Yvonne sat where he had left her. The early winter evening was closing -in. The wind had fallen, and the sea had gone down; only it breathed -from time to time like a sleeping monster of the diluvian age. Through -the black curtains of the sky some pale stars looked forth, and white -spectral clouds, in shapes appalling to the sense, pursued a flying -moon. The lovers had not returned, the hearth-fire was dying out. -Guessing at this, Yvonne bestirred herself to go within and feed it -with fresh branches. The fading flame wakened again; she turned toward -the door, and as she did so the step for which she had waited twenty -years crashed over the gravel, sounded on the stone plateau before the -cottage, and the figure of a man--massive, almost a giant in height and -breadth, his great proportions increased in bulk by a heavy cape of the -country frieze--filled up the doorway. - -It had come--the moment for which she had waited through the years. She -did not scream and fall upon his neck; he made no movement toward her. -Only he pulled his rough cap from his head with a deference that had -awe in it, and fear, and his heavy black curls, grizzled now, fell over -the brow that was lined and rugged, and the eyes that were no longer -bright with youth and hope, but bleared with a dull, sordid life and -much strong drink, and the hopeless outlook on a life that was bare of -all joy. - -“Yann! My love ... Yann! You have come back to me at last!” - -The words were not uttered in a cry, but almost whispered. As the light -of love and joy kindled in her eyes she became young once more. Her -arms swept out to clasp him and found him not, for he had sunk down -upon his knees; but he clutched her apron and drew her to him, and -broke into hoarse, uncouth weeping, his head hidden against her, his -arms clasping her, her love and pity overshadowing him like an angel’s -wings. - -“He weeps for joy!” she thought, whereas he wept for shame; but had she -known the truth she would still have comforted him. After a while he -grew calmer, and they went out together into a night suddenly become -beautiful and glorious with stars--or it seemed so to Yvonne--and -sat together on the bench beneath the window, cheek to cheek and arms -entwined, and she poured out her brimming heart to him. How she had -waited, she told. Patiently, hoping always, loving him always, never -despairing, sure of his return. Had he been dead she would have known -it. But in the absence of the warning that never fails to come--the -midnight wail beneath the window, the midnight knock upon the door or -window-pane, given by no hand of mortal flesh--she had remained quite -certain that he was alive. Had she not been right in guessing that the -_Marie au Secours_ had only touched at Paimpol and sailed down into the -Gulf of Gascony, or even to Bayonne, to sell her cargo of salt cod? - -“Ay. ’Twas as you thought, Yvonne!” he answered. - -“And you sold well?” - -“Ay!” he answered again. Truly, he had sold well, more than his fish. -Honor and love, both had gone into the scales against the dowry of -the tavern-keeper’s scolding wife, a houseful of children--a sordid -existence flavored with the fumes of stale drink and stale tobacco, a -few bags of dirty five-franc pieces stowed away in a safe hiding-place, -for the Breton is a hoarder by instinct, and distrusts the Bank of -France: for these rags and fardels he had bartered Yvonne. He was dully -conscious of such thoughts as these even as he was conscious of the joy -of being near her. Coarse-fibered as he was, this, the one pure passion -of his life, revived in all its old strength at the clasp of Yvonne’s -hands and the meeting of their eyes. He began to believe that the -desire to be near her once more again had brought him to Pors Lanec. -Perhaps he was right, but the motive, he had admitted to himself, was -mean and sordid. He wished to bring about a rupture between Jean-Marie -and Gaud. The girl was penniless; Jean-Marie a love-sick young fool. -Besides, his wife would never consent to a union of their families; -she had never ceased to be jealous of the sweetheart to whom Yann had -played false. “You threw her over for my money, rogue that you are!” -she would say to him, when red wine dashed with cider had made her -quarrelsome. - -The night drew on. Drifting clouds no longer obscured the faces of the -stars; the December night might, for mildness, have been May, or so it -seemed to Yann and to Yvonne. There was a fragrance in the air like -hawthorn, and the shrill chirping of a cricket rose from the glowing -hearth in the darkened room behind them. - -The lovers found few words to utter, but their silence was eloquent; -the air they breathed in unison seemed the revivifying essence of -joyous life. Yann yielded to the exquisite intoxication. In the glamour -of that meeting he was young again, clean of heart and soul, looking -forward to their wedding day with the eagerness of a true lover. He -found himself replying in low, eager tones to Yvonne’s questions.... -No, he would not sail for Iceland in February as a bachelor; they must -get married before the Blessing of the Boats. The official papers must -be filled and signed, the banns put up ... there would be a honeymoon -for Yann and Yvonne before the _Marie au Secours_ (poor old vessel, -long ago cast up in driftwood on the shores of Iceland) should set sail. - -“Ay, indeed, my love, we have waited long enough!” he said. - -Yvonne laughed, a low melodious laugh of happiness, and owned that the -wedding dress, handsomely made and trimmed with broad bands of velvet, -just as he liked best--had been ready a long time. She took him back -to her pure heart, without a word, without a question.... He had been -long in coming, but he had come at last, and she was utterly content. -He drew her into his strong embrace, and she laid her head on his great -shoulder with the sigh of a child that is weary with too much bliss. -His arm encircled her; both her hands, clasped together, rested in -his large palm. Sleep came to her, and peace; even the breath that at -first had fluttered fitfully beneath his cheek could be felt no more. -And the night wore on apace, and the glamour fell from him, little by -little, and he was again the landlord of the Chinese Cider Cellars, -with a scolding wife, and an obstinate whelp of a son, mad to marry a -penniless little draggle-tail. Ay, he could speak now, and he would! He -unwound his arm from the waist of Yvonne and withdrew the support of -his rough palm from her clasped hands, and as he did so a long faint -sigh escaped her and her head fell back against the whitewashed wall. -Ay, he could speak, and did! - -“Lord knows what nonsense we have been talking, you and me.... -Something bewitched me.... The fine night or the sight of the old -place. In truth, Yvonne, you know as well as I do that I’m a married -man; that cat must ha’ got out of the bag long ago. And hearing that -you never would believe I’d played fast and loose with ye made me a bit -shamefaced, hence we never have clapped eyes on one another until now, -Yvonne. Though my young cub has been hanging about here after the girl -Gaud--threatening me with going to sea if she’s denied him--and seeing -as she hasn’t a sou of dowry, I look to you to stop that foolery. For -my good woman at home.... I’ll own her a bit of a Tartar, and, to tell -ye the truth, Yvonne----” - -“Father!” said Jean-Marie, stepping forward out of the darkness, the -dimly-seen, shrinking figure of Gaud behind him. - -Yann rose up, threatening and formidable, his clenched fist ready to -strike. Gaud cried out in fear; but Yvonne, the silvery moonlight -filling the hollows of her quiet eyes and resting in the curves of her -white cheeks, and kissing her closed, patient lips into the semblance -of a smile, never stirred. The night wind played with a little lock -of hair escaping from the edge of her shell-fluted cap, and her bosom -neither rose nor fell. - -“Pretty goings on.... Look here, you cub!” Yann was beginning, but his -son’s eyes looked past his at the placid face of the sleeper on the -bench, and the fear and awe in them were not inspired by his father. -Yann looked round then, and a hoarse cry broke from him. - -“Speak to her,” whispered Jean-Marie, and Gaud tremblingly touched -Yvonne’s clasped hands. They were cold as the smiling lips and the -sealed eyes on which rested the white peace that is the kiss of Death. - -The cricket chirped within the cottage, and the deep slumbrous -breathing of the sea came from beyond a curtain of chill white mist. -Yvonne’s long time of waiting had ended at last. - - - - -THE DELUSION OF MRS. DONOHOE - -IN TWO PARTS - - -I - -It was in the spring of 19-- that the Dapple Grays returned from -South Africa, covered with wounds, glory, boils, and khaki, this last -presenting many solutions of continuity. One finds the arrival of H. -M. troopship _Paradise_ at Porthampton Dockyard referred to in the -newspapers bearing the date of that occurrence as an event calculated -to awaken emotions of gratitude and enthusiasm in the bosom of every -Briton. An illuminated address was presented to the Chief by the Mayor -and Corporation of the borough, and the Dapple Grays were subsequently -entertained, the Colonel and officers to a banquet, and the rank and -file to a blowout. - -“You return to us, Captain,” the Mayor is reported to have said in -a complimentary rider addressed to the commanding officer of the -_Paradise_, “with a freight of heroes.” - -“A freight of devils, sir!” the Captain remarked in loud-toned -confidence to the neighbor on his left. “If the Admiralty had any -sense of humor--or any sense of fitness, by George!--the name of the -ship would have been changed before we sailed. But the _Paradise_ -has seemed almost like one, sir, since we disembarked ’em, and -that’s a fact. What’s the next toast on the list, did you ask? ‘The -united healths of the two regimental V. C.’s, Captain the Hon. Gerald -Garthside and Private Dancey Juxon.’” - -“What were the special acts of gallantry, do you--ah!--happen -to--ah!--remember?” asked the Captain’s left-hand neighbor (a pompous -local magnate), “for which the Cross has been--ah!--conferred?” - -“Usual thing. Garthside--that’s Garthside, on the Mayor’s left hand, -trying to look modest, and succeedin’ uncommon badly--Garthside rode -from Mealiekloof to Blitzfontein with despatches for the Brigadier, -peppered by Cronje’s outposts from overlooking ground nearly the whole -distance. Juxon was cut off while out on scout with a detachment, and -got away from twenty Boers with his officer on the crupper. Young -Bogle, next-of-kin to Lord Baverstone, died before Juxon got back to -the regiment, chipped in too many places for recovery! Better off if -he’d been left behind, do you say? Probably--probably. But Juxon has -the V. C., and they’re bringin’ him in to hear his health proposed.... -Fine-lookin’ young Tommy, isn’t he? Looks quiet and well-behaved, you -think? Ah, you ought to have been with us on the voyage from the Cape. -The evil genius of the lower troop-deck, and that’s facts. Ringleader -in every act of insubordination, up to all sorts of devilment, a black -sheep, sir, a black--hip, hip, hurray! For he’s a jolly----” - -“And so,” said the Colonel of the Dapple Grays to his Senior Major, a -few weeks later, when the regiment had shaken down in its old barracks -at Studminster; when its feminine complement had rejoined it; when -wives once more “upon the strength” were washing the tattered remains -of shirts which had seen more service than soap-suds, and husbands were -employing eloquence in the effort to convince civilian visitors to the -canteen that, despite the solemn warning recently issued from the most -authoritative quarters, to treat the newly-convalescent enteric patient -to beer or ardent spirits is to accelerate and not to retard his return -to perfect health---- “And so it’s a settled thing, the engagement -between your little girl and Garthside? Affair not jumped up in a -hurry? Began a year before the regiment was ordered to the Front? Of -course. My wife saw the attachment growing between ’em, and helped it -on, she tells me. Every married woman’s a match-maker, you know--don’t -you know--whether she’s put her own private pot on a bit of good blood, -with temper and stayin’ power and so forth, or a dee-d confounded showy -screw. And your little girl, not having a level-headed mother of her -own alive to look after her!... Deucedly raw weather, you know, don’t -you know!” - -Sir Alured broke off, anticipating rather than seeing the gray change -in Major Rufford’s face, and remembering that the handsome wife, who -had died when Emmie was a hoyden of thirteen, had signalized the close -of her career upon earth as Major Rufford’s wife and the mother of -his children by an act of desperate folly. But the Senior Major’s -wounds had been cicatrized by the great healer Time, and he looked -back quietly enough as the Colonel cleared his throat with unnecessary -violence, and twisted the great moustache that had been iron-gray and -was now snow-white. - -“Lady Gassiloe has been very kind, and Emmie doesn’t forget how much -she owes her. And there’s the right stuff in Garthside; I can trust -him to make my little girl a good husband. It’s odd, when one comes to -think of it, that our other Victoria Cross man is going to be married, -and to Emmie’s foster-sister, Peggy Donohoe.” - -“The deuce!” said Sir Alured. “Is that dee-d young scoundrel, Juxon, -going to settle down? Seems too good to be true. Why, the old -_Paradise_ was hell when Juxon wasn’t in the cells. Nearest approach to -a rhyme I ever made in my life, by George! But Juxon’s character apart -it’s not a bad match. The young blackguard has plenty of good looks, -and Peggy’s as pretty a girl as you may see, look high or low. And she -thinks Juxon a _proo shevally_ with his V. C.; and so do poor Bogle’s -people, and so do the public, by Jove! You should have heard him when -he reported himself.... ‘_What did you mean, you dee-d idiot_,’ I asked -him, ‘_by picking up a man who’d had the top of his head shot clean -off, and couldn’t live five minutes? D’ye call that philanthropy? In -my opinion it’s dee-d foolery!_’ ‘Beggin’ your pardon, Colonel, sir!’ -says Juxon, ‘I calls it precaution. When I ’oisted Mr. Bogle up be’ind -me, I see’d ’e’d ’ad ’is gruel, an’ the last breath went out of ’im -before old ’Andsome-Is--that’s wot I calls that ’ere spavined gray -o’ mine--’ad got into ’is stride. But the bullets was ’ummin’ round -me like ’ornets, an’ pore Mr. Bogle, lyin’ as ’e wos acrost my ’ams, -drawed fire an’ furnished cover.’ Furnished cover! The cool young -beggar fortifies his rear with the next in succession to one of the -oldest peerages in the United Kingdom, gets mentioned in despatches, -and receives his V. C.! Too dee-d funny, you know, don’t you know!” - -And Sir Alured mixed a brandy and soda, and chose an enormous cigar -from a case resembling a young Gladstone bag. The conversation took -place in a curious ground-glass hutch, sacred to the inner mysteries of -Official business, and labeled “Private.” And as the second in command -charged and kindled a meerschaum of incredible age and foulness, there -came a knock at the door. - -“C’min!” barked the Chief over the rim of the tilted tumbler, and the -regimental Doctor looked round the door. “Oh! it’s you, Assassin!” he -said, as he wiped the froth off the great white moustache. “How many -exenterics have you kicked out of the convalescent ward this morning?” - -“Three,” said the Assassin--“Denver, Moriarty, and Jarman. Garthside’s -lambs all.” - -“And dee-d malingerers, in my opinion!” said Sir Alured. - -“I’m with you there, sir,” responded the Assassin with a twinkle. Then -he relapsed into professional gravity, and said as he accepted a cigar -and a peg, “There are one or two bad cases of relapse, I’m sorry to -say--as the result of incautious indulgence in alcoholic beverages.” - -“Of course, of course!” growled Sir Alured. “When a man with a -granulated stomach uses the organ as a receptacle for whisky, beer, -and gin, contributed in unlimited quantities by admirin’ friends, he -oughtn’t to be surprised when he finds himself drivin’ to the cemetery -on a gun carriage to the tune of the Dead March in _Saul_, with his -boots following as chief mourners. Stands to reason!” - -“I don’t anticipate any serious results, except in the case of Sergeant -Donohoe,” the Assassin said, with a worried look in his usually -cheerful countenance. - -“Donohoe down again. Poor devil! I’m sorry to hear it!” The Chief -tugged at the ends of the great white moustache and looked grave. - -“Only yesterday,” said the Senior Major, “I thought him looking about -as fit as a man needs to be. He told me about Juxon’s engagement to his -daughter, and went off as pleased as Punch----” - -“To drink their healths,” interpolated the Assassin. - -“Hah! That’s about it,” grumbled the Chief. “Well, I shall go round -and look Donohoe up presently. Can’t afford to lose my Senior -Color-Sergeant, you know, don’t you know!” Sir Alured frowned savagely, -and cleared his throat with ominous vigor. - -“You’ll find him pretty low down,” said the Assassin, “and I fancy -Father Haggarty will be on duty. They’d sent for him before I came -away.” - -“Is it as bad as that?” said the Senior Major, and there was a moment’s -silence, broken by a clinking step on the stone flags outside and a -respectful knock on the glass door. - -“A ’ospital horderly, sir,” said the passage orderly to Major Rufford, -“with Color-Sergeant Donohoe’s respectful duty, and would you mind the -trouble of steppin’ over and hearin’ somethin’, sir, wot ’e ’as to say? -It’s Ward C., and a case of perforation--and, beggin’ your pardon, sir, -there ain’t much time to lose.” - -“Of course I’ll come! Say, at once!” Major Rufford lumbered up out of -his chair, emptied the office kitten out of his undress cap, took his -cane, which the office puppy had been chewing, and went. - -“Donohoe’s wife was Rufford’s girl’s foster-mother, you know, don’t you -know!” said Sir Alured. “There’s not more than a month’s difference -between Peggy Donohoe and Emmie Rufford in age. When they were babies -I’ve seen ’em sleepin’ in the same cradle; and dee me if I knew -which of ’em was which, though I suppose their mothers did. Not that -Rufford’s poor wife was over and above devoted to her babies. Odd now -if the little beggars had got mixed up somehow, and Donohoe had sent -for Rufford with the object of easin’ his conscience before he gave up -the number of his mess.” - -“Oh, that’s all Gilbert and Sullivan!” said the Assassin, getting up. -“Such things don’t happen in real life, Colonel, and I’m going back to -the hospital.” - -“You think not? Differ with you there. Walk over with you, if you’ve -no objection.” And the Chief and the Assassin followed in the wake of -Major Rufford, who had only a moment before received point-blank and -at short range from Sergeant Donohoe’s puffy blue lips--parted for -easier passage of the slow, painful breaths that were taken with such -agony--the second overwhelming surprise of his life. - -For Sir Alured’s stray shot had registered a bull’s-eye. Donohoe, -conscious that the grim messenger who had beckoned and passed by so -many times--under the heights of Jagai, in the clammy Burmese hill -jungles, amid the muddy swamps of West Africa, or the karroo scrub or -grass veldt of the South--meant business on this occasion--had given -up the secret less hidden than forgotten for many years. Many years -since, according to her own confession, faltered out to the Sergeant -upon her dying bed, the pretty young wife of Private Donohoe, urged by -the promptings of motherly love, or incited, as Father Haggarty would -have said, by the temptation of the Devil, arrayed her own nursling in -the long-tailed cambric robe with insertion of Valenciennes, properly -appertaining to the foster-babe; enduing the said foster-babe, namely -Emmeline, infant daughter of Captain and Mrs. Rufford, not only with -the abbreviated cotton frock which was the birthright of a Donohoe, -but with all the privileges appertaining to a daughter of the rank and -file; including a share in the Christmas tree and bran-pie diversions -annually given under the patronage of the Colonel’s wife and other -ladies of the Regiment--including her own mother. - -“Don’t say it, Donohoe,” pleaded the bewildered Major, sitting on -the foot of Donohoe’s cot-bed, holding the rigid hand, and shaken by -the throes that were rending the Sergeant’s soul from the Sergeant’s -body. “It’s an idea you’ve got into your head--nothing more! She--your -wife--never changed the babies.... For God’s sake, man, say you know -she didn’t!” - -But Father Haggarty’s kindly, pitying look had in it knowledge, -religiously kept sacred, now freed by voluntary confession from the -sacramental seal. He held the Crucifix to Donohoe’s livid lips, and -they moved, and a living voice came forth as from a sepulchre: - -“She did ut. Sure enough she did ut; but for the right rayson why, -sorr, I’m yet asthray. For wan thing--herself was a poor hard-workin’ -woman--an’ the choild would be wan if ut lived. ’Twas ten years she -carried the saycret--a mortial weight for a wake crayture, an’ a -Prodesdan’ at that, wid no relief av clargy--and it wore her to the -grave. On her dyin’ bed she confessed ut to me. I had my thoughts av -makin’ a clane breast, and then--wurra! ’twas the divil at my elbow -biddin’ me whisht or I’d lose my Peggy that was the pride av me eyes -an’ the joy av me harrut. An’ I held off from Father Haggarty, till -I could hould no longer. That was six Aysthers back; and--‘Tell the -truth,’ says his Reverence, ‘or you’ll get no more of an absolution -from me, me fine man, than Micky-would-you-taste-it?’ An’ at that I -stiffened me upper lips an’ riz from me marra bones an’ wint me way. -But the Hand is on me now, an’ I’ve made my paice wid Thim above; an’ -I’d be glad you’d send for my Peggy to be afther biddin’ her ould dada -good-bye--more by token she’s your Miss Emmeline by rights, and not my -purty Peggy at all, at all!” - - -II - -Miss Margaret Donohoe--popularly known in the regiment as “Peggy,” -and, as it will be remembered, betrothed to Private Dancey Juxon, -V. C.--Miss Margaret Donohoe was not summoned to the bedside of her -hitherto-reputed father in time to hear from his own lips the secret -of her birth. She was trimming an old hat with new crape for mourning -exigencies, the day after the Sergeant had been consigned with the -usual military honors to the Catholic division of the cemetery, when -heavy footsteps sounded in the flagged passage of the Married Quarters, -and the Colonel and the Senior Major, both visibly disturbed, walked -into Donohoe’s clean sanded kitchen, and, in as few words as possible, -broke the news. - -“It’s a terrible shock to you, my poor girl--as it has been to me!” -said the Major, very white about the gills. “And to--to another I -needn’t name!” He was thinking of his Emmie, and how piteously she had -sobbed last night and hung about his neck, with her pretty hair all -coming down over his mess waistcoat, as she begged him not to send her -away from him, because it wasn’t her fault that she had turned out to -be Donohoe’s daughter and not his own; and how at that moment she was -breaking the news to Garthside--that Junior Captain and Victoria Cross -hero to whom, it will be remembered, she was engaged. Poor Emmie, poor -darling Emmie!--or Peggy, as she ought now to be called! Major Rufford -felt that he never would be able to do it. “But--I’ll try and do my -duty to you as your father should, and--I must look to you to--to do as -much by me!” he concluded lamely. - -“Oh, Major!” cried Peggy--Peggy with the hard, bright, black eyes, the -red lips, the tip-tilted nose, the Milesian upper lip, and the coarse -but plenteous mane of dark brown hair liberally “banged” in front and -arranged behind in massive rope coils, secured by hairpins of imitation -tortoiseshell as long as the farrier’s pincers. “Oh, Major! can you ax -it? Sure I’ll thrate you as dacent as ever I did him that’s gone, an’ -the Colonel hears me say it!...” - -She checked the inclination to weep for one who was, all said and -done, no relation, and put her crackling six-penny-three-farthings -black-bordered handkerchief back in her pocket with an air of -resolution. A flood of new ideas inundated her brain. All that she had -ever dreamed of in the way of the unattainable lay hence-forth within -her reach, and everything that had hitherto appeared most desirable -and possible was from this bewildering hour rendered impossible. Her -eyes fell on Private Dancey Juxon, V. C., who had been sitting on the -kitchen table when the tall shadow of Sir Alured fell upon the sanded -floor, and who had remained, from that moment until this, petrified -in an attitude of military respect, against the whitewashed wall; and -she realized that Dancey--Dancey, the Adonis of the rank and file, -the hero once desired above all others, wrested at the expense of the -most costly and variegated hats and the most dazzling toilettes from -the clutches of how many other women!--Dancey must now be numbered -among the impossibles. If a cold dash of regret mingled with the inward -exultation of Miss Peggy, it was excusable. - -“Sure, the dear knows! ’Tis like a tale out av the _Pinny Romancir_,” -she said, “an’ troth it’s no wondher av my breath was tuk away wid the -surprise. To think of that bould craythur, Donohoe’s wife!----” - -“Do you mean your mother, my girl?” began the Colonel, but Peggy gave -Sir Alured a look that put him in his place. - -“I mane the woman that changed me in me cradle, bad cess to her for a -thrickster!” said Peggy, “an’ put her own sojer’s brat in the place av -me--me that belonged to the Quality by rights. Not that I’m not pityin’ -Miss Emmeline--now that she’s Peggy Donohoe, a poor craythur sprung -from nothin’.” The Major turned a groan into a cough, and the Colonel -hauled at the ends of his huge white moustache, but the tide of Peggy’s -brogue was not to be stemmed. “It’ll be a change for her, it will so, -afther livin’ on the fat av the land--an orphan’s pinsion to find her -in stirabout, an’ never a chick nor a child in the woide wurruld but -her ould Aunt Biddy Kinsella!” - -“Who--haw!--is Biddy Kinsella?” broke in the Colonel. - -“Av’ she’s alive--an’ a bag av dhry bones she must be av she is,” says -Peggy--“it’s at Carricknaclee, in Aher, you may find her. She used to -live wid her niece--manin’ Mrs. Donohoe--an’ she wint back to Ireland -whin me mother died--manin’ Mrs. Donohoe agin--a matter av eight years -ago. An’ ’tis natural Donohoe’s daughter would call her to mind at -a time like this. Maybe the young woman would go to live wid her,” -continued Miss Peggy calmly. “An’ that brings to me own mind, Major--I -mane Papa--whin do ye want me to come home?” - -“Home! Oh, Lord!” said the poor Major, before he could stop himself. - -“Dee-d cool!” growled Sir Alured, under the huge moustache, squeezing -the Major’s arm with his great, gaunt, brown hand. “But she’s got the -right--got the right, Rufford, you know, don’t you know. Ha--hum!” - -“You shall hear from me soon--very soon, Peggy,” said the Major -brokenly. “Good-bye for now, my girl.” He took her coarse red hand, so -unlike his Emmie’s, and kissed her equally red cheek; and as he did -so the petrified Juxon recovered the temporarily suspended powers of -speech and motion, stepped forward, and saluted. - -“Beg pardon, gentlemen,” he began, “and pre-’aps I oughtn’t to take the -freedom; but ’avin’ over’eard....” - -“Saw you, Juxon! Knew you were there! Thought you had a right to hear, -you know, don’t you know!” said Sir Alured. - -But a shrill feminine note of indignation pierced the Colonel’s bass, -as Miss Peggy cried, “Right! I’d be glad you’d tell me what right you -have, Misther Dancey Juxon, to be afther pokin’ the nose av you into -business that doesn’t consarn you, let alone the privit affairs av an -officer’s daughther. Away wid you, an’ larn your place! your room’s -more welcome than your company; an’ if it’s a wife you’re lookin’ -afther, maybe when wan av thim that’s av your own station stands up -before the priest wid you, I’ll be making you a little prisint toward -the housekeepin’, av the young woman’s dacent an’ respictable!” - -And the bewildered Juxon found himself outside the black-painted -door--marked III. in large white numerals--in the character of a lover -dismissed. - -“Well, I’m blowed!” he said, and said no more, but clinked away in -search of the Lethean streams of the canteen. - -“Rufford,” said Sir Alured solemnly, as the Chief and the second in -command exchanged the atmosphere of coals and potato peels prevailing -in the Married Quarters for the open air of the barrack square, “I’m -confoundedly afraid she’s a Tartar! Sharp as a needle, sir, and knowing -as a pet fox, if you ask me!” - -And the Major said in reply, “These things are supposed to be -hereditary. I wonder where she gets it from!” Then he broke out, “I -can’t believe it, Colonel! I couldn’t, if fifty dying men had taken an -oath to it. That my poor Clara’s girl! It’s impossible! If an angel -were to come down from Headquarters Above, with despatches confirming -the report, I couldn’t credit it!” - -“And dee-d if I should blame you,” the Chief responded. “Breed’s bound -to show, somewhere, and there’s not a drop of good blood in the girl’s -veins, I’ll swear!” - -“There’s an Irish strain in my family, too,” said poor Rufford -despondently, “and my Emmie has brown hair and eyes; and her nose, -bless it! is a little tilted at the end.” - -“_A nay retroussy._ So it is, by George! But there are noses and noses, -y’know,” said Sir Alured. “And Emmie’s a Rufford, from the crown of -her head to the ends of her toes; and we’ll prove it, we’ll prove it, -sir! Donohoe hasn’t a leg to stand on”--which was true--“and as to that -Mullingar heifer”--thus the Chief designated Peggy--“she’ll be sorry -one day for throwing Juxon over, mark my words. Send for that old aunt -of Donohoe’s dead wife--the bag of bones Peggy talked of--and pump her -for all she’s worth. Turn her inside out!--it’s the only advice I can -give you, for my head’s in as dee-d a muddle as yours. And remember, -whatever happens, my Lady is staunch to Emmie! Game woman, my Lady. -Doesn’t care a dee what society says, as long as---- God bless me, -Rufford! I’m talkin’ as though Emmie wasn’t your daughter. But the -whole thing’s infernally confusin’, you know, don’t you know!” - -An opinion in which the regiment concurred. An excited beehive would -have furnished but a poor comparison to the barracks upon the morrow, -when Peggy’s great news, imparted in ostentatious secrecy to Mrs. -Quartermaster Casey and a few other non-commissioned officers’ ladies, -had percolated through them. Visitors thronged the Donohoes’ quarters; -Peggy was the heroine of the hour. Press reporters from the town hung -about the barracks on the chance of seeing either of the heroines of -what was termed in the local paper “An Extraordinary Romance in Real -Life,” and the officers’ wives called in a body to condole with Emmie -Rufford, who, as we have heard, had broken off her engagement with -Captain Gerry Garthside. - -“I shall not break my heart over things,” she had said, with an -attempt at being everyday and common-sensible that was plucky, if not -convincing, “and I hope you won’t dwell too much upon the collapse -of our house of cards. I hope--I pray you’ll build more solidly, -with--with somebody else. Don’t, Gerry! Oh, don’t! It’s not fair to -make my duty harder to do than----” - -Then Emmie had broken down, wept wildly, been kissed, consoled, and -assured of her lover’s undying love and eternal fidelity. Part? Never! -Lose such a pearl of a wife! Not for all the Donohoes past, present, -or to come! I believe, in spite of Emmie’s woe and Captain Gerry -Garthside’s agitation, the young people secretly enjoyed the scene -dramatic; and when Lady Alured came rustling in, about the time when -Gerry’s eloquence attained its utmost pitch of fervor, and hugged and -cried over the hero and heroine of the little drama, that dear woman -was not the least happy of the three. - -And later on, after returning to quarters, Captain Garthside found a -letter on his doormat. The contents of the soiled envelope, directed in -a sprawling hand, ran as follows: - - “DOOR NO. 3, GROUND FLOOR, BLOCK Q. - - “Miss E. Rufford presents comps And wold be Glad to see Cap Garthside - & if Yu will call at 2 remane - “Your Oblidged - “E. RUFFOR” - -Of course the Captain knew Peggy Donohoe; had danced with her at -non-commissioned officers’ balls; given her gloves and chocolates, -and sipped the roses of her cheek in common with many another passing -admirer. “And who’d be the worse of a kiss,” as Peggy would have said, -“from a dacent girl?” “Dacent” she undoubtedly was, if not from pure -innate virtue, perhaps from the consciousness that a depreciation in -marketable value attaches to goods that have been soiled by handling. -Had it been otherwise, the state of Major Rufford had been less -gracious, thought Captain Gerry Garthside. - -And he looked at Emmie’s photograph standing in a silver frame upon his -mantelshelf, and remembered the piteous smile with which she had told -him that everything must now be over between them, and mentally renewed -his vows of fealty before he went round to “look up Peggy.” - -The rooms occupied by the late Sergeant Donohoe were three--a kitchen -and two bedchambers. One of these latter, Peggy, with the assistance -of Mrs. Quartermaster Casey, a dozen yards of cheap Liberty muslin, a -gross of Japanese fans, one or two pieces of Oriental drapery, and a -few articles of furniture of the tottery bamboo kind, had converted -for the time being into a boudoir. Only for the time being, she said -to herself, because when she got her rights she would enjoy all the -splendors now usurped by the real Peggy Donohoe--Miss Emmie, as she -called the usurper when she forgot, which was not often. She would -dress for dinner every evening, and attend balls and theaters in -low-necked, long-trained frocks, chaperoned by Lady Alured, adorned -with the late Mrs. Rufford’s diamond stars, and attended by Captain -Gerry Garthside, V. C. For not one, but all the possessions held and -prerogatives hitherto enjoyed by the false Miss Rufford would naturally -devolve to the real one, once formally recognized and received by -her papa and the regiment; the “ould duds” and bits of sticks once -pertaining to the supposed Margaret Donohoe being transferred to the -veritable Peggy, together with all rights in Private Dancey Juxon, V. -C. The topsy-turvy, comic-operatic whimsicality of her own idea did not -appeal to Peggy’s sense of humor. She was very much in earnest as she -waited for her visitor, seated in state upon one of her own ornamental -chairs, her red hands--hands which could not be transferred to the real -Peggy Donohoe with the other things--folded in her lap. - -“She’s here, Captain,” Mrs. Quartermaster Casey--retained as chaperon -until Lady Alured should awaken to a sense of her duties--had said, -opening the door. - -“Oh, Captain,” said Peggy, rising coyly, “is it yourself?” - -And, owning the soft impeachment as he squeezed the red hand (Gerry -Garthside’s manners to the plainest woman were fatally caressing), the -Captain inquired how he could serve her. - -“Sure,” said Peggy, making play with her fine eyes, “you’ll maybe -thinking me forward, Captain, for makin’ the first sign. But me -papa--the Major--will be takin’ up a great dale of me toime by-an’-by, -and wid Mrs. Casey sittin’ in the kitchen widin call, we’re givin’ no -handle to the tongue of scandal, as the sayin’ is----” - -“My dear Miss Peggy!--” the Captain was beginning, when Peggy took him -up short. - -“I’ll trouble you,” she said, “to remimber that I’m not takin’ any more -Peggy from anywan, high or low, an’ I’d be glad it was ginerally known. -‘Miss Emmeline,’ or ‘Emmie’ for short, you’re free to use, or any pet -name ye may pick.” She cast a languishing glance upon Captain Gerry. -“I’m not likely to quarrel wid it”--she moved nearer--“or wid you. Och, -thin! but ’tis quare how things have turned round wid me! Peggy Donohoe -a week ago, an’ walkin’ out wid Dancey Juxon--an’ now--the Major’s -daughter, an’ your promised bride, Captain jewel! Sure ’tis like a -dhrame, it is!” - -And Peggy rested her rather large head upon the shoulder of the -astonished Captain, who hastily withdrew the support. - -“Look here, Peggy, my girl!” he said hastily. “What’s this notion -you’ve got into your noddle? You don’t think....” - -“I think that you’re a gintleman, Captain,” said Peggy, with a tender -smile, “and would never go back on the promise you gev to the Major’s -daughter. An’ now that I’m her, an’ she’s me, you’ll do your duty by -me, as Dancey Juxon will do his to Donohoe’s poor unfortunate girl. You -may thrust him. We’ve had it out betune us, an’ he’s with her now.” - -“With--her--now?” repeated the bewildered Captain. - -“I sent him to the Major’s--I mane papa’s--quarters ten minnits ago, -wid a flea in his ear!” said Peggy, folding her red hands about the -elbow of her captive, and rubbing her cheek against his shoulder strap. -“‘I dar’ you,’ sez I, ‘to hang about here,’ sez I, ‘makin’ sheep’s eyes -at a daughter av the Quality, whin that poor crayture you gev your -promise to is cryin’ her two eyes out for the gliff av a glimpse av -your red head. Away wid you,’ sez I, ‘an’ prove yourself a man av your -word, Dancey Juxon, or maybe Peggy Donohoe’ll be takin’ the law av you -wan av these fine days!’” - -“My good girl,” said Gerry Garthside, almost pleadingly, “you can’t -really believe what you say you’ve told Juxon--that he is obliged -to marry Miss Rufford, or the lady who has borne that name until -now, because he happens to have given a promise of marriage to Peggy -Donohoe, and Miss Rufford and Peggy have changed places?” - -“I mane that!” Peggy’s black eyes snapped out sparks of fire; as -she tossed her head, a loosened coil of black hair tumbled upon her -shoulder. Her fine bust heaved, her cheeks burned scarlet--she had -never looked finer in her life. “Do I not mane just that? Think! Isn’t -her father mine? Isn’t her home my home?--the dhress she wears upon -her back mine?--the ring she has upon the finger av her mine? Ah, -musha, an’ the man that put it there!” Her grasp on Captain Gerry’s -arm tightened, her eyes sought his and held his; her warm, fragrant -breath came and went about his face like a personal caress. “Sure, -dear, you’ll not regret ut,” said Peggy, “for I loved you iver since I -clapped my two eyes on you--I take the Blessed Saints to witness! An’ -Dancey Juxon’ll be dacent to Donohoe’s daughter, an’ you an’ me will be -afther lendin’ the young couple a hand, lettin’ her have the washin’ -maybe, or the waitin’ at our table--or by-an’-by”--she lowered her -black lashes--“she might come as nurse to the children. So, darlin’....” - -The sentence was never finished, for the alarmed Captain broke from the -toils and fled. The Mess story goes that he double-locked his outer -door, barricaded the inner one with a chest of drawers and a portable -tin shower bath, and spent the rest of the day in reconnoitering from -behind the window curtains in anticipation of a descent of the enemy. -But in reality he bent his steps toward the North Quadrangle, where -the Major’s quarters were, and over the familiar blue crockery window -boxes full of daffodils, he caught a glimpse of Emmie’s sweet face, not -pale or bearing marks of secretly shed tears as when he last kissed it, -but bright-eyed, flushed, and dimpling with laughter as she nodded and -waved her hand to a departing visitor, who, absorbed in the charming -vision, glimpsed above the daffodils, collided with and cannoned off -the Captain. - -“Hullo! You, Juxon?” - -“Beg pardon, sir,” said Private Juxon, rigidly at the salute. “I ’ope I -’aven’t ’urt you!” He grinned happily. - -“Have you come into a fortune, or inherited a title? You look pretty -chirpy!” said the Captain. - -“Not a bad ’it of ’is by ’arf,” said Private Juxon critically to -Private Juxon, “about the comin’ into a title. ‘For,’ says she, ‘_the -greatest gentleman in the land couldn’t ’ave done more--and though I -can’t accept your offer, I shall always look up to you and respect you -as the most chivalrousest and honorablest man I ever met_!’ Wot price -me, after that?” - -For, as may be guessed, Private Juxon had proposed, and been rejected. -Standing very stiff and red and upright on the passage door mat, he had -confessed his sense of responsibility and explained his views. - -“The general run of feelin’ in the regiment bein’ the same, Miss, as -her own, that I’m bound as a man to keep my promise to Peggy Donohoe, -whether she’s you or you are ’er. I’ve took the freedom of callin’ to -say as wot I’m ready,” said Juxon. “An’ the weddin’ was to come off in -June; but you’ve only got to name an earlier day, Miss, an’ I’ll ’ave -the banns put up, you not bein’ a Catholic, like Peggy--which I ought -to call ’er Miss Rufford now, as owing to ’er station, Miss. But if you -think I’ll ever come short in duty an’ respect to the Major’s daughter, -because she’s turned out to be only the Sergeant’s, you’re wrong, Miss, -you’re wrong--upon my bloo----upon my ’tarnal soul!” - -And then it was that Emmie Rufford conferred upon Private Juxon the -title of nobility, which made him a proud man--and unconditionally -refused his offer, making him a happy one. - -She is now married to Captain Gerry Garthside, who yet fulfilled his -engagement to the Senior Major’s daughter in leading her to the altar. -For within a week the bubble had burst, topsy-turvydom reigned no more, -the barracks ceased to seethe like one of its own mess cauldrons, and -Peggy Donohoe was compelled to relinquish the privilege of calling -Major Rufford “Papa.” For old Aunt Biddy Kinsella had been discovered -in the smokiest corner of her grandson’s cottage at Carricknaclee, in -Aher, by a smart young solicitor’s clerk; and her sworn deposition, -duly marked with her cross and attested by her parish priest, dispersed -the clouds of doubt from the Major’s horizon, relieved Sir Alured’s -moustache from an unusual strain, and proved the deceased Mrs. Donohoe -to have been the victim of a delusion. - -“For ’twas at Buttevant Barracks where the regiment was stationed -nineteen years ago, an’ me stayin’ on a visit wid me niece, that I saw -her--Maggie Donohoe--rest her unaisy soul, the misfortnit craythur!--I -saw her change the children’s clothes wid the two eyes I have in my -head,” said Aunt Biddy Kinsella, “barrin’ that only wan av thim was -at the keyhole. ‘Och, murdher!’ sez I, lettin’ a screech an’ flyin’ -in on her--for I had the use av me legs in thim days--‘what have you -done, woman, asthore?’ ‘Made a lady av little Peggy,’ says she, wid the -fingers av her hooked like claws ready to fly at me, ‘an’ I dar’ you to -bethray me.’ ‘Bethray!’ sez I. ‘It’s bethrayed her to the divil, you -mane--that she’ll be brought up a black Prodesdan’, and not a dacent -Catholic, as a Donohoe should be by rights.’ ‘Holy Virgin, forgive me! -Sure, I never thought av that!’ sez herself, and all thrimblin’ we -undhressed the children an’ changed the clothes again. An’ a day or -so afther the Major’s baby was waned an’ wint back to uts mother. But -Maggie Donohoe was niver the same in her mind afther that day. Sit an’ -brood she would, an’ hour by hour; an’ creep out av her own bed an’ -into mine night afther night, and wake me wid her cowld hand upon me -mouth an’ the whisper in me ear to know had she given little Peggy’s -sowl to the divil or changed the childhren back afther all! An’ as -years wint on she kem to a quieter mind, but on her dyin’ bed the ould -fear and thrimblin’ got hould av her ag’in, an’ she tould Donohoe--not -what she’d done at all, at all!--but what she wanst had the intintion -av doin’, but that her heart failed her; an’ so made a fool av the man -that owned her, as many another woman has done before!” - -Thus Aunt Biddy Kinsella, who, having spoken, may be dismissed to her -smoky corner under the turf thatch, where a greasy parcel reached her -in the middle of the following June, containing, not an olive branch, -but a concrete slab of wedding cake, with the joint compliments of Mr. -and Mrs. Dancey Juxon. For “the general run of feelin’ in the regiment” -was in favor of Private Juxon’s renewing his matrimonial engagements -to Peggy Donohoe, now that she had been proved, past all doubt, to be -herself. And by the last advices received from headquarters it appears -that Mrs. Lance-Corporal Juxon is acting at this moment as nurse to the -Garthside baby. - - - - -PONSONBY AND THE PANTHERESS - - -I have called this story “Ponsonby and the Pantheress,” because -Ponsonby’s nocturnal visitor undoubtedly belonged to the genus -_Carnaria_, species _F. pardus_, the _Pardalis_ of the ancients. The -whole thing hinges on Ponsonby’s getting a ticket of invitation to a -mighty dinner given by one of the great City Livery Companies. Had he -refused the invitation, and stayed at home with Mrs. Ponsonby, it would -have been better for him--and for her. He would not to-day have been -a silent, atrabilious man, who goes upon his way in loneliness--that -mated loneliness which is of all desolate conditions on this earth the -most desolate--with a vampire gnawing underneath his waistcoat. She -would not have been a much-wronged, cruelly neglected woman--or the -other type of sufferer, the woman who has been found out; and for ever -robbed of that which women hold dearest in life--the power to create -illusions. - -It was a great dinner at that City Hall--a feast both succulent and -juicy, and upon a scale so prodigious as to put it utterly beyond the -power of a single-stomached man to do justice thereto. Many of the -guests had thoughtfully provided themselves with several of these -necessary organs, but Ponsonby--who had recently sold out of the Army, -and invested his commission money in business, and settled down with -Mrs. Ponsonby in a neat little house in Sloane Street--was still -young, and fairly slim. - -The baked meats and confectionery were excellent, and “the drinks”--as -Betsey Prig might have observed--“was good.” It was revealed to -Ponsonby that he had absorbed a considerable quantity only by the -swollen condition of his latchkey when he tried to fit it into the -door of the little house in Sloane Street. But after a short struggle -the door opened, and Ponsonby paused a moment on the doorstep to -take some observations on the weather. It was just one o’clock as -he looked at his watch in the moonlight. Ponsonby was reminded of -Indian moons by the lucent brightness of the broad silver orb that -floated so majestically on the calm bosom of the dark overhead. She -was getting near her wane, but only notifying it by an exaggerated -handsomeness, like a professional Society beauty. Ponsonby thought of -that simile--all by himself--and was proud of it, as he had always been -a man more celebrated for his moustache than his intellect. He tied a -knot in his mental pocket handkerchief to remember it by, and, facing -round to go into the house, was a little disconcerted to find the hall -door gaping to receive him. - -Then he went in, barred and bolted very carefully, and set the spring -burglar alarum--for once. Ponsonby was unusually careful and deliberate -in his movements on this particular night. Then he sat down on the hall -bench and took off his boots. Then he switched off the electric hall -light. Then he pondered whether he should or should not have just one -brandy and soda before going to bed--because he had come home so clear -and calm and cool-headed from that City dinner. Ay or No--and the Ayes -had it. He went into the dining-room. It had been furnished for the -Ponsonbys on the best authority; in oak, with Brummagem-Benares brass -pots and tea trays. The window curtains, and the drapery which hung -before a deepish recess in the wall to the left of the door as you -entered, were plush, of that artistic shade of olive-green which is so -shabby when it is new that you can’t tell when it gets old. The recess -had originally been intended for a book case; but young married people -just starting in life never have any books--they are too much bound up -in each other--and so it had been covered up. You can put things behind -a covering of this sort which you do not care to expose to the gaze of -the casual guest--a row of old slippers, or a pile of superannuated -Army Lists, or a collection of summonses--or the Family Skeleton. - -Ponsonby switched on the light, and opened the liquor case with his -watch-chain key, and got a tumbler and soda siphon from the buffet, -and lighted a cigar. Then he sat down in an armchair, unbuttoned his -white waistcoat, loosened his collar, and prepared to be lonelily -convivial. He thought of his girl-like bride asleep upstairs, with her -cheek upon her hand, and her gold-brown hair swamping the pillow. It -says much for the state of Ponsonby’s affections, that while he knew -the uses of the monthly half pint of peroxide which was an unfailing -item on the chemist’s bill, he could still be poetical about that tinge -of gold. But newly married men seldom look into the roots of anything. -He lifted his glass and drank her health. “To Mamie!” he said, as the -frisky gas bubbles snapped at his nose. And then he glanced over the -edge of the tumbler at the curtained recess behind the door. And the -short hairs of his head rose up and began to promenade. And his teeth -clicked against the glass he held. For a bolt of ice had shot through -either ear orifice straight to his brain. In other words--Something had -laughed--an ugly laugh--behind that drawn curtain. - -In another moment it was put aside. A woman came out of the recess that -had concealed her, and stood before him. - -Not to mince matters, she belonged to the class we are content to -call unfortunate. From her tawdry bonnet to the mud-befouled hem of -her low-necked silk dress--a preposterous garment, grease-stained and -ragged, and partly hidden by an opera cloak of sullied whiteness--the -nature of her profession was written on her from head to foot. She was -not without beauty, or the archæological traces of what had been it; -but as she grinned at the astonished man, showing two rows of strong -square teeth, yellowed with liquor and cigarette smoking, and the -gathered muscles of her cheeks pushed up her underlids, narrowing her -fierce, greedy eyes to mere slits, and the hood of her soiled mantle -fell back from her coarsely dyed hair, she was a thing unlovely. She -seemed to snuff the air with her broad nostrils, as scenting prey; she -worked her fingers in their dirty white gloves, as though they were -armed with talons that longed to tear and rend; and, as she did so, -Ponsonby was irresistibly reminded of a panther. - -Ponsonby had shot panthers in India, and had once been slightly mauled -by a female specimen. It was an odd coincidence that the old scars on -his left shoulder and thigh should have begun to burn and throb and -shoot unpleasantly as the yellow-white fangs of the intruder gleamed -upon him, framed in by her grinning, painted lips. - -But Ponsonby recovered himself after a moment, and asked her, without -ceremony, how the devil she came there? He was not a particularly -bright man, but he knew, even as he asked. She had been crouching in -the shadow under the portico--some of the Sloane Street houses have -porticoes--when his cab drove up. She had watched him get out. Then, -when he had been standing with his foolish back to the open door, -gaping at the moon, the Pantheress had skulked in, with the noiseless, -cushioned step that distinguishes her race. And now he had to get rid -of her. - -Which was not as easy a task as one might think. - -He began by telling her that he was a married man. - -“Knew that,” said the Pantheress. “Saw you take off your boots in the -hall. Saw you drink her health.” She mimicked him. “To Mamie!” And -laughed again--that unspeakably jarring laugh. - -Ponsonby grew irate. He took his courage in both hands and went into -the hall, where he softly undid the door fastenings. Then he came back, -and offered to show his visitor out. - -She was in the act of pocketing a silver race cup, won by Ponsonby at -a Pony Hurdle Handicap on the Bombay course in 1890, when Ponsonby -came back. He caught her wrist and bade her drop it. She gave it up -sullenly. Then, with a sudden accession of feminine meekness, she said -she would go--if he would stand her a drink. - -It seemed a cheap bargain. The unwitting Ponsonby got out another glass -from the buffet cupboard, and mixed her a brandy and soda, not too -weak. She drew a chair--his wife’s chair--to the table, and sat down, -throwing her dingy cloak from her whitewashed shoulders. She put her -hand to her head, and drew thence a long steel pin with a blue glass -head, and took her gaudy bonnet off and threw it on the table. She did -not hurry over the consumption of the liquid, and Ponsonby began to -grow impatient. When he hinted this, she asked for a cigar. - -He gave her one, and a light. And she drained the last drop in the -tumbler, and stuck the burning weed between her teeth, with a coarse -masquerade of masculinity. Ponsonby heaved a sigh of relief. - -“Now, my girl, come along--time’s up!” He started for the door. - -The Pantheress got up, and leaned against the mantelshelf, smoking. She -intimated that she had changed her mind--and would remain. Ponsonby -lost his temper, and threatened ejection by main force. - -“Put me out? You daren’t!” rejoined the Pantheress. She added some -adjectives reflecting upon Ponsonby and the honor of his family--but -with those we have nothing to do. - -Ponsonby’s under jaw came out, and his forehead lowered. He strode -toward the Pantheress; her sex was not going to plead for that delicate -piece of femininity, it was evident. - -“I daren’t, eh?” - -“You daren’t. Because I’d tear, and scratch, and scream, I would--till -the police came--till your wife woke up and came downstairs to see what -the row was about. Nice for you, then! Easy for you to explain--with -_two_ glasses on the table!” - -Ponsonby broke into a cool perspiration. He spake in his soul and -cursed himself for a fool--of all fools the one most thoroughly -impregnated with foolery. For he saw that he had been trapped. The -Pantheress rocked upon her hips and laughed, shaking out a coarse aroma -of patchouli from her shabby garments. - -“You had me in and stood me drinks. I can swear to that. My swell toff, -I think you’d better knock under!” - -Ponsonby had to arrive at that conclusion, thinking of his wedded -happiness and the golden-brown hair scattered on the pillow upstairs. -He was awed to the pitch of making overtures--of asking the Pantheress -how much she would take to go? - -The Pantheress sprang high. Twenty pounds. - -Ponsonby had not as much in the house. With great difficulty, and much -exercise of eloquence, he got her to bate five. It was necessary that -she should be brought to forego another five, for all the ready cash he -could muster did not amount to much more than ten. How to attain this -desirable end? Ponsonby had a dramatic inspiration. - -He had read many novels and seen many plays. In most of these the main -plot turned upon the ultimate victory of Human Virtue and Truth over -Vice and Disintegrity. In these books or dramas Vice was generally -personified by an adventuress--a brazen, defiant person, who had made -up her mind to ruin somebody or another; and Virtue, by an innocent -girl or pure young wife, who pleaded until the hardened heart was -melted, the fierce eyes moistened by an unaccustomed tear--until, in -short, the naughty woman abandoned her unhallowed purpose and left the -nice one mistress of the field. The theory is an admirable one in a -book or in a play, but in real life it does not hold good. Ponsonby has -since learned this; but at that time he was youngish and inexperienced. - -He would weave a net, with those golden-brown tresses upstairs, in -which to catch the Pantheress. He begged her to listen, and told -his story quite prettily. He explained how, three years before, his -regiment having newly returned from India, he had met at a certain -South Coast resort, separated by a mile or two of arid common from -a great dockyard town, a lovely girl. She was a friendless orphan, -the daughter of a clergyman, had been a governess, had broken down -in health, and, with the last remnant of her little savings, taken a -humble lodging near the sea, in order to benefit by the ozone. How she -had found, during her innocent strolls on the beach, not only that -health of which she had been in search, but a husband. And, finally, -how every fiber of her soul, being naturally bound up in that husband, -and her present state of health delicate, the infliction of such a blow -as the Pantheress contemplated striking might not only strike at the -roots of love, but of life. - -With which peroration counsel concluded, not wholly dissatisfied -with himself. He wiped his brow, and sent a hopeful glance at the -Pantheress. Her features had not softened, nor was her eye dimmed. Her -lips twitched, certainly, but the convulsive movement was merely the -herald of a yawn. - -“You’re a good one to jaw!” she said, when he had finished. “Come, I’ll -not be hard on you. How much have you got?” - -He named the amount. - -“Hand out!” the Pantheress bade him. - -He would give her half the sum then and there, Ponsonby said, with a -gleam of strategic cunning, and the other half when she was fairly -outside the hall-door--not before. - -The Pantheress nodded, and clutched the first installment from his -hand greedily, and caught her dirty bonnet from the table and threw it -on her head. “No larks!” she said warningly--“come on!” and moved to -the room door, where she paused. “Ain’t you got manners enough to open -it for a lady?” she remarked in an aggrieved tone. Ponsonby, hastily -restoring the tell-tale second glass to the sideboard, sprang forward -and grasped the handle--and dropped it as though it had been red-hot, -for he had caught the sound of footsteps--light, regular, measured -footsteps--descending the stairs. He could not utter a word. He turned -a white face and glaring eyes upon the Pantheress. And the steps came -nearer. As the dining-room door opened, he fell back, helplessly, -behind it. The wall seemed to open and swallow him--thick, suffocating -folds fell before his face; he had backed into the curtained recess -whence the Pantheress had emerged thirty fateful minutes previously. -Through a three-cornered rent in the stuff, just the height of his eye -from the ground, and through which that beast of prey had probably -watched him, he looked--and saw his wife! - -She wore a loose white wrapping gown; her hair--the hair--hung in waves -about her shoulders. Barring the bedroom candle she carried, and losing -sight of her prosaic nineteenth-century surroundings, she resembled one -of Burne Jones’s angels. But her calm expression changed, and her voice -was tuned to a key of unangelic indignation, as her glance lighted on -the painted, brazen Defiance, erect and bristling, before her. - -“You ... a woman, what do you want? How did you?--how dared you come -here?” - -The Pantheress was about, in answer, to launch the first of an -elaborate flight of insults, couched in the easy vernacular of -Leicester Square, when she stopped short. Her thick lips rolled back -from her gleaming fangs in a triumphant grin. She bent forward, with -her hands upon her thighs, and made a close inspection of the face of -Ponsonby’s wife. - -“_What! Luce?_”... - -The other recoiled, with a slight cry. And Ponsonby, in his retirement, -was conscious of a deadly qualm--for Mrs. Ponsonby’s Christian name -was Lucy! When he opened his shut eyes and peeped through the rent -again, it was only to receive a fresh shock--for Mrs. Ponsonby and the -Pantheress were sitting, one on either side of the table, chatting like -old friends. - -“Luck was poor,” the Pantheress was saying, “and me low down in my -spirits. So when I found the door of a swell house like this open, -‘I’ll pop in,’ says I to myself, ‘and look about for a snack of -something and a drop to drink, and then make off if I can, clear, -or else go to quod--like a lady.’ And I did pop in--and I did look -about--and the first thing that turns up is--you! On a smooth lay, -ain’t you? Always a daring one, you were. A clergyman’s daughter, and -an orphan! We’ve most of us been clergymen’s daughters and orphans -in our time, but not a girl of us ever looked it more than you. And -you’re married! Ha! ha! With a swell church service, and singin’, and a -Continental tour to give the orphan a little change of scenery. She’d -seen so little in her time, the poor dear! Lord! I shall die of it!” - -The woman rocked with silent laughter. It seemed to the man behind -the curtain that her eyes, across his wife’s shoulder, glared full -into his--that her coarse jeers were leveled at him. He could not -have uttered a sound, or stirred a finger, for the dear life. A kind -of catalepsy had possessed him. But he saw them drink together, and -heard them talk ... turning over with conversational pitchforks the -unspeakable horrors of the dunghill whence his white butterfly had -taken wing.... Ponsonby had never been an imaginative man, but that -midnight conference wrought his sensibilities to such a pitch that, -leaning against the wall in the corner of the curtained recess, he -quietly fainted. - - * * * * * - -He came back to consciousness in darkness through which struggled no -gleam of light. He did not know where he was until he staggered out -from behind the stifling draperies and switched on the light with -shaking hands. Then he found himself in his own dining-room. There were -no glasses on the table--the spring bar of the liquor stand was in its -place, the brandy decanter was, as he remembered to have left it, half -full. He found his candle on the sideboard and lighted it, and went -into the hall. The hall-door was barred and bolted. - -“Thank God, I _have_ been dreaming!” said Ponsonby, and went upstairs. - -There she lay--a breathing picture of reposeful innocence--fast asleep. -Ponsonby stooped and kissed the hair that flooded her pillow and -invaded his own, and silently swore by all his deities that he would -never go to another City dinner as long as he lived. Before he crept -into bed he knelt down--a thing he had not done since he was a boy--and -said awkwardly, “O God, I’m glad it was a dream! Thank you!” - -He slept the sleep of the weary, and rose, not a giant, it is true, -but very much refreshed. He dandered down to the breakfast table in -a leisurely way, humming a tune. As he shook out his newspaper, the -absurdity and improbability of his recent vision struck him for the -first time; he laughed until he ached. Then he dropped his newspaper, -and stooped to pick it up. Something bright that lay upon the carpet -under the table attracted his notice. The man put forth his hand and -took it, and his ruddy morning face underwent a strange and ghastly -alteration. For the thing was a long steel bonnet pin, with a vulgar -blue glass head! Men have died suddenly of pin pricks before now. - -But Ponsonby’s tortures are lingering. He is alive still, and she -is still Mrs. Ponsonby. He has never spoken--the Secret of the Blue -Glass Pin is hidden from the woman who walks Life’s path with him. But -sometimes she is haunted by a dreadful Doubt, and at all times he is -bestridden by an overwhelming Certainty. - - - - -A FAT GIRL’S LOVE STORY - -IN THREE PARTS - - -I - -The first thing I remember being told is that I was a Parksop, and the -second that it was worth while living, if only to have that name. Some -years after, it dawned upon me that we had got very little else. - -Father was a landed proprietor upon a reduced scale, and a parent on a -large one. There were twelve of us, counting Prenderby, who had passed -into the Army a few years previously, and passed out of it later on -at the unanimous request of his superior officers. Father cut him off -with a shilling--which he forgot to send him--and sternly forbade him -to bear the name of Parksop any more. He has done well since, and -attributes his rise in life entirely to that deprivation. Nobody ever -writes to Prenderby except Charlotte. - -If an abnormally fat girl could possibly be the heroine of a romantic -love story, Charlotte--“Podge,” as she has been nicknamed ever since I -can remember--would stand in that relation to this narrative. But, you -know, such a thing isn’t possible. If it had been, Belle, who comes -in between Podge and Prenderby, and is the acknowledged beauty of the -family, having all the hereditary Parksop points besides several of her -own, nobody would have wondered. - -How did the story begin? With Roderick and me--coming home to spend a -vacation. It was likely to be a pretty long one, for the Head of the -School had behaved in a most ungentlemanly way, showing absolutely -crass insensibility, as father said, to the advantage of having one of -the best names in England on his school list, while it remained written -at the bottom of a check for fifty-nine pounds, odd shillings, and -half-pence, marked by a groveling-spirited bank cashier “No Assets.” - -You may guess Roddy and me didn’t grumble much--the Parksops have never -been strong in grammar and orthography, so I’m not going to apologize -for a slip here and there--didn’t grumble much at hearing that we were -to stay at home for the present, and be “brought on” by the curate in -Euclid and Latin and Greek, and all the rest of the rot. He wouldn’t -strike for wages, father knew, because for one thing he was very modest -and shy, and for another he was spoons on Belle. If he wasn’t, why was -he always glaring at our pew in church? And for the same reason we -shouldn’t be overworked--a thing the most reckless boys acknowledge -to be bad for them. So the morning after our return we went down to -breakfast feeling as jolly as could be. - -Father shook hands with us in his lofty way. We could see that he was -deeply indignant with the Head from the way in which his aquiline -nose hooked itself when we gave him a letter we’d brought with us. We -almost wished we had torn it up, because, having made up our minds to -go fishing that morning, we had meant to ask him for the key of the -old boat house by the pond, where the punt was kept, which key, with a -disregard of opportunity quite unnatural, as Roddy said--in a man with -so large a family--he always kept hidden away. - -Belle gave us two fingers to shake and her ear to kiss, and the others, -as many as were allowed to breakfast with the elders, crowded round, -and then Podge came bouncing in and hugged us for everybody. We didn’t -care about the hugging, because it was such a smothering business, like -sinking into a sea of eiderdown, Roddy used to say, who was imaginative -for a Parksop. And here, as it’s usual to describe a heroine--though I -don’t acknowledge her for one, you know--it would be best to describe -Podge a little. - -It describes her kind of temper pretty well to say that she didn’t -mind being called Podge--even before strangers. The name describes her -exactly. You couldn’t tone it down and call her plump; she was simply -one of the fattest girls you ever saw. Her large face was rosy, and -usually beamed, as people say in books, with smiles and good temper. -Her hair was black, and done up in the way that took the least time, -and her eyes were black and bright, and would have been big if her face -had been a little less moonlike. She had little dumpy hands and little -dumpy feet, rather pretty--in fact, the only family landmarks, as Belle -said, that had not been effaced by the rising tide of fat. In a regular -story there is always something about the heroine’s waist: not that I -give in to Podge being--you know! I suppose she had a waist; at least, -it was possible to tell where her frock bodies left off and her skirts -began--then. It isn’t now! The frocks were always old, because whenever -Podge had a new one she gave it to Belle, and you couldn’t deny that -Belle did them more justice. Then, she had a nice kind of voice, -though the Parksop drawl had been left out of it, and I think that’s -all--except that, considering her beam, she moved about lightly, and -that she always sat down like a collapsing feather bed and got up like -an expanding balloon. - -Breakfast didn’t make the school commons look very foolish. There -wasn’t much difference, except that the coffee wasn’t so groundy. -Father had his little dish of something special--kidneys, this -time--and Roddy, sitting at his right hand--we were treated as guests -the first day at home--dived in under his elbow when he was deep in -his coffee cup and harpooned half a one. Of course, he had to bolt it -before father came to the surface, and Podge was dreadfully anxious, -seeing him so purple in the face, lest he should choke. - -I did as well as I could with my rasher of bacon and hers, and I -remember her whispering to me, just before Nuddles came in with the -Squire’s card, that the housekeeping money had been lately more limited -than ever. And as I looked across the table, out at the window, and -over the green, rolling Surrey landscape--all Parksop property in our -ancestors’ times--and remembered that such a small slice of it was -left to be divided between such a lot of us, it did occur to me that -it would have been better if they--meaning the ancestors--had been a -little less Parksopian in the way of not being able to keep what they -had got. Then Nuddles, the butler, came in with Squire Braddlebury’s -card, and the curtain drew up--we had had a performance of one of the -plays of Terence that very half year, and I had done the part of a dumb -slave to everybody’s admiration--and the curtain drew up on what would -have been “Podge’s Romance,” if Podge had only been thinner. - - -II - -Father broke up the breakfast party with getting up and going out. -As a rule nobody dared push back his or her chair until _he_ had -finished, and when he took it into his head to read one of the leaders -in the _Times_ aloud to us, we had to make up our minds to spend the -afternoon. But as a rule he went to the library as soon as he’d done, -and worked until lunch. He usually worked leaning back in his armchair, -with his feet on a footstool, and a silk handkerchief thrown over his -head. He went to the library now, to meet the Squire, whose gruff -“Good-morning” Roddy and I heard as father opened the door. He didn’t -quite shut it afterward, and as Roddy and I stood by the hall table, -carefully sewing up the sleeves of the Squire’s covert coat--for Podge -had given us each a neat pocket needle-and-thread case, to teach us to -be tidy, she said, and a taste for practical joking isn’t incompatible -with lofty lineage--we couldn’t help hearing some of the conversation. - -It was most of it on the Squire’s side, and the words “title deeds,” -“unentailed,” and “mortgage” occurred over and over again. Then -“unpaid,” “due notice,” “neglected,” and, finally, “foreclosure.” -Perhaps it was father’s giving a hollow groan at this, and being -seen by me through the crack of the library door to tear his hair, -beautifully white, without tearing any of it out, that made me listen. -At any rate, I left Roddy busy with the coat, and--any other boy, even -a Parksop by birth, would have done as much under the circumstances. - -Well, I made out that Squire Braddlebury had got father on toast. It -became quite plain to me, boy as I was, that he could, whenever he -chose, strip us of the last remaining hundreds of our old acres, and -send us, generally, packing to Old Gooseberry--with a word. Then he -asked father why he thought he didn’t say the word then and there? and -father said something about respect for ancient title and hereditary -something or other; and Squire Braddlebury, who had made his vulgar -money in trade, said ancient title and hereditary something or other -might be dee’d. And then---- - -“I’ll tell you why, Parksop,” he blustered. “It’s because of your -girl! When you came to me for money to waste on your gobbling, selfish -old self, caring, not you, not one snap whether your family went bare -for the rest o’ their lives, so long as you got what you wanted for -the rest of yours, I lent you the cash on your title deeds, signed by -Edward Plantagenet--and more fool he to waste good land on you! I lent -you the cash, I say, because I knew you’d not come up to the mark when -pay day came, and I wanted your girl. What’s that you say? Belle! Not -if I know it! Sandy hair and aquiline profiles don’t agree with me. -I mean Miss Charlotte. She’s a fine, full figure of a woman; she’s a -good ’un, too! Don’t I know how she keeps your house a-going? Don’t I -know how she makes and mends, plans and contrives, teaches the children -when your foreign governesses take French leave, because they can’t get -their wages out of you, Parksop, and does the Lord knows what besides! -I shouldn’t have spoken so soon, but another fellow’s got his eye on -her--Noel, the parson--you know who I mean. I believe they’re secretly -engaged, or something.” - -“Gracious Heavens!” cried father. - -“If they are,” growled the Squire, “it don’t matter. We’ll soon put the -curate to the right-about, and on the day I take her to church you’ll -get your title deeds back. You’re reasonable, I see. It’s a bargain. -So go and fetch her, Parksop; go and fetch her.” - -There was a scroop and shriek of overstrained springs and tortured -leather. The Squire had thrown himself into father’s armchair. I had -only time to drag Roddy behind the green baize door that shuts off the -servants’ wing from the rest of the house, when father came out of the -library. - - -III - -The whole house was topsy-turvy. The secret of the mortgage was out, -for one thing. Everybody knew that the Squire had proposed to Podge, -that Podge had said “No” to him, in spite of father’s dignified -commands, and that the Squire had rushed out of the house, foaming at -the mouth, with his coat half on and half off, stormed his way round to -the stables, where he saddled his horse himself, and galloped homeward, -scattering objurgations, threats, and imprecations right and left. - -“Stuck-up paupers! Make Parksop know better! Sell ’em up, stick and -stone! Prefer d--d curate to me, Thomas Braddlebury! Fool! Must be -crazy!” - -Roddy and I and everybody else agreed with him, except Podge. She was -regularly downright obstinate. She had given in to all of us all her -life, and now, just when her giving in meant so much, she wouldn’t. -What was the good of beginning, we asked, if she didn’t intend to go -on? We were very severe with her, because she deserved it. Falling -in love at her size--like a milkmaid--and with an elderly curate--an -old-young man, with shabby clothes and a stoop! Belle had put up with -his staring at our pew when he read the Litany on Sundays, but now -that she was quite sure he hadn’t been doing it because of her, she -regarded it as an unpardonable insult. She stirred up father to write -to the Rector demanding Mr. Noel’s instant dismissal, and the Rector -sent back an old, unsettled claim for tithe money, and referred father -to the Bishop of the diocese. - -Meanwhile, Podge was the victim of love. It was really funny. She cried -quarts at night, according to Belle. Her red nose and swollen eyes made -her funnier still. And old Noel stooped more going about his parish -work. He was a gentleman--that was one thing to be said for him--and if -two perfectly healthy lives had not stood between him and the title, -he’d have been a baronet, with a rent roll worth having, the Rector’s -wife said. - -They say dropping wears away a stone. We dropped on Podge from morning -till night, and she gave in at last. She put on her hat and trotted -down to the Rectory--waddled would be the best word. She saw Noel, and -had it out _vivâ voce_. She’d tried to do it by letter--Belle found a -torn-up note of dismissal in her room, beginning “My lost Darling.” We -yelled over the notion of old Noel being Podge’s lost darling; almost -before we’d done yelling she was back again, and had smothered the -little ones all round, and gone to the library with a flag of truce--a -wet pocket handkerchief--to announce the capitulation to father. She -spoke to me afterward, looked appealing, as if she wanted to be praised -for doing a simple thing like that for her family! I didn’t praise her, -and Roddy gave her even less encouragement. - -The Squire was sent for by special messenger, and came without -hurrying. He said he was glad she’d come to her senses and showed a -proper appreciation of the gifts Providence had placed within her -reach. He brought a diamond engagement ring, which wouldn’t go on the -proper finger. We laughed again at that; we were always laughing in -those days. And he gave father one of the title deeds back, and stayed -to dinner, and had a little music in the drawing-room afterward, and -kissed Podge when he went away, at which Roddy and I and Belle nearly -went into convulsions, and in a little time the wedding day was fixed. - -As it came near, Podge didn’t get any thinner. She ate her dinner just -as usual, and smothered the children a good deal. She was to have half -a dozen or so of them to live with her; she stipulated for that, and -the Squire grinned and scowled and said, “All right, for the present!” -He turned out to be quite generous, and tipped us sovereigns and Belle -jewelry and new frocks, and she said every time she tried them on -that she had quite come to regard him as a relative. Everybody had -except Podge, and I dare say if you’d asked her she’d have said she -was the person whose opinion mattered most. You never know how selfish -unselfish people can be till they’re tried! It’s true the Squire was -awfully ugly and as rough as a bear, and a little too fond of drinks -that made his temper uncertain and his legs unsteady. But he had done a -great deal for the family, and women can’t expect us men to be angels. - -Podge was a little too quiet as the wedding drew near. You know, -there’s no fun in pinning a cockchafer that doesn’t spin round lively. -The presents came in and the invitations went out, the breakfast was -planned, the cake came from London, with heaps of other things; but she -kept quiet. The night before the wedding it rained. Somebody wanted her -for one of the thousand things people were always wanting her for, and -she couldn’t be found. She stayed out so long that father sent word -to the stablemen and gardeners to take torches and drag the pond. Of -course, he was anxious, for you can’t have a wedding without a bride. -But why the pond? A thin girl might have tried that without seeming -ridiculous, but not a fat one, and Podge couldn’t have sunk if she’d -tried! She came in at last among us, looking very queer, and wet to the -skin, with only a thin cloak on over her evening dress. She said she’d -been to the churchyard, to mother’s grave, praying that we might be -forgiven. She laughed the next moment, catching a glimpse of her own -droll figure in the drawing-room glass. - -Next day was the wedding day. Everybody had new clothes, and the -bridesmaids’ lockets had the initials of Podge and the Squire, “C” and -“R,” in diamonds. Roddy and I had pins to match--Hunt and Roskell’s. I -forget how many yards of white satin went into Podge’s wedding gown, -but it measured thirty-eight inches round the waist--no larks. She -cried all the way going to church, so that father was nearly washed out -of the brougham. - -How did the wedding go off? It never came off at all! There were the -county people in the smart clothes they’d taken the shine off in -London; there were the school children, with washed faces and clean -pinafores, and baskets of rose leaves all ready to strew on the path of -the happy pair. There were the decorations, palms and lilies, as if the -occasion had been a kind of martyr’s festival; and there was the Bishop -at the altar rails, with the Rector, waiting to tie the knot; and the -Squire, in a blue frock-coat, buff waistcoat, and shepherd’s plaid -trousers, with a whole magnolia in his buttonhole, waiting for Podge. - -Father tried to lead her up the aisle, but it was too narrow, so he -walked behind. Just as she put her foot on the chancel step, out comes -old Noel out of the vestry, to everybody’s surprise, looking flushed -and excited. He said something I didn’t hear, and then Podge calls -out, “Oh, I can’t! Have mercy!” or something like that, and surged down -with a flop, like the sound a big wave makes dashing into a cave’s -mouth, on the red and white tiles. Old Noel ran to lift her up, but -couldn’t do it. The Squire called out, “D---- you! Let my wife alone!” -And the Bishop rebuked him for swearing in a sacred edifice. Then -father and the Squire and old Noel hoisted Podge up--for two of ’em -weren’t strong enough--and tottered with her into the vestry. - -What happened? I got in, and so I know all about it. We sprinkled -Podge with water, and set fire to a feather duster and held it under -her nose, and she came to, with her hair down, and her wreath and veil -hanging by one hairpin. And old Noel bent over her, and said, “Dearest -Charlotte, there is no need for the sacrifice now!” And he pulled a -newspaper out of his pocket and handed it to father, who said, “What! -what! how dare you, man?” and then dropped his eye on a paragraph -marked in red ink, and said in the best Parksop manner, “I really beg -your pardon, Sir Clement! Your uncle and his son both drowned yachting -in the Mediterranean? Most deplorable! but really affords you no excuse -for--ah--interrupting a solemn ceremony in so extraordinary a manner.” -And then he and old--I mean Sir Clement Noel--had a few confidential -words in a corner, and I heard old--I mean the Baronet--say, “On my -word and honor, a sacred pledge!” And father astounded everybody by -turning on the Squire, and telling him in the most gentlemanly way to -go about his business, which he did, swearing awfully, while Podge was -crying for joy, and Sir Noel comforting her with his arm round her -waist--I mean as far as it would go. - -That happened three years ago, and Podge and Sir Clement Noel have -been married three years all but a week. We all live with Podge and -her husband--I don’t think they’ve ever been alone together for a day -since their honeymoon. Father is very fond of Charlotte now, and says -the baby is a real Parksop. That always makes Sir Clement Noel wild--I -can’t think why. - -I’ve often thought since, after seeing what they call a domestic drama, -that what happened to Podge and Noel might have happened to the hero -and heroine of one. Only, a hero never has gray hair and a stoop, and -there never yet was a heroine who measured as much as thirty-eight -inches round the waist. It’s impossible! - - - - -IN THE FOURTH DIMENSION - - -The balloon ascended from the Chiswick Gasworks at twelve-thirty, amid -the thin cheers of an outer fringe of Works _employés_ and an inner -circle composed of members of the Imperial Air Club, who had motored -down expressly for the start. It was by courtesy a summer day, a June -gale having blown itself out over night, a June frost having nipped -vegetation over morn. Now there was not a breath of wind, and the -sky vault arching over London and the suburbs was of purplish-gray, -through which a broad ray of white-hot sunshine pierced slantingly with -weird effect as the order “Hands off!” was given, and the _Beata_, -of forty-five thousand cubic feet, owner Captain the Honorable H. -Maudslay-Berrish, of the I. A. C., soared rapidly upward. - -Hitherto Maudslay-Berrish, occupied with the thousand cares devolving -on the aeronaut, had not looked directly at either of his traveling -companions. These were his wife’s friend and his wife. We all remember -the sumptuous Miss Fennis, of the Hyperion and other West End comedy -theaters. Many of the masculine readers of this truthful record -have laid offerings of hot-house flowers, jewelry, sweetmeats, and -settlements, at those high-arched insteps in their pre-nuptial days, -and not all have had cause to mourn the rejection of the same. But -Maudslay-Berrish, son of a philanthropic Nonconformist peer, to whom -the theater is the antechamber to the Pit, married her, and, as too -far south is north, the men of his set thenceforth tacked on “Poor -chap!” or “Poor beggar!” to the mention of his name, when another stage -triumph of his gifted wife, who did not resign her profession, was -recorded in the newspapers. - -The friend of Mrs. Maudslay-Berrish, whom we may know as “Teddy,” -gasped one or two private gasps as the _Beata_ shot up to an altitude -of three thousand feet, and Chiswick Gasworks fell away underneath -her into a tinted relief map of West London, and then was buried -under a sea of swirling dun-gray vapors. The hoot of a motor-car--the -needle-sharp screech of a railway locomotive--were the last sounds -to reach the ears of the _Beata’s_ three passengers. Then the sounds -of Earth sank into the silence of Eternity. And the soul of Mrs. -Maudslay-Berrish’s friend felt very thin and small, knowing itself -adrift upon that tideless sea. The wicker car seemed also small--small -to unsafeness--and the ropes as frail as the strands of a spider web. -Cautiously Teddy put forth his immaculately gloved hand and touched -one. Madness, to have trusted limb and life to things like these. -Madness, to have left the good solid ground, where there were clubs -and comfort and other men to keep you from feeling alone--for Teddy -realized with vivid clearness that in this particular moment and at -this particular point Mrs. Maudslay-Berrish counted for nothing. He -even forgot to look to see if she was there. But she was there, and -looking at him across her husband’s back. For Maudslay-Berrish was in -the middle of the oblong basket, and he was leaning over, peering down -into the swirling gray sea below, his folded arms upon the wicker car -edge, his chin upon them. - -As matter of fact, he did not wish his wife and her friend to see how -heartily he was laughing. When you have set a trap for two beings whom -you hate with an intensity beyond all the range of human expression, -and waited patiently for years--it had taken him, Maudslay-Berrish, -just three years to qualify as a member of the Air Club--to see them -fall into it, you laugh when it happens. And if they chance to see your -face while you are doing it, it makes them feel uncomfortable.... And -when they know!... The purple veins swelled upon his narrow forehead -under the leather peak of his Club cap. His muscles cracked, his -shoulders heaved with that hidden, terrible, convulsive laughter. - -“Harwood,” cried his wife, her strong voice ringing loud in the thin, -untainted air, “what is the matter? Is anything wrong?” - -“The balloon is not leaking, the valve is in proper order, there is -plenty of ballast on board, the car is sound, the ropes are new and -have been tested,” said Maudslay-Berrish. “There is scarcely a breath -of wind to move us, and yet something _is_ wrong. What are you trying -to ask me, Beryl ... whether we are in danger? At the risk of spoiling -your evident enjoyment of your first ascent, I answer ‘Yes!’” - -Then he straightened his bowed figure and turned so as to face the -wife who had betrayed him so often, and Teddy, her friend. She, Beryl, -looked at him with wild eyes set in a face suddenly grown sharp and -thin. She clenched her gloved left hand upon a rope of the car, and the -splitting of the glove back revealed her wedding ring and its keeper -of sparkling diamonds. At the sight of that consecrated symbol another -gust of mad laughter seized Maudslay-Berrish, and the tears poured down -his purple face, and he roared and roared again, until every fiber of -the car vibrated with his ugly merriment. - -“For God’s sake, Berrish, don’t laugh like that!” shrieked Teddy, -blue-white and gibbering. “Are you mad, or what?” - -“Were you sane, you infernal fool--you two infernal fools--when you -got into this car with the man whom you have outraged?” shrieked -Maudslay-Berrish. “Haven’t you dragged my good name in the mud, made -me a by-word and a laughing-stock, a mockery even to myself--even to -myself, in the last five years! Why, you d---- ----” (he called Mrs. -Maudslay-Berrish an unlovely name) “my very servants sneer at me, the -people at the theater grin when I come loafin’ round behind the scenes. -They’re quite aware of what I’ve swallowed without gaggin’. They know -I’ve lived on your money when I’d got through my own, quite fly as -to where most of it came from”--he pointed a shaking finger at the -stricken Teddy--“and as downy as you pleased. Teddy, old chap, I’ve -_called_ that blue-gilled funker there, and half a dozen like him. -Well, Teddy, old chap, say your prayers quick, for you’re going to die -suddenly!” - -The woman and her lover knew now what their late dupe and butt meant -to do. He had the ripping cord half-hitched about his left wrist--the -ripping cord, a sharp tug at which will, when a balloon is dangerously -dragged during a descent, take an entire panel out of the envelope -in two seconds, immediately deflating the bag. And in his right hand -Maudslay-Berrish manipulated a neat little revolver. - -Certainly he played the star part in the drama, and held the audience -breathless. Half of the audience, that is, for Teddy, old chap, was at -his prayers. Down on his knees at the bottom of the car, his gloved -hands rigidly clasped, his handsome, weak face turned up to the -sustaining ball of gas that hovered in its imprisoning net above, -between him and the Illimitable Void, he cowered and slavered. In -pleading for Heaven’s mercy upon a miserable sinner, he set forth -that his Eve had tempted him; he asked for time to make up, another -chance, a year, six months, a week only of sweet life. Hearing him, Eve -herself grew sick with contempt of his infinite littleness, and even -Maudslay-Berrish half turned away his eyes. - -“Why don’t _you_ pray?” he said, sneeringly, to his wife. “Why don’t -_you_ grovel like that thing you have kissed?” - -Miss Fennis, of the Hyperion, would have held an audience mute and -breathless by the quiet scorn conveyed in Mrs. Maudslay-Berrish’s look -and tone. - -“I dare say when you have done what you are going to do, I shall wake -up in Hell,” she said; “and I believe I shall have earned it!” - -Teddy, still spinning out the smeared records of his Past, was now -prostrate and bathed in tears. - -“If I doubted the existence of such a place before, I do not now. For I -have loved that man”--she bit her white underlip sharply--“and I have -seen and heard him. Henceforth there can be nothing worse to bear, here -or hereafter. Why do you delay? Pull the cord and have done with it, or -I shall say _you_ are afraid!” - - * * * * * - -The _Beata_ came sailing gently down upon a delightful green expanse -of turf at Aldershot--the tennis ground, in fact, of a dandy Cavalry -Regiment. The anchor dropped and caught in a pollard oak; a dozen -delightfully pink lieutenants in correct flannels assisted the -handsome Miss Fennis, of the West End theaters, to alight from the -basket. Maudslay-Berrish, calm and imperturbable as usual, followed. -In the midst of congratulations and offers of luncheon, a lieutenant -exclaimed: - -“Great Scott! Why didn’t you say you’d another passenger in the car? -Here’s a man lying in a dead faint at the bottom of it!” - -And they brought out Teddy, very white and limp, and gave him brandy. - -“Heart weak, what?” said the lieutenant who had exclaimed. - -“He has certainly had some--cardiac trouble,” returned Maudslay-Berrish -placidly; “but I think he will be less liable to the--ahem!--the -weakness after this little trip of ours together in the Fourth -Dimension.” - -And he smiled as he lighted a very large cigar. - - - - -THE GEWGAW - - -The iron doors of the auction-room were closed tightly as the valves -of an oyster shell; the forward rush of a smartly attired throng -awaited their rolling back in the polished steel grooves. It was -to be a woman’s field day; the contents of a notable jewel casket -were to be dispersed under the hammer. And the _bonne-mouche_ of the -occasion--a superb blue diamond of sixty-five carats, a gem worthy to -rank among the historic stones of the world, fit to be counted among -the treasures of a Sultan or to blaze upon the bosom of an Empress--was -discussed by watering mouths. Some of them were old and some of them -were young, but all were tinted with the newest shade in lip bloom, -and all wore the same expression of almost sensual desire. Paradise -plumes fought together as wonderfully hatted heads bent and swayed -and nodded in animated discussion. The stone had brought a hundred -thousand louis and the Grand Monarque’s own patent of nobility to the -Portuguese adventurer who had stolen it from a Hindu temple midway -in the seventeenth century. It had gleamed between the wicked, white -breasts of the Duchesse de Berry, the shameless daughter of the Régent -d’Orleans, at that final supper on the Terrace of Meudon. It had been -seized by the Revolutionists in the stormy days of 1792, and had -mysteriously vanished from the Garde Meuble, to reappear in the taloned -clutches of a London money lender and gem dealer, notorious as a rogue -among the spendthrift fine gentlemen of White’s and Crockford’s. And -it had been bought by a big banker, and bid for by a Tsar, and sold to -a great Tory nobleman, and left as an heirloom, and given to an Italian -opera singer, and got back by arbitration and made a ward in Chancery, -and sold in Paris by sanction of the Court; and now the woman who had -bought and owned and worn it--sometimes as the swinging central stone -of a tiara, at other times as the pendant to a matchless collar of -black pearls--was dead, and Briscoe’s famous auction-room, which is the -chief clearing-place of the world, was about to witness a new record in -progressive bidding. - -The live women who had known and envied the dead owner of the blue -diamond clustered thick about the iron doors, and loaded the atmosphere -of the crowded place with their perfumes, and chattered like the -inmates of the parrot house at the Zoological Gardens. Not one of them -but would have given her soul in exchange for even a lesser jewel if -Satan had appeared at her elbow and suggested the exchange. He did -come to one of them. She was a pretty woman, still almost young; she -was beautifully dressed in painted silken muslin, and wore a whole -king bird of Paradise in her Paris hat. The bronze-gold wires of -the wonderful tail, tipped with vivid emerald at the ends, curved -and sprang about the wearer’s well-waved and well-dressed head like -living snakes of incredible slenderness. The rich red plumage of the -dead creature’s head and throat gleamed like rubies; the delicate -feather tufts that sprang from beneath the wings quivered with her -every movement; the orange bill held a seed, cunningly placed; the -cobalt-blue legs were perched upon a rose stem. To insure such -beauty in the plumage the skin must be torn from the living bird. -Any woman might be happy in possessing such a hat; but this one was -miserable.... She wanted the big blue diamond.... And this urbane, -polished person, elegantly attired, had told her that, if she chose, it -might be hers in exchange for a possession only half believed in--to -wit, the woman’s soul--disposed of to a personage held, until that -psychological moment, to be non-existent. - -This was not the devil of St. Dunstan, with horns and a tail, or -the cloaked and ribald wine seller of St. Anthony, or the lubberly -fiend of Luther, or the clawed and scaly tempter of Bunyan. Nor -did this personage bear the least resemblance to the swaggering, -scarlet-and-black, sinister Mephistopheles of Goethe, as represented -by the late Sir Henry Irving--upon whom be the Peace of Heaven!--but -the woman entertained no doubt that it was the very devil himself. In -this urbane and polished gentleman in the light gray, tight-waisted -frock-coat and trousers of Bond Street cut, from beneath whose snowy, -polished double collar flowed a voluminous cascade of pearl-colored -cravat pinned with a small but perfect pigeon’s-blood ruby; whose lapel -bore a mauve orchid, whose immaculate white spats, perfectly polished -patent boots, slender watch-chain, jade-headed walking stick, and pale -buff gloves, betokened the most studied refinement and the most elegant -taste, the daughter of Eve recognized the hereditary enemy of the Human -Race. - -She did not scream or turn ghastly with mortal fear; her Crême Magnolia -and Rose Ninon were quite too thick for that. But her heart gave a -sickening jolt, and fear immeasurable paralyzed her faculties, and her -veins ran liquid ice--or was it liquid fire?--and for one swooning -instant, under the regard of those intolerably mocking, unspeakably -hateful eyes, the life in her seemed to dwindle to a mere pin’s point -of consciousness. But she revived and rallied, and the terror passed. - -“Come!” he said, “you do not fear me--we have been friends too long; -and to me, who know the world so well, and to you, who know it and are -of it, there is nothing so undesirable as to create a scene.” His voice -was polished, gracious. It caressed like the touch of velvet, even if -it crisped the nerves as velvet does. “You know me.... I know you, and -how your heart is set upon this jewel that is to be sold to-day. Rest -easy! Though you have with you in that gold chain purse-bag notes for -fifteen thousand pounds, ten thousand of it raised by what rigorous -moralists ... those unpleasant persons! ... might call unlawful -means....” - -“Hush!” she cried, trembling, unable to remove her eyes from that -face--long, oval, benevolent--with wide, arched brows and features -exquisitely regular, framed in long waving hair--dark auburn mingled -with gray--which fell nearly to his collar and mingled with a curling -beard of natural growth. She trembled as the thought shot through her -that it caricatured a Face that hung, pictured with a Crown of Thorns, -above the cot in her child-daughter’s nursery; and her thought was -mirrored in those intolerable eyes, and the sculpturesque lips smiled -in impious mockery. - -“Ah, yes! It seems to you I bear some likeness to--shall I say a -distant--or an estranged Friend of yours.... But I have many other -faces, and you have ... other friends. Do not be afraid, or waste time -in denying, the money is only borrowed; you are your young daughter’s -mother, as well as trustee and executor under her father’s will.... -And, surely, you may borrow the ten thousand pounds at a pinch for -an investment? Besides, you will put it back before any unpleasant -inquiries are made by your fellow-guardian and co-trustee. The manager -of the Bank was quite deceived by the second signature upon the deed of -withdrawal, so admirably counterfeited, so.... No, no, I do not wish -to alarm you! Be quite at ease upon this matter, really so innocent -and easily explained away. But with regard to your project of buying -the Blue Diamond--you have no chance of carrying out your plan, not -the faintest. Between those sedate persons already assembled by high -privilege behind these shut iron doors an understanding has already -been arrived at. The Diamond will be put up to public auction and -actively bid for, it is true; but the Diamond is already bought and -sold.” His tone was of the gentlest sympathy, but the mockery in his -glance and the gibing irony of his dreadful smile were to the baffled -woman like white-hot irons laid upon a bleeding wound. “Mr. Ulysses -Wanklyn, whose great duel with Mr. Cupid Bose at the De Lirecourt sale -over that Régence commode of marqueterie thrilled all London, will be -the winner of the treasure at ninety-four thousand guineas. Paragraphs -in the afternoon papers--most excellent publications I find them, and -supremely useful--will refer to the coup as ‘the climax of screeching -finance,’ and ‘the hall-mark on an enhanced standard of jewel-values.’ -And Messrs. Moreen and Blant, who will retire, ostensibly beaten, from -the field after a bid of eighty-eight thousand, will be condoled with -by writers who are quite aware that Wanklyn, Bose, Moreen, Blant, and -half a dozen others constitute the Blue Diamond Purchasing Syndicate, -capital ninety-four thousand guineas.” - -The wearer of the king bird of Paradise caught a sharp breath, and -bit her sensuous, scarlet-dyed underlip fiercely. Stung to desperate -courage by baffled desire and the thwarted jewel-lust that had robbed -even her child and made of her a forger, she even dared to question.... - -“If that is so,” she said, with angry, dark eyes and a -rebelliously-heaving bosom, “why did you whisper to me just now that I -could have the Diamond for my own if I gave you ... as the people do in -the old German legends ... my Soul in exchange for it?” - -He smiled, and caressed the strange, orchidaceous flower he wore with -perfectly-gloved fingers. - -“Have you not heard me called the Father of Lies ... the Arch-Deceiver?” - -Rage intolerable possessed and rent her. She said hoarsely, and in -tones unlike her own: - -“You can give me the Blue Diamond, and I will have it--_at your price_!” - -“You are really a woman of excellent sense,” he said--and she was -afraid to look because she knew how he was smiling. “Present good -for future gain!... Doubtless you will recall the quotation, but so -uncertain a futurity is well bartered for such a jewel as they have -in there. Think--you will snatch it from the great dealers--from the -private connoisseurs. You will hold and display and flaunt it in the -face of society. You will be beautiful--wearing it! You should be -envied, wearing it! You may be happy--doubtless you will be so! And -now, just as a mere form, prick your left wrist slightly with this -diamond-pointed pencil and inscribe your name upon a leaf of these -ebony tablets. First, though, be pleased to remove that ... ahem!... -miniature religious symbol from your golden chain. The Crucifix means -nothing to you--you do not even remove it when you draw your wedded -lover to your embrace--but I am an old-fashioned personage, and my -prejudice extends back over nineteen hundred years--to the reign of -Herod Antipas, and is practically unalterable. So ... thanks! That will -serve me excellently!” - -From the woman’s hand something fell with a golden tinkle to the -parqueted floor. A surge of the crowd drove her forward, her French -heel crushed what she had dropped. The diamond pencil pricked the -white wrist between the buttons of her dainty glove; she withdrew it, -a little scarlet bead glistening on the shining point, and hesitated, -only an instant, looking at the offered tablets of ebony and gold. - -“Come, sign!... It will be over in an instant, and, believe me, you -will feel far more comfortable afterward!” She remembered that her -dentist had employed the same phrases only a day or two before in -persuading her to consent to the removal of a decayed incisor. That -tooth’s successor--a perfect, polished example of human ivory--gleamed -as her lips drew back in a nervous laugh provoked by the absurdity of -the analogy. She scrawled her signature, and the promise was fulfilled. -She was calm--at ease--had no more worrying doubts and silly scruples. -He wore no indiscreet expression of proprietorship; his lips did -not even smile. And if there was mocking triumph in his eyes, his -discreetly dropped lids concealed it.... He bowed profoundly as he took -the ebony tablets, and then he lifted his gloved left hand and laid a -finger on the iron doors. And they rolled apart, revealing the great -safe with many patent locks, and the auctioneer at his desk, and the -clerk at his; and the chosen already in their seats, and the elaborate -preparations for the elaborate farce that was to be played, all ready. -A savage rage boiled up in her as she looked at the smug faces of the -secret Syndicate, actors well-versed in their separate parts. But the -pressure of the chattering, screaming, perfumed crowd behind her -carried her over the threshold, and her companion too. Packed tightly -as sardines in the confined space about the rostrum, Society waited -the great event. And a bunch of master-keys was produced by the senior -partner of Briscoe’s, and with much juggling of patent locks the -great safe gave up the big, square jewel-case containing the famous -collection, and a sibilant “_Ss’s!_” of indrawn breaths greeted the -lifting of its lid. - -“Do not look at me! Listen--and look at the jewels,” whispered the -smooth, caressing voice in the ear of the woman who had just signed -away her soul in exchange for the sensation of the day. And as a giant -commissionaire bearing pearl ropes and tiaras, bracelets and rings and -necklaces, nervously paraded up and down the central aisle left for his -convenience, and the chattering and screaming of the society cockatoos -redoubled, in envious admiration of each swaggering, glittering, -covetable gewgaw, the devil told the woman very plainly how the thing -was to be done. - -“The stone that I shall give you is an exact replica in a -newly-invented paste of the stone that is the price of what I have -bought from you. When the commissionaire brings round the Blue Diamond, -touch the jewel boldly--take it in your hand, as it is permissible to -do--and substitute the paste. Have no fear! I will undertake that the -act is undetected. Thenceforth wear your prize undismayed; boast of -it as you will. The one--the only--drawback to your perfect happiness -must be that society will believe your jewel to be false, while you -have the exquisite joy of knowing it to be genuine. So take _this_, -and act as I have counseled. Two hours to wait before you can dare to -escape with it, for the Blue Diamond will be the last lot of the day. -But what are two hours, even spent in a vitiated atmosphere, with -such a prize your own, hidden in your glove or in your hand? A mere -nothing! And here comes the commissionaire with the Diamond.... Only -an alumina in hexagonal arrangement crystallized in the cooling of -this planet you call ‘the World’ as arrogantly as though there were no -others, and yet how unique, how exquisite! See how the violet rays leap -from the facets, even the noblest sapphire looks cold and pale beside -the glorious gem. Murder has been committed for its shining sake over -and over again in ages of which your history has no cognizance. It has -purchased the faith of Emperors and the oaths of Kings. Rivers of blood -have flowed because of it. Peerless women have laid down their honor to -gain it. And it will be yours ... yours! Quick, the commissionaire is -coming. School your hand to steadiness; no need to hide your lust, for -all faces wear the same look here. Only be quick, and have no fear!” - -The eyes of the commissionaire were fastened upon the woman’s white, -ringed, well-manicured hand, as in its turn it lifted the Blue -Diamond--slightly set in platinum as a pendant--from its pale green -velvet bed. But yet she effected the exchange. The substituted paste -jewel was borne on--the paroquets and cockatoos chattered and screamed -as loudly over the false stone as they had over the real, which lay -snugly hidden in the thief’s fair bosom. The syndicate of dealers -played out their farce to its end, and Mr. Ulysses Wanklyn, to the -infinite chagrin of Mr. Cupid Bose, and the gnashing discomfiture of -Messrs. Moreen and Blant, secured the paste diamond at ninety-four -thousand pounds. And amidst cries and congratulations the day ended. -And the woman, with her price in her bosom, escaped into the open -air, and signaled to the chauffeur waiting with her motor-brougham -and drove home. Fear and triumph filled her. When would the theft be -discovered? How soon would voices in the streets begin to clamor of the -stolen gem? How should she who had stolen it ever dare to wear or to -vaunt it, with Scotland Yard--with the detective eyes of all the world -upon her? She had been befooled, duped, defrauded; she moaned as she -bit her lace handkerchief through.... She reached her dainty boudoir -just in time to have hysterics behind its locked and bolted doors. And -when she had quieted herself with ether and red lavender, she drew the -Blue Diamond from its hiding-place, and it gleamed in her palm with a -diabolical splendor, as though the stone were sentient, and knew what -it had cost. Could the great dealers be deceived--a probability quite -impossible--she would be at liberty to wear this joy, this glory, to -see its myriad splendors reflected in envious eyes. She kissed it as -she had never kissed her child or any of her lovers--with passion, -until its sharp facets cut her lips. And, as she kissed it, her quick -ears were alert to catch the shoutings of the newsmen in the streets. -But there were none. She dined in her boudoir, and slept, with the aid -of veronal; and in the morning’s newspaper there was not a wail, not a -word! She gave the king bird of Paradise hat to her maid--she was so -pleased, so thankful! The afternoon papers, and those of the next day -and the next, were dumb upon the subject of the daring theft of the big -Blue Diamond from Briscoe’s famous auction-room. She grew more and more -secure. And one never-to-be-forgotten night she put on a Paquin gown -and went to a great reception at a ducal house with the Blue Diamond as -pendant to her pearl-and-brilliant collar. She counted on the cockatoos -screeching, but they did not screech. The eyes that dwelt on the Blue -Diamond were astonished, surprised, covertly amused, contemptuous. - -“That is for luck, I suppose, dear?” cooed one of her intimate friends. -“I mean that large blue crystal you are wearing.... I bought some last -winter at a jeweler’s in the bazaar at Rangoon--they find them with -moonstones and olivines and those other things in the _débris_ at -the Ruby Mines, I understood. I must have mine mounted. By the way, -do you know that----” (she mentioned the name of a great financier -of cosmopolitan habits and international fame) “has bought the Blue -Diamond from Ulysses Wanklyn for a hundred and ten thousand pounds: -_She_”--her voice dropped a little as she referred to a lady upon -whom the great financier was reputed to have bestowed his plutocratic -affections--“will be here to-night. Probably she will wear it! They say -she was absolutely determined on his getting it for her, and so.... _À -porte basse, passant courbé_, especially when the circumstances are -pretty. _What_ do you say? You heard it had been discovered by the -dealers that the Blue Diamond had been found to be false ... a paste -imitation, or a cut crystal like that thing you are wearing? Oh, my -dear, how quite too frightfully absurd a _canard_! As though Ulysses -Wanklyn and Cupid Bose and Blant, and all the other connoisseurs, -could be deceived! What a very remarkable-looking man that is who is -bowing to you!... The graceful person with the Apostolic profile and -the beautiful silky beard”--and the intimate friend gave a little -shudder. “And the extraordinary eyes that give one a crispation of the -nerves?...” - -It was he--her Purchaser--moving suddenly toward her through the throng -of naked backs and bare bosoms. - -“I hope,” he said, and bowed and smiled, “that you are satisfied -with the result of our ... negotiations the other day?” Then, as the -fashionable crowd parted and the Great Financier walked through the -rooms, his imperious mistress upon his arm, her husband looking amiable -behind them, he added, indicating the swinging central pendant of the -lady’s superb diamond tiara, with a wave of a slender white-gloved -hand, “My substitute was convincing, you think; you suppose it has -deceived even the experts? Not in the least--the substitution of the -paste stone for the Blue Diamond was discovered as soon as the public -had quitted the auction-room. But Messrs. Wanklyn and Bose and my other -very good friends who lay down the law in jewels as in other things, to -Society, agreed not to lose by the fraud. The paste has the _cachet_ of -their approval, and has been sold for a great sum. ‘What water!’ the -world is crying. ‘What luster!’ ‘How superb a gem!’ While you, my poor -friend, who display upon your bosom the real stone, have merely been -credited with a meretricious taste for wearing Palais Royal jewelry. -Pardon! I have not deceived you--or not in the way you imagine.... I -said the Blue Diamond should be yours.... It is! I said you should be -envied; you should, certainly. It is a thousand pities you are only -sneered at. I said you might be happy.... It is most regrettable that -you do not find the happiness you looked for. _Au revoir_, dear lady, -_au revoir_!” - -She felt indisposed, and went home.... - - - - -THE NIGHT OF POWER - -IN TWO PARTS - - -I - -The Doctor, stepping softly forth from the sick-room, paused for a -brief confidential parley with the print-gowned, white-capped hospital -nurse, who had followed him. That functionary, gliding from his side, -evanished, with the falling of a curtain-sheet soaked in disinfectant -and the closing of a door, into the Blue-Beard chamber beyond, leaving -the man of medicine free to pursue his portly way downstairs. - -At the bottom of the second flight one of the hotel servants stopped -him with a respectful murmur and a salver with a card upon it; and the -Doctor, reading the name thereon by the help of a pair of gold-rimmed -glasses, inclined his neatly-shaved, gray-blue chin toward the mourning -diamond discreetly twinkling amid the billows of black satin that -rolled into the bosom of his capacious waistcoat, saying: - -“The wife of my patient upstairs? Certainly; I will see the lady at -once. Which way?” - -His responsible, square-toed, patent-leather boots had not much farther -to carry him. The lady and her maid were waiting in a sitting-room -upon the next landing. Under the fashionable physician’s heavy yellow -eyelids--livery eyelids, if one might dare to hint so--lay the faculty -of keen observation. He noticed, in the moment of recovery from a -justly-celebrated bow, that the maid was in tears, and the mistress was -not. - -He presupposed that he had the pleasure of addressing Mrs. Rosval. -Mrs. Rosval answered that he had. Then the maid uttered a sob like the -popping of a soda-water cork, and Mrs. Rosval said: - -“Matilda, be quiet!” - -She was a woman of supple figure and of medium height. She appeared -to be elegantly dressed, though no one garment that she wore asserted -itself as having been expensive. The eyes that looked at the Doctor -through her thick black veil struck him as being unnaturally brilliant. -This fact, together with the composure of her voice and manner, -confirmed him in the belief that the woman was in a highly-strung -condition of emotional excitement. He was mentally evolving a little -prescription--with bromide in it, to be taken every three hours--when -she lifted her hands and unpinned the veil. Then the Doctor looked in -the face of a woman who was as perfectly calm, cool, and composed as he -was himself. Even more so because the revelation rather surprised him. - -She addressed him in clear, quiet tones: - -“A telegraphic message was delivered to me this morning----” - -“At Mirkwood Park, near Bradford,” the Doctor unconsciously quoted -aloud from the card he still held between his plump white thumb and -forefinger. - -“It purported to come from the proprietor of this hotel. It said that -Mr.--that my husband was dangerously ill--that my presence was urgently -needed.” Mrs. Rosval’s lips--delicately chiseled lips, but totally -devoid of color--shaped themselves into something that might have been -a smile. And as the maid, who nursed a dressing-bag in the background, -at this juncture emitted a sniff, the mistress glanced again over her -shoulder, and said, with a slight accent of weariness or contempt, or -both together: “Really, Matilda, there is no need for that!” - -The irrefragable Doctor had gauged the shallow depths of the woman’s -nature by this time. She was merely a polished and singularly -adamantine specimen of the unfeeling wife. He allowed a tinge of rebuke -to color the tone of his explanation. - -“The proprietor acted upon my--ah--advice. The condition of my patient -may be truthfully described as--er--dangerous. The illness is--in -fact--typhoid fever. And your husband has it in a bad form. There are -complications which----” - -The Doctor stopped short. For Mrs. Rosval was not listening. She was -crumpling a piece of pinkish paper into a ball--probably the telegram -to which she had alluded--and pondering. Then she leveled those -strangely brilliant, narrow-lidded eyes of hers point-blank at the -Doctor, and asked: “Am I to understand that Mr. Rosval has nothing to -do with--my being sent for?” - -The Doctor conveyed the information that Mr. Rosval had not prompted -the step. Mr. Rosval had been--since the third day following on -the--ah--development of the illness--ringing the changes between -delirium and--ah--coma. For--as the Doctor had already said--there were -complications---- - -Mrs. Rosval neatly stopped the ball, for the second time. - -“How did you know, if _he_ did not tell you, that there was a Mrs. -Rosval? How did you get at my address?” - -The Doctor, swelling with the indignity of being supposed to have -got at anybody’s address, explained that the proprietor of the hotel, -having some faint inkling that Mr. Rosval belonged to the class of -landed gentleman, had looked up the name in _Burke_. - -The sharp suspicion faded out of Mrs. Rosval’s eyes as she listened. -It was a perfectly credible, perfectly simple explanation. She tossed -the crumpled telegram into the fire--which devoured it at a gulp--and -began to pull off her gloves. That was her way of intimating that she -accepted the situation. Then she rang the bell. The decorous waiter -appeared, and she gave the man a quiet order, handing him some loose -silver and a slip of paper, upon which she had penciled a few words. - -“A cab is waiting at the door. Pay the driver and send him away. A -person who is--not quite a gentleman--is waiting in the vestibule. Say -to him that Mrs. Rosval is satisfied, and there is no need to wait. -Give him that paper at the same moment, or he will not believe you!” As -the waiter vanished she turned to the Doctor with the faintest flicker -of a smile upon her sensitive pale lips. “I thought it wisest to keep -the cab, in case I required to leave this place hurriedly,” said Mrs. -Rosval. “The man waiting downstairs is a detective from a well-known -Agency. I judged it best to enlist his services--he would have proved -useful supposing this business of the telegram to have been a Trap.” - -The Doctor spread his large white hands, danglingly, like a seal’s -flappers. - -“A trap?” he repeated, helplessly. “My dear madam! You suspected that -some designing person or persons unknown might--possibly use your -husband’s name, invent a story of his illness as a ruse to--entrap you?” - -“I suspected,” returned Mrs. Rosval, “no unknown person. The inventor -of the ruse would have been my husband. We separated some years ago -by mutual consent. At least, I refused to live with him any longer, -and he--knowing what grounds I had for the refusal--was obliged to -submit. But he resented my action in the matter.” Mrs. Rosval raised -her delicate dark eyebrows with weary disdain, and imparted to her -shoulders a mute eloquence of contempt which is not the prerogative of -an English-bred woman. “And he has, more than once, had recourse to -what, for want of a better word, I call Traps. That is all. Matilda,” -she addressed the tearful maid, “dry your eyes and tell the people -downstairs that I engage this suite of rooms. Two bedrooms, a bathroom, -and sitting-room at ten guineas a week, I think they said? Horribly -expensive, but it cannot be helped. And now, Doctor”--she turned again -to the Doctor--“when do you wish me to see your patient? At once? It -shall be at once if you say so! I am completely in your hands!” - -The Doctor, a little staggered by the deftness of his patient’s wife -in transferring the onus of the situation from her shoulders to his -own, absolutely prohibited any suggestion of her entering the sick-room -until refreshed and rested. Mrs. Rosval acquiesced, with a repetition -of that compromising statement about being completely in his hands--and -the Doctor took his leave, promising to return later that evening. She -gave him her cool fingers, and they parted. He had no sooner reached -the door than she called him back. - -“I only wanted to ask---- Of course, you have a library. Does the -catalogue of your library include a file of the _Daily Telegraph_?” It -did, the Doctor admitted. File in question extending some twelve years -back. - -“Three will do,” said Mrs. Rosval, warming one slender arched foot -upon the fender. “Next time you are in want of a little light reading, -look in the Law Intelligence, Divorce Division, month of February, -1899, where you will find a case: ‘Ffrench _v._ Ffrench; Rosval cited.’ -The details will explain a good deal that may appear puzzling to you -with regard to the strained relations between Mr. Rosval and myself. -Though doctors never allow themselves to be puzzled, do they? _Au -revoir!_” - - -II - -The Doctor had had an unusually busy day of it. But he curtailed his -after-dinner nap in order to glance through the Law Intelligence -records of the month of February, 1899. There was much in the case to -which Mrs. Rosval had referred that went far toward justifying the -“strained relations” she had hinted at. And it is the duty of the -medical profession to rally at the war-cry of the outraged Proprieties. -But, when alone and unobserved, doctors have many points in common with -mere men. And as this Doctor stepped into his brougham he said, “Women -are very hard! In all human probability the man was innocent.” He said -again, “Women are hard!” as he creaked up the hotel staircase. - -He found her in the sick-room. She had changed her dress for something -that gave out no assertive silken rustle in answer to her movements, -something that draped the charming contour of her figure--she had -a charming figure--with soft, quiet folds, like the wings of a dun -hawkmoth. That fell composure still walled her in as with ramparts of -steel. She held the bed-curtain back as the Doctor stooped over the -livid, discolored face upon the pillow. She took a linen cloth from -the nurse, and deftly, lightly wiped away the froth and mucus that -had gathered about the cracked and bleeding lips. But the hand that -rendered these offices was as steady as though it had been carved out -of white marble. - -Disturbed from his lethargy by the invasion of candlelight upon his -haggard eyelids and the Doctor’s bass murmur in his ear, the sick man -began to talk a little. For the most part it was mere gabble, but some -sentences were plain. He moaned piteously for a barber, because he -was unshaven. Rosval had always been foolishly vain of his personal -appearance. And he damned the one glass of bad water, to the imbibition -of which he attributed his disease, promising, if he got well, never -to drink any more. To do him credit, he had never been addicted to -that particular form of liquid refreshment. The Doctor inferred as -much from his diagnosis--and from the faint sarcastic quiver of Mrs. -Rosval’s white lips. Then the tongue of the man ceased wagging--but -the burning head began to thresh to and fro upon the pillow, and the -claw-like hands to scratch at the bed-clothes in a fresh access of the -maddening enteric irritation. Alleviating measures proved as effective -as alleviating measures generally do prove; the head went on rolling, -and the crooked talons continued to tear. All at once they were quiet. -Mrs. Rosval had laid her hand upon the clammy forehead--about as -tenderly, to all appearance, as she would have laid it upon the back of -a chair. And the man was still. She placed the other hand beside the -first--the drawn lines about the nostrils relaxed, the clenched teeth -parted, the breast rose and fell with the indrawing and outgoing of a -sigh of relief. And the man slept. So soundly that she moved from him -presently, without disturbing him, and passed into the room adjoining, -where the Doctor and the nurse were holding a whispered confabulation. - -There would be no need to send in another professional attendant, the -nurse said, now that the patient’s wife had arrived. She possessed -a remarkable ability for nursing, and extraordinary self-command. -She shrank from nothing--not even the most repugnant duties of the -sick-chamber. The nurse had met in her time with ladies who took things -coolly; but this lady really surprised her. - -The Doctor was in the act of shaking his head--not from side to side, -but up and down--a gesture which expressed indulgent tolerance of the -nurse’s surprise while it repudiated the notion of his entertaining -any on his own account--when he jumped. For a calm, quiet voice at his -elbow said: - -“You told me that Mr. Rosval was dangerously ill. Is he dying?” - -The nurse had vanished into the carbolic-laden atmosphere of the -Chamber of Horrors. - -“My dear madam, your husband is in the Hands----” So the Doctor was -beginning, when the obvious inappropriateness of the stereotyped -formula stopped him short. Then he admitted that the condition of the -man in the other room was very precarious. That he could not, when not -in _articulo mortis_, be said to be dying--but that, toward the small -hours of the morning, he might attain to a pitch of prostration closely -allied to that condition. And that nothing could be done for him but -to give him milk and medicine regularly, and---- The Doctor would have -ended “and trust in Providence,” but for obvious reasons he thought -better of it. Then he went away, feeling quite certain in his own mind -that Mrs. Rosval would be a widow before twenty-four hours were over. - -That lady, meanwhile, returning to the sick-room, had persuaded the -fagged nurse to go and lie down. She understood how to do all that was -necessary, she whispered, and would call the attendant if any change -occurred. Then she sat down at the foot of the bed, and prepared to -keep her vigil with unshaken fortitude. The sleeping woman in the next -room breathed heavily, the sounds of rolling wheels and jarring voices -grew less and less--then all fell quiet. About three hours before the -dawn the sleeper awakened. The hollow eyes no longer turned on her with -the blind, glassy stare of delirium. There was reason in Rosval’s look, -and memory. - -He seemed to beckon, and she came near. She had to stoop to catch the -moaning whisper that asked: “How--did you--come here?” - -She answered steadily, “They sent for me.” - -“They’d not have--if _I_ had known!” Rosval gasped. - -“If I annoy you,” said Mrs. Rosval, with icy tolerance, “I can go!” She -turned, meaning to call the nurse; but a claw-like hand went weakly -out and caught at her skirts. The grasp was no stronger than that of a -newborn child, but, just for that it _was_ so feeble, it held her. - -“You’ll not go! Three years--you’ve treated me--like a leper! Never -would--listen to what I’d got to say. But now ... I--tell you, she--sat -on--my knee and--kissed me! Before I knew it--and then--the husband -came in! A plant, by Gad!” - -Mrs. Rosval said, “You must not talk. The Doctor says you are not to -talk,” and busied herself with the bottles and glasses that occupied a -little stand near the bedside. - -Rosval condemned the Doctor. Mrs. Rosval measured out his medicine, -raised his head with professional skill, and offered him the glass. He -clenched his teeth, and defied her with gaunt eyes across the brim. - -“No! No milk--no doctor’s stuff. I’ve been going to the devil--for -three years past,” proclaimed the sinner, feebly. “Why not go--at -once--and have done with it?” Then he fell back heavily on the pillow. - -Mrs. Rosval summoned the nurse. The nurse could do nothing. For the -moribund was obdurate, and every fresh manifestation of obduracy -drove not one, but half a gross of nails into his coffin. That casket -was fast progressing toward completion, when Mrs. Rosval conceived -a desperate idea. The execution of it cost her a severe struggle. -Stooping down, she whispered to the sinking man: - -“Jack!” - -His faded eyes rolled in their sunken sockets until they rested on her. -He said with difficulty: - -“Well?” - -“What will make you take it?” - -Something like a gleam of cunning came into the face. The answer came: - -“Kiss me!” - -She battled with herself for a moment silently, and then, bending -closer, touched his forehead with her lips. - -“That isn’t all! You must say: ‘_I forgive you!_’” - -“I can’t!” - -“All--right, then!” - -Silence ensued. The angles of the features were growing pinched and -sharp; a bluish shade was creeping about the mouth. She cast a glance -of scorn at her own reflection, caught in a mirror that hung against -the opposite wall, and said the words: - -“I forgive you! Isn’t that enough?” - -“Not quite. ‘_I love you--and----_’” - -The voice was getting very faint. - -“I love you--dear--and----” - -“And ‘_I take you back!_’” - -“I take you back.” Her iron fortitude was broken. She said it with a -sob, and gathered the weak head to her bosom, being the kind of woman -who does not do things by halves. - - * * * * * - -A month later the Doctor received a check. It was a handsome check, -enclosed with the thanks and compliments of Mr. and Mrs. Rosval, on -leaving London. - -“Carried him off with her into the country,” said the Doctor, tapping -his teeth with a paper-knife as he closed the volume of the _Daily -Telegraph_ which contained the case “Ffrench _v._ Ffrench; Rosval -cited.” “In other words, taken him back. And in all human probability -the man was guilty. Women are very weak!” - - - - -THE MAN WHO COULD MANAGE WOMEN - - -Or thought he could. Which comes to the same thing. His name was -Yethill, and he was a Junior Captain in the R. A. - -Yethill belonged to the New School; he was a specimen of the latest -military development of the age. By their smoked spectacles shall ye -know Yethill and his peers; by the right foot, which is broadened -by the lathe; by the right thumb, which is yellowed with acids and -sticky with collodion; by the hard-bitten, pragmatical, theoretical, -didactic way of treating all mysteries in heaven--a locality which -is interesting only in virtue of the opportunities afforded to trick -aviators--and earth, in which mines may be dug, and upon which -experiments may be carried on. These men wake themselves in the -morning, and heat their shaving water by means of electrical machines -of their own invention. They carry kodaks in their bosoms, and are, in -the matter of imparting information, human volcanoes continually in -eruption. - -Yethill was not behind his fellows in this respect. When he had said -his little say upon the Theory of Wireless Photophony, the Detection -of Subterranean Mines by the K Rays, and the irresponsibility of the -bedbug in connection with beri-beri; when he had told the Head of the -Electrical Department how many watts are equivalent to a horse-power, -and explained to the Colonel, who is sinfully proud of his men, that -the employment of the uneducated inferior in warfare will cease with -the century, and that the army of the future will consist entirely of -officers, he would drop his voice to a confidential whisper and control -his elbows. He talked heliographically as a rule, and if a man were -left to listen to him--he could, as a rule, clear the Mess smoking-room -in ten minutes from the start--he would dilate at length upon his -best-loved hobby, the art of managing women. - - * * * * * - -Yethill was no Adonis. He had a knobby, argumentative head, a harlequin -set of features, each separate one belonging to a different order and -period of facial architecture; and a figure which was not calculated, -as his tailor observed with bitterness, to do justice to a good cut. -But it was wonderful to hear him talk in that conquering, masterful -way of his. He had an appalling array of statistics to prove that -the majority of marriages were miserable; that life, connubially -speaking, was dust and ashes in the mouths of nineteen Benedicts out -of twenty. But the darkest hour presaged the dawn. Let the man about -to marry, let the already-married, but adopt the Yethill system of -sweetheart-and-wife breaking, and thenceforth all would be well. And -thousands of voices arising from the uttermost ends of the civilized -earth would hail with one accord Yethill as their deliverer. - -Then came an essay on the New Art of Courtship. - -“To a man,” Yethill would say, jerking his knee and stammering a -little, as his custom was when excited, “who is a reasonable being, -the woman he loves is a woman--only spelt with a big ‘W’; the woman he -likes is a woman spelt in the ordinary way; and the woman he doesn’t -like is a mere creature of the female sex. To a woman,” Yethill -would continue, “who is, nineteen times out of twenty, a perfectly -unreasonable being;--the man she loves is a demi-god; the man she -doesn’t love is a man;--and the man she dislikes is a gorilla. She -quite overlooks the fact that in every individual human male these -three may be found united. And man is weak enough to humor her. So -that out of so many marriages that take place, a majority--a frightful -majority--are founded upon illusions. And the subsequent state of -conjugality may be called a state of evolution, in which these -primary illusions, after undergoing a process of disarrangement and -disintegration, are finally reduced to impalpable powder, and the Bed -Rock of Reality is laid bare. We know what happens after that!” - -The listening man generally knew enough to grunt an affirmative. And -Yethill would, with many weird facial jerks and twitches, go on to -explain the system. - -The great system was, like all other wonderful discoveries, involved -in a very simple plan of procedure. It consisted only in reversing -the accepted order of things. A man, supposedly desirous of getting -married, recognizing in himself the existence of the trinity above -mentioned, should assert the existence of the third person from the -very outset--suppress the demi-god, show the gorilla. Let the woman you -were about to make your wife see the worst of you before you showed her -the best. Let her pass through the burning fiery furnace before you -admitted her into the Paradise that is the reward of proved devotion. -Let her know what bullying meant before you took to petting--blame her -weaknesses before you praised her virtues. Under this _régime_ there -would be no illusions to commence with; and married life, instead -of being full of disappointments, would be replete with delightful -surprises. Your wife married you, believing you to be a gorilla. - -“There’s the weak point,” the listener would interpolate. “What woman, -unless a lunatic of sorts, _would_ marry a gorilla?” - -Yethill would not hear of this objection. He was always deaf when you -came to it. He would pound on--dilate on the surprise and joy with -which she found that she had married a man, and the rapture with which -she would greet the final discovery that she had got hold of a demi-god. - -“It sounds splendid,” the other men would say, “but it won’t wash. -Look here, I’m going to take Miss So-and-So up to a Gaiety _matinée_ -to-morrow. To follow up your system I ought to call for her in my worst -clothes, be surly on the way to the station, and neglectful in the -tunnels. I ought to dump her into her stall like a sack, go out to ‘see -a man’ between every act, and take it for granted that she doesn’t want -cool tea and warm ices. You know that’d never do! She’d give me the bag -to-morrow. And she’d be right!” - -But Yethill hearkened not. There was excitement at the Arsenal, and -much babbling in barracks, the day on which it was publicly made known -that Yethill contemplated giving an object-lesson in support of his -great system very shortly. - -The object was Miss Sallis. - -Miss Sallis was a fluffy little pink-and-white girl, the daughter of a -retired Admiral, who lived near the Dockyard. - -Men had dined with Miss Sallis, and played tennis with Miss Sallis, -and flirted with Miss Sallis, during several seasons past. Some of -them had asked for her hand--she wore fives in gloves--and had not got -it. Thus, Yethill’s announcement was received with a certain degree of -risibility. No bets were made upon the chances of Yethill’s getting -her, the odds against his acceptance were too tremendous. Yethill -proposed. He mentioned that his prospects of advancement in the Service -were not very promising; that his scientific pursuits would have to be -relinquished if he were to set up an establishment on even a moderate -scale, and that he did not intend to relinquish those pursuits; that -there were several hereditary diseases in his family; that, while -bestowing upon the lady he honored with the offer of his hand a regard -which justified his proposal, he should not have made that proposal -had the lady been poor--with other statements of equal candor. A more -wonderful proposal was never made. - -What was more wonderful still, Miss Sallis accepted him! He bought -her a ring, containing three small fragments of petrified red-currant -jelly, embedded in fifteen-carat gold; and when she asked him to put it -on her finger said, “Oh, rot!” and wouldn’t. He spent a certain amount -of time with his betrothed, but invariably carried a scientific work in -his pocket, wherein he might openly take refuge when the primrose paths -of love proved wearisome. He forbade her to dance with other men, and -did not dance with her himself. He snubbed her when she asked questions -about his camera, his lathe, his batteries, and tried timidly to be -interested in magnets and inductors, acids and cells, because they -interested _him_. He carried out his system thoroughly. If Miss Sallis -_had_ any illusions about Yethill he bowled the poor little thing over, -right and left, like ninepins, long before the wedding day. - -With the loss of her illusions went some of her good looks. She made a -pretty-looking little bride. With her fluffy pale hair, her pink nose, -and her pink eyelids, a not remote resemblance to an Angora kitten -was traced in her. She was married in a traveling-gown, without any -bridesmaids; and after the wedding-breakfast Captain and Mrs. Yethill -drove home to their lodgings on the Common. The wedding-trip had been -abandoned--from no lack of money, but because Yethill said he had had -enough of traveling, and the custom of carrying a bride away, as if -in triumph, to the accompaniment of rice and slippers, was “guff.” He -certainly played the gorilla as if to the manner born. The poor little -woman loved him; he loved her. But as his skull was made of seven-inch -armor-plate, he went on knocking it against his system. He had got -used to the gorilla-business, and couldn’t leave it off. Yet, out of -his wife’s sight and hearing, he was a doting husband. The Duke in the -_Story of Patient Griseldis_ must have been a man of Yethill’s stamp. - -Mrs. Yethill, as time went on, began to be a walking manifestation of -the effects of the system. She lost her gaiety and her pink cheeks; -her smile became nervous and her dress dowdy. The little vanities, the -little weaknesses, the little affectations, which had helped to make -Miss Sallis charming, had been bullied out of Mrs. Yethill’s character -until it was as destitute of any blade of verdure as a skating-rink. -She had proved herself the most patient, loving, tolerant of wives; but -Yethill went on trying her. She stood the trials, and he invented new -tests--exactly as if she had been a Government bayonet or a regulation -sword-blade. A bright man Yethill! - -They were called upon, and returned visits, at intervals. A taste for -society was one of the tendencies which were to be chastened. Female -friends were prohibited, as being likely to sow the seed of incipient -rebellion against the system. - -“I don’t care, Tom, if I have you!” said Mrs. Yethill, patting her -gorilla, who, mindful of his own tenets, was careful not to exhibit any -appreciation of her attention. But he made up for it by boasting that -evening in the smoking-room, until those who hearkened with difficulty -prevented themselves from braining him with legs of chairs. Their wives -would have commended them for the deed. Yethill had not many admirers -about this period. - -But he went on blindly. Can one ever forget how he crowed over having -cured Mrs. Yethill of a tendency toward jealousy, of the vague and -indiscriminating kind? The prescription consisted in posting to himself -letters highly scented and addressed in a variety of feminine scrawls. -Yethill was good at imitating handwriting!--and he absented himself -from the domestic hearth for several days together whenever there was -a recurrence of the symptoms. The method wrought a wonderful cure; but -Mrs. Yethill began to grow elderly from about this period. You could -hardly have called her a young woman, when the baby came, and brought -his mother’s lost youth back to her, clenched in one pudgy hand. The -vanished roses fluttered back and perched upon her thin cheekbones -again. She was heard to laugh. Her husband, who secretly adored her, -and who had continued to stick to the system more from a desire for -_her_ glorification than his own, feared a retrogression. So he thought -out a new torture or two, and put them into active application. He -sneered at the puerilities of nursery talk. He downcried the beauty -and attainments of the baby when she praised them. He pooh-poohed her -motherly fears, when the ailments inseparable from the joyous period -of infancy overtook his heir. This was the last straw laid upon Mrs. -Yethill’s aching shoulders. The downfall of the great system followed. - -In this way. His wife came into his workshop one morning. The workshop -was forbidden ground, and Yethill dropped the negative he was -developing, and turned to stare. He saw that she was very pale, and -that her lips were bitten in. He heard her say that there was something -the matter with baby, and she wanted the doctor. - -Solely in the interests of his wife whom he esteemed above all living -women, Yethill refused to allow the doctor to be sent for. The child -was as right as a trivet. Women were always worrying. She was to get -away with her nonsense, and leave him in peace. With more to the same -effect. She drooped her head, and went away obediently, only to return -in half an hour, with another version of the same prayer upon her lips. -Would he--would he come and look for himself? Yethill was thoroughly -annoyed. Yethill refused. Yethill went on, stubbornly, dabbling with -his negatives, until right from overhead--baby’s nursery was above the -workshop--Yethill had never heard a woman scream like that before.... -Something like an ice-bolt shot down his spine. He dashed up to the -nursery, and looked in. The sight he saw there sent him tearing across -the Common, a hatless, coatless man, to the Doctor’s house. - -When the Doctor came he said he could be of no use; he ought to have -been called in an hour ago. And Yethill, hearing this fiat, and meeting -his wife’s eyes across the table, felt the system totter to its -foundations. - -He found himself wondering at her for taking baby’s end so quietly; but -he had schooled her to endure silently. There were no tears--he had -always jeered at tears. The Doctor took him aside before he left. - -“You must treat your wife with kindness--and consideration, Yethill,” -said the Doctor, “or I won’t answer for the consequences!” - -As if Yethill needed to be told to be kind or considerate! As if -Yethill had never loved--did not love--the late Miss Sallis! He planned -a revelation for her without delay. He would take her in his arms; kiss -her, and tell her that her time of trial was overpast; give her her -meed of praise for her heroism, her meed of sympathy for her grief--and -his. And he would own that he had made a mistake in the matter of baby -deceased. And she would forgive--as she always had forgiven. - -As he decided this, she came into the room. She was quite composed. She -carried something behind her. She spoke to him very quietly in a dull, -strange, level voice--so strange a voice that, just as he was about to -open his arms and say, “Annie!” in the voice he had been saving up for -the Day of Revelation, the gesture and the word wouldn’t come. - -“Tom,” said Mrs. Yethill, “what should you say if I told you that I had -made up my mind to kill myself?” - -She brought her hand from behind her; it held one of Yethill’s -revolvers. She had been very much afraid of these lethal instruments -in the early days of her marriage, but under the system had learned to -clean them, and even drew the cartridges. But the thing she held wasn’t -loaded, Yethill was quite sure of that. It sealed up the fountain of -his admiring tenderness to have her treat him to commonplace, vulgar -heroics. It put her out of drawing, and Yethill out of temper. - -She asked again: - -“What would you say if I told you I mean to kill myself?” - -Yethill ran his armor-plated head against the last wall. He answered -brutally: - -“I should tell you, if you were such a fool as to threaten such a -thing, to do it, and have done with it!” - -She said, “Very well!”--and did it. - - * * * * * - -When people came running in, they found something--perhaps it was the -system--scattered on the walls, on the floor, everywhere. And Yethill -was howling, and beating his seven-inch skull against heavy pieces of -furniture, and calling on Annie to come back. But she had escaped, and -was in no hurry; and he hadn’t the pluck to follow her out of the world -and apologize. - -“Was she mad?” somebody asked the Doctor; and the Doctor said: - -“No; but she might have become so if she had lived much longer with a -lunatic!” - -“You mean----?” - -“I mean,” said the Doctor, “that Yethill has been suffering from -dementia for years. I mean that he will see the inside of a Lunatic -Asylum in six months from date.” - -But the Doctor was wrong. He did--in three! - - - - -OBSESSED - - -Andrew Fenn is known to the world as an art critic and essayist of -unerring instinct and exquisite refinement, a writer of charming _vers -de société_, and teller of tales supposedly designed for children, but -in reality more appreciated by children of a larger growth. He is much -sought after, but little to be found, unless one has the _entrée_ to -his pleasant, roomy old house in Church Street, Chelsea, where he lives -in the midst of his library--the whole house is a library--his etchings -and Japanese curios. He is less of a traveler than he used to be; -getting old, he says, and lazy, content with old friends, soothed by -old pipes, fortified by old wine--he has a supreme _goût_ in wines--and -nourished by excellent cookery. - -His household staff consists but of an elderly valet and butler, and a -housekeeper-cook. She has been in her master’s service twenty years, -and is beginning to grow handsome, Andrew is wont to say. Certainly, -if her master speaks the truth, she must have been, when comparatively -young, extraordinarily unlovely, this most excellent of women. Even now -she infallibly reminds the casual beholder of an antique ecclesiastical -gargoyle much worn by weather. Her name is Ladds. She has never been -married, but respect for the position of authority she occupies in -Andrew’s household universally accords her brevet rank. She might have -occupied another, and more important position, if---- - -“Yes,” Andrew says, when he is disposed to tell the story--and he -often does tell it to intimate friends, leaning back on the library -divan, after a cosy dinner, holding his gray beard in one big fist, -still brown with tropical sunshine--“Ladds is an excellent creature. -She might have married me, might Ladds!” - -We invariably chorus astonishment. Then some of Ladds’ famous coffee -comes in, and Andrew gets up to hunt for precious liquors, and, having -found them, continues: - -“I came _very_ near marrying her--once.” - -Somebody growls: “Good job you pulled up in time!” - -Andrew rounds on the somebody. “_I_ didn’t pull up. _She_ did. Refused -me!” - -There is a general howl. - -“I am telling you men the truth,” Andrew says, pulling the gray beard. -“Fifteen years ago I was infatuated with that woman. She possessed my -every thought; she dominated me, like----” - -“Like a nightmare!” - -“Apposite illustration,” says Andrew, nodding. “_Like_ a nightmare. -It was just about the time I published my book, _Studies of the Human -Grotesque in Art, Ancient and Modern_. You remember, some of you, I -was keen on the subject--had been for years. And I was a traveler -and collector in those days: I’d got together a wonderful show of -illustrative subjects. You won’t see many of ’em now. I gave them to -the Smoketown Mechanical Institute afterward.” - -He pulls at his long cherrystick, and blows a cloud of Latakia, and -goes on: - -“I’d the whole house full. Peruvian idols, Aztec picture writings, -Polynesian and Maori war masks; Chinese and Japanese, Burmese and -Abyssinian, Hindu and Persian monstrosities of every kind; Egyptian, -Carthaginian, Babylonian, Druidical, Gothic---- Well, well! I’m -thoroughgoing, and when I do a thing I do it thoroughly. It’s enough to -say that every variety of libel upon the human face and form that human -ingenuity or depravity has ever perpetrated, I’d carefully collected -and brought together here.” - -He waves his hand, with a curious cabalistical ring upon it that once -belonged, it is said, to Eliphas Lévi, who had it from Albertus Magnus. -But this may be mere report. - -“I worked hard, and drank a great deal of coffee,” says Andrew, “so -much that my old housekeeper began to be afraid something mysterious -was the matter with me. She expostulated at last, and I explained. -Then she got interested in the book; she was an intelligent woman, -poor dear old soul, and she got specially interested in that section -of the work which deals with the Grotesque in Nature. Everything in -humanity that is purely grotesque--not deformed, unnatural, outrageous, -but purely quaint and bizarre--I piled into those chapters. The work -is illustrative, you know, as well as descriptive, and the queer -photographs and engravings that scientific friends had contributed to -this particular portion of it absolutely fascinated the dear old lady. - -“‘To be sure, Master Andrew’ (she had known me from my knickerbocker -and peg-top days), ‘but them are queer folk. And, my heart alive!’--she -uttered a sharp scream--‘if that picture isn’t the exact moral of Jane -Ladds!’ - -“I glanced over her shoulder. It _was_ a portrait of Jane, certainly--a -rude little wood cut of the sixteenth century, purporting to be a -portrait of a female jester, attached, in her diverting capacity, to -the Court of Mary Tudor, during the latter part of her reign, and -mentioned by name in some of the accounts of the Royal household as -‘Jeanne la Folle.’ Unless the long-dead delineator of her vanished -charms has shamefully belied them, Jeanne must have been one of the -most grotesquely hideous specimens of womanhood that ever existed. -Judge, then, whether the exclamation of my housekeeper awakened my -interest, excited my curiosity, or left me apathetic and unmoved!” - -We are silent. Our interest, our curiosity, are urging us to hurry on -the conclusion of Andrew’s story. - -“You may suppose that I bombarded my housekeeper with questions. What? -Did a living counterpart of the sixteenth-century joculatrix exist -in the nineteenth? What was her station in life? Where was she to be -found? In reply, I elicited the fact that Jane Ladds was a countrywoman -of my own, the daughter of a wheelwright living in the village of -Wickham, in Dorsetshire, where I myself had first seen the light. Jane -was some half dozen years my junior, it appeared. My mother had once -taken her into her service as under-scullerymaid, but in a casual -encounter with the last new baby (my brother Robert, now commanding -his battery of the Royal Horse Artillery at Jelalabad), Jane’s -facial eccentricities had produced such a marked effect (resulting -in convulsions) that the unfortunate _protégée_ had been hastily -dismissed. Since when she had kept house for her father, and was -probably keeping it still; there not being, said my housekeeper, the -slightest human probability that any potential husband would endeavor -to interfere with the wheelwright’s domestic arrangements.” There comes -a twinkle into Andrew’s brown eyes. - -“‘No man would be mad enough!’ the old lady said. Judge of her surprise -when I turned upon her and ordered her to write--write at once to -Dorsetshire, ascertain whether Jane was still alive, still available, -willing to take service, under an old acquaintance, in a bachelor’s -London establishment? Stunned as she was, my housekeeper obeyed. The -wages I instructed her to offer were good. An answering letter arrived -within the space of a week, announcing Jane Ladds’ willingness to -accept the offered situation. The letter was nicely written. I read and -reread it with morbid excitement. I looked forward to the day of the -writer’s arrival with an excitement more morbid still. At last the day -came, and the woman....” - -We inspire deep breaths, and unanimously cry, “Go on!” - -“My writing table was piled high with books--I couldn’t see her until -she came round the corner,” says Andrew, “and stood by my chair. She -wore her Sunday clothes--Wickham taste inclines to garments of many -colors. In silence I contemplated one of the finest examples of the -Animated Grotesque it had ever been my fortune to look upon. Her hair -was then red--the brightest red. Her nose was not so much a nose as a -pimple. Her mouth was the oddest of buttons. Her forehead a ponderous -coffer of bone, overhanging and overshadowing the other features. -She was lengthy of arm, short of leg, dumpy of figure. She did not -walk--she waddled; she did not sit--she squatted. Her smile was a -gash, her curtsy the bob of an elder-pith puppet. She was, as she is -now, unique. You are all familiar with her appearance. Search your -memories for the moment when that appearance dawned upon you first, -intensify your surprise, quadruple your sensations of delight--add -to these, imagine yourself dominated by a fascination, weird, -strange--inexplicable. In a word----” - -Andrew’s pipe is out; he is gesticulating excitedly, and his eyes have -an odd gleam under his shaggy brows. - -“She took possession of me. I had her constantly about me. She brought -me everything I wanted. I was never tired of gloating over my new-found -treasure. Every accent of her voice, every odd contortion of her -features, every awkward movement of her body was a fresh revelation to -me. All this while I was working at my book. It was said afterward, in -the newspapers, that the entire work, especially the closing chapters -on the Human Grotesque, had been written in a fever of enthusiasm. The -reviewer never knew how rightly he had guessed. Some of the theories -I propounded and proved were curious. That Ugliness is in reality the -highest form of Beauty--beauty in the abstract--was one of the mildest. -I believed it when I wrote it; for I was madly, passionately infatuated -with the ugliest woman I had ever seen--my parlor maid, Jane Ladds!” - -We hang upon his words so that our pipes go out, and our whisky and -sodas stand untasted at our elbows. - -“Yes,” says Andrew, drawing a long, hard breath, “she possessed my -thoughts--dominated me--waking and sleeping. I had the queerest of -dreams, in which, with a joy that was anguish, a rapture that was -horror, I saw myself attending crowded assemblies with my wife, -Jane Fenn, _née_ Ladds, upon my arm. She wore my mother’s diamonds, -a _décolletée_ gown from Worth’s; and as we moved along together, -sibilant whispers sounded in my ears, and astonished eyes said as -plainly, ‘_What_ an ugly woman!’ - -“Then would come other visions ... Jane at the head of my table ... -Jane rocking the cradle of our eldest born--an infant who strongly -resembled his mother ... Jane here, Jane there--Jane everywhere!... My -nerves, you will guess, must have been in a very queer state. - -“All the time Jane Ladds would be deftly moving about me, dusting -my books and curios, or going on with her sewing, or, to the utter -stupefaction of my housekeeper, I had issued orders that she should sit -in the window, where my glance might dwell upon her whenever I lifted -my head from my work. Late, late into the small hours, when the sky -began to gray toward the dawning, and the ink in my stand got low, she -used to keep me company. Not the faintest shadow of impropriety could -attach to the association in any sane mind. My housekeeper thought it -queer, but nothing more. - -“She had--she has--very large, very rough, very red hands. I used to -imagine myself kissing one of those hands when I should ask her to -be my wife, and conjure up the grotesque smile of shy delight with -which she would accept the unheard-of honor. The temptation to snatch -and kiss that awful hand became so powerful that it cost me more -effort than I can explain to resist its ceaseless promptings. And I -would chuckle as I looked at it, and at the bizarre countenance that -bent over the stocking that was in process of being darned--Jane’s -peculiar, shuffling gait seemed to have a peculiarly wearing effect -on stockings--and wonder, _if she knew_, how she would look, what she -would say? Then she would thread her needle, or bite the end of her -worsted.... That hand! that hand! The struggle between the masterful -impulse to seize and kiss it, and the shuddering desire not to do -anything of the kind, would, upon these occasions, be perfectly -indescribable. And--one day--the very day that saw the completion of my -book--I yielded!” - -“Yes?” we cry, interrogatively. All our eyes are rounded, all our -mouths wide open. - -“She saw some of my papers flutter to the carpet as I pushed back my -chair,” Andrew continues, “and obligingly crossed the room, stooped -and gathered them up. A kind of mist came over my eyes, and when it -cleared away, she was there--by my side--holding the written sheets out -to me. That hand! I must--I must! Before the poor creature could hazard -a guess at my intentions, I seized it--I kissed it--with a resounding -smack. I cried deliriously, ‘Jane, will you be my wife? I adore you, -Jane!’” - -“And what did she do? What did she say?...” - -“I’m coming to that! She drew away from me, and turned very white, -and her poor red hands trembled, and her little button features -twitched absurdly with the effort she made to keep from crying. But, -as I seized her hands, and went on with my wild asseverations and -protestations--Heaven only knows what I said!--the absurdity of the -whole thing came on her, and she burst out laughing wildly. Then I -caught the infection, and followed suit. Once I began, I couldn’t -stop. I was shaken like a rag in the wind--torn, possessed by seven -devils of risibility. But I went on raging, all through it, that she -must marry me! At last she tore herself away, and ran out of the -room, breathlessly to burst upon my housekeeper with the information -that ‘Master was mad, and wanted the doctor.’ And she was not far -wrong, for by the time he came I was fit for nothing but to be carried -to bed. Twenty-four hours later I was raving in brain fever. Seven -weeks that red-hot torture lasted, and then I came to myself, and -found that through all the delirium and fever I had been patiently, -uncomplainingly, tenderly nursed by poor Jane....” - -Andrew’s voice grows a little husky as he nears the finish. - -“Well, when I was convalescent, and knew that I owed my life to her -devotion, it seemed to me that only one reparation was possible for the -wrong I had done Jane. It was a hard thing to do--the madness being -over--the morbid impulse that had swayed me being no longer in the -ascendant. But I did it! You may have noticed”--he clears his husky -throat--“that is, those among you who have spoken to Ladds--_that -she has a singularly sweet voice_--a voice curiously out of keeping -with her personality. Well, when she thanked me for my ‘kindness’ -and--refused me, I might, supposing my eyes had been shut, have fancied -that I was listening to a beautiful woman. She had been ‘marked out -by the Lord’ to lead a lonely life, she said. When she was a young -girl it used to make her cry when the lads went by _her_, ‘wi’ their -vaices turned away,’ and the girls laughed when she put on a ribbon or -a flower. But she got used to it; and she quite understood that I was -trying to make up--like a gentleman as I was;--(a mighty poor kind of -gentleman, I felt)--‘for summat as I’d said when I didn’t know what I -was a-saying!’ Crazy people had queer ideas, and the village ‘softy’ -had once taken it into his head that he was in love with Jane.... And -she thanked me for sticking to my word now that I was well, and she’d -be my faithful servant always and for ever, Amen! Years have passed -since then.... Well, she has kept her word. I hope, when the end of -everything comes for me, that honest, tender, devoted heart will be -beating by my pillow. I hope----” - -Andrew breaks off abruptly, and gets up and wishes us all good night. - - - - -A VANISHED HAND - - -“_Why_,” Daymond wrote, “_do you imagine that I shall despise you for -this confession? None but a whole-souled, high-hearted woman could have -made it! You have said you love me, frankly; and I say in return that -had the fountains of my heart not been hopelessly dried up at their -sources, they must have sprung forth gladly at such words from you. But -the passion of love, dear friend, it is for me no more to know; and I -hold you in too warm regard to offer you, in exchange for shekels of -pure Ophir gold, a defaced and worthless coinage!”_ - -As Daymond penned the closing words of the sentence, the last rays of -the smoky-red London sunset were withdrawn. Only a little while ago -he had replenished the fire with fresh logs; but they were damp, and -charred slowly, giving forth no pleasant flame. He struck a match and -lighted a taper that stood upon his writing table. It created a feeble -oasis of yellow radiance upon the darkness of the great studio, and -the shadow of Daymond’s head and shoulders bending above it, was cast -upward in gigantesque caricature upon the skylight, reduced to frosty -white opacity by a burden of March snow. - -Daymond poised the drying pen in white, well-kept fingers, and read -over what he had written. Underlying all the elegance of well-modeled -phrases was the sheer brutality of rejection, definitely expressed. His -finely strung mental organization revolted painfully at the imperative -necessity of being cruel. - -“She asks for bread,” he cried aloud, “and I am giving her a stone!” -The lofty walls and domed roof of his workshop gave back the words to -him, and his sensitive ear noted the theatrical twang of the echo. Yet -the pang of remorse that had moved him to speech was quite genuine. - -“_You have heard my story_,” he wrote on. - -A great many people had heard it, and had been bored by it; but, -sensitive as Daymond’s perceptions were, he was not alive to this fact. - -“_Seventeen years ago, while I was still a student dreaming of fame -in a draughty Paris studio, I met the woman who was destined--I felt -it then as I know it now--to be the one love of my life. She was an -American, a little older than myself. She was divinely beautiful to -me--I hardly know whether she was really so or not. We gave up all, -each for each. She left husband, home, friends, to devote her life to -me. I_----” - -He paused, trying to sum up the list of his own sacrifices, and -ultimately left the break, as potent to express much, and went on: - -“_Guilty as I suppose we were, we were happy together--how happy I dare -not even recall. Twenty-four months our life together lasted, and then -came the end. It was the cholera year in Paris; the year which brought -me my first foretaste of success in Art, robbed me of all joy in -life.... She died. Horribly! suddenly! And the best of me lies buried -in her grave!_” - -The muscles of his throat tightened with the rigor that accompanies -emotion; his eyelids smarted. He threw back his still handsome head, -and a tear fell shining on the delicately scented paper underneath -his hand. He looked at the drop as it spread and soaked into a damp -little circle, and made no use of the blotting paper to remove the -stain. If any crudely candid observer had told Daymond that he dandled -this desolation of his--took an æsthetic delight in his devotion to -the coffined handful of dust that had once lived and palpitated at his -touch, he would have been honestly outraged and surprised. Yet the -thing was true. He had made his sorrow into a hobby-horse during the -last fifteen years of honest regret, of absolute faithfulness to the -memory of his dead mistress. It gratified him to see the well-trained -creature dance and perform the tricks of the _haute école_. He was -aware that the romance of that past, which he regretted with such real -sincerity, added something to the glamour of his achieved reputation, -his established fame, in the eyes of the world. The halo which it cast -about him had increased his desirability in the eyes of the great lady -who, after affording him numberless unutilized opportunities for the -declaration of a sentiment which her large handsome person and her -large handsome property had inspired in many other men, had written him -a frank, womanly letter, placing these unreservedly at his disposal.... -And Daymond, in his conscious fidelity and unconscious vanity, must -perforce reply wintrily, nipping with the east wind of non-reciprocity -the mature passion tendrils which sought to twine themselves about -him. It was a painful task, though the obligation of it tickled him -agreeably--another proof of the inconsistency of the man, who may be -regarded as a type of humanity; for we are all veritable Daymonds, in -that the medium which gives us back to our own gloating eyes day by day -is never the crystal mirror of Truth, but such a lying glass as the -charlatans of centuries agone were wont to make for ancient Kings and -withered Queens to mop and mow in. - -Daymond pushed back his chair, and got up, and began to pace from end -to end of the studio. The costly Moorish carpets muffled the falling of -his footsteps, which intermittently sounded on the polished interspaces -of the parqueted floor, and then were lost again in velvet silence. -In the same way, his tall figure, with its thoughtfully bending head -and hands clasped behind it, would be swallowed up among the looming -shadows of tall easels or faintly glimmering suggestions of sculptured -figures which here and there thrust portions of limbs, or angles of -faces, out of the dusk--to appear again with the twilit north window -for its background, or emerge once more upon the borders of the -little island of tapershine. So he moved amid the works of his genius -restlessly and wearily to and fro; and the incoherent mutterings which -broke from him showed that his thoughts were running in the beaten -track of years. - -“If I could see her again--if our eyes and lips and hands and hearts -might meet for even the fraction of a minute, as they used to do, it -would be enough. I could wait then patiently through the slow decay -of the cycles for the turning of the key in the rusty wards, and the -clanking of my broken fetters on the echoing stone, and the burst of -light that shall herald my deliverance from prison!...” He lifted his -arms above his head. “Oh, my dead love, my dear love! if you are near, -as I have sometimes fancied you were, speak to me, touch me--once, -only once!...” He waited a moment with closed eyelids and outstretched -hands, and then, with a dry sob of baffled longing, stumbled back to -his writing table, where the little taper was flickering its last, and -dropped into his armchair. - -“And other women talk of love to me. What wonder I am cold as ice to -them, remembering her!” - -It was a scene he had gone through scores upon scores of times--words -and gestures varying according to the pathetic inspiration of the -moment. He knew that he was pale, and that his eyes were bleared with -weeping, and he had a kind of triumph in the knowledge that the pain -of retrospective longing and of present loneliness was so poignantly -real and keen. Out of the blackness behind his chair at that moment -came a slight stir and rustle--not the sough of a vagrant draught -stirring among folds of tapestry, but an undeniably human sound. But -half displeased with the suspicion that there had been a witness to his -agony, he turned--turned and saw Her, the well-beloved of the old, old -time, standing very near him. - -Beyond a vivid sensation of astonishment, he felt little. He did not -tremble with fear--what was there in that perfectly familiar face to -fear? He did not fall, stammering with incoherent rapture, at her feet. -And yet, a few moments ago, he had felt that for one such sight of her, -returned from the Unknowable to comfort him--dragged back from the -mysterious Beyond by his strong yearnings--he would have bartered fame, -honor, and wealth--submitted his body to unheard-of tortures--shed his -blood to the last heart’s drop. He had prayed that a miracle might be -performed--and the prayer had been granted. He had longed--desperately -longed--to look on her once more--and the longing was satisfied. And he -could only stare wide-eyed, and gape with dropped jaw, and say stupidly: - -“_You?_” - -For answer she turned her face--in hue, and line, and feature, no one -whit altered--so that the light might illumine it fully, and stood -so regarding him in silence. Every pore of her seemed to drink in the -sight of him;--her lips were parted in breathless expectancy. Every -hair of the dark head--dressed in the fashion of fifteen years ago; -every fold of the loose dress she wore--a garment he knew again; every -lift and fall of her bosom seemed to cry out dumbly to him. There was -a half-quenched spark glimmering in each of her deep eyes, that might -have wanted only one breath from his mouth to break out into flame. Her -hands hung clasped before her. It seemed as if they were only waiting -for the signal to unclasp--for the outspread arms to summon him to -her heart again. But the signal did not come. He caught a breath, and -repeated, dully: - -“You! It is you?” - -She returned: - -“It is I!” - -The well-known tones! Recollection upsprang in his heart like a gush of -icy waters. For a moment he was thrilled to the center of his being. -But the smitten nerve chords ceased to vibrate in another moment, and -he rose to offer her a chair. - -She moved across and took it, as he placed it by the angle of the wide -hearth; and lifted her skirts aside with a movement that came back -to him from a long way off, like her tone in speaking--and, shading -her deep gray eyes from the dull red heat with her white left hand, -looked at him intently. He, having pushed his own seat back into the -borders of the shadowland beyond the taper’s gleam and the hearth -glow, looked back at her. That hand of hers bore no ring. When he had -broken the plain gold link that had fettered it in time past, he had -set in its place a ruby that had belonged to his mother. The ruby was -on his finger now. He hid it out of sight in the pocket of his velvet -painting coat, not knowing why he did so. And at that moment she broke -the silence with: - -“You see I have come to you at last!” - -He replied, with conscious heaviness: - -“Yes--I see!” - -“Has the time seemed long?... We have no time, you know, where.... Is -it many days since?...” - -“Many days!” - -“My poor Robert!... Weeks?... Months?... Not years?...” - -“Fifteen years....” - -“Fifteen years! And you have suffered all that time. Oh, cruel! cruel! -If there was more light here, I might see your face more plainly. Dear -face! I shall not love it less if there are lines and marks of grief -upon it--it will not seem less handsome to me at forty than it did -at twenty-five! Ah, I wish there was more light!” The old pettishly -coaxing tones! “But yet I do not wish for it, lest it should show you -any change in _me_!” - -“You are not changed in the least.” He drew breath hard. “It might be -yesterday----,” he said, and left the sentence unfinished. - -“I am glad,” said the voice that he had been wont to recall to memory -as wooingly sweet. “They have been kinder than I knew.... Oh! it has -always been so painful to recall,” she went on, with the old little -half shrug, half shudder, “that I died an _ugly_ death--that I was not -pretty to look at as I lay in my coffin!...” - -Daymond recoiled inwardly. That vanity, in a woman, should not be -eradicated by the fact of her having simply ceased to exist, was an -hypothesis never before administered for his mental digestion. - -“How curiously it all happened,” she said, her full tones trembling a -little. “It was autumn--do you remember?--and the trees in the Bois and -the gardens of the Luxembourg were getting yellowy brown. There were -well-dressed crowds walking on the Boulevards, and sitting round the -little tables outside the restaurants. One could smell chloride of lime -and carbolic acid crossing the gutters, and see the braziers burning -at the corners of infected streets, and long strings of hearses going -by; but nothing seemed so unlikely as that either of us should be taken -ill and die. We were too wicked, you said, and too happy! ... only the -good, miserable people were carried off, because any other world would -be more suitable to them than this.... It was nonsense, of course, but -it served us to laugh at. Then, because you could not sell your great -Salon picture, and we could not afford the expense, you gave a supper -at the _Café des Trois Oiseaux_ (_Cabinet particulier No. 6_)--and -Valéry and the others joined us. I was so happy that night ... my new -dress became me ... I wore yellow roses--your favorite Maréchal Niel’s. -When I was putting them in my bosom and my hair you came behind and -kissed me on the shoulder. O, _mon Dieu! mon Dieu!_ I can feel it now! -We went to the Variétés, and then to supper. I had never felt so gay. -People are like that, I remember having heard, just when they are going -to die. Valéry gaped--I believe he was half in love with me--and I -teased him because I knew you would be jealous. In those days you would -have been jealous of the studio _écorché_. Ha! ha! ha!” - -Daymond shuddered. The recurrent French phrases jarred on him; -something in her voice and manner scarified inexpressibly his sensitive -perceptions. He wondered, dumbly, whether she had always been like -this? She went on: - -“And then, suddenly, in the midst of the laughter, the champagne, the -good dishes--the pains of hell!” She shuddered. “And then a blank, and -waking up in bed at the hospital, still in those tortures--and getting -worse and seeing in your white face that I was going to die! Drip-drip! -I could feel your tears falling upon my face, upon my hand; but I was -even impatient of you in my pain. Once I fancied that I heard myself -saying that I hated you. Did I really?” - -“I think--I believe you did! But, of course----” Daymond stopped, and -shuddered to the marrow as she leaned across to him caressingly, so -near that her draperies brushed his knee and her breath fanned upon his -face. - -“Imagine it!” she cried, “that I _hated_ you! _You_ to whom I had given -myself--you for whom I left my----” - -He interrupted, speaking in an odd, strained voice: “Never mind that -now.” - -“I had always wished to die first,” she resumed, “but not in that way; -not without leaving you a legacy of kind words and kisses. Ah!” (her -voice stole to his ears most pleadingly), “do you know that I have been -here, I cannot tell how long, and you have not kissed me once, darling?” - -She rose up in her place--she would have come to him, but he sprang to -his feet, and thrust out both hands to keep her off, crying: - -“No! no!” - -She sank back into her seat, looking at him wide-eyed and wonderingly. -“Is he afraid of me?” she whispered to herself. - -“I am not afraid of you,” Daymond returned almost roughly. “But -you must make allowances for me at first. Your sudden coming--the -surprise----” - -“Ah yes! the surprise--and the joy----?” - -He cleared his throat and looked another way. He was shamedly conscious -that the emotion that stiffened his tongue and hampered his gestures -was something widely different from joy. He spoke again, confusedly. -“This seems like old times--before----” - -“Before I died,” she said, “without bidding good-bye to you. Dear! if -you guessed how I have longed to know what you said and did when it was -all over, you would not mind telling me.... ‘_Are they grieving--those -whom I have left behind?_’ is a question that is often asked in the -place I come from. You were sorry? You cried? Ah! I know you must have -cried!” - -“I believe,” Daymond returned, moving restlessly in his chair, “that I -did. And I--I kissed you, though the doctors told me not to. I wanted -to catch the cholera and die, too, I believe!...” - -“Yes?” - -“And when the people came with--the coffin, I”--he bit his lip--“I -would not let them touch you!...” - -“My poor boy!” - -He winced from the tenderness. He felt with indescribable sensations -the light pressure of that well-known once well-loved touch upon his -arm. - -“And then--after the funeral, I believe I had a brain fever.” He -passed his hand through his waving, slightly grizzled hair, as if to -assist his lagging memory--really, as an excuse for shaking off that -intolerable burden of her hand. “And when I recovered I found there was -no way to forgetfulness”--he heard her sigh faintly--“except through -work. I worked then--I am working still.” - -“Always alone?” - -“Generally alone. I have never married.” - -“Of course not!” - -A faint dissent began to stir in him at this matter-of-fact -acquiescence in his widowed turtle-like celibacy. “It may interest you -to know,” he observed, with a touch of the pompous manner which had -grown upon him with the growth of his reputation, “that my career has -been successful in the strongest sense of the word. I have become, I -may say, one of the leaders of the world of Art. Upon the decease or -resignation of the President of the ----, it is more than probable that -I shall be invited to occupy his vacant place. And an intimation has -reached me, from certain eminent quarters”--he paused weightily--“that -a baronetcy will be conferred upon me, in that event!” - -“Yes?” - -The tone betrayed an absolute lack of attention. She had once been used -to take a keen interest in his occupations; to be cast down by his -failures and elated by his successes. Had that enthusiasm constituted -the greater part of her charm? In its absence Daymond began to find -her--must it be confessed?--but indifferent company. - -In the embarrassment that momentarily stiffened him, an old habit -came to his rescue. Before he knew it, he had taken a cigar from a -silver box upon the writing table, and was saying, with the politely -apologetic accent of the would-be smoker: - -“May I? You used not to mind!” - -She made a gesture of assent. As the first rings of bluish vapor -mounted into the air, Daymond found her watching him with those intent, -expectant eyes. - -Feeling himself bound to make some observation, he said: “It is very -wonderful to me to see you here! It was very good of you to come!” - -She returned: “They had to let me come, I think! I begged so--I prayed -so, that at last----” She paused. Daymond was not listening. He was -looking at her steadfastly and pondering.... - -It had been his whim, in the first poignancy of bereavement, to destroy -all portraits of her, so that with the lapse of years no faulty touch -should bewray the memory of her vanished beauty. It struck him now for -the first time that his brush had played the courtier, and flattered -her, for the most part, unblushingly. He found himself criticizing -unfavorably the turn of her throat and the swell of her bosom, and -the dark voluptuous languishment of her look. The faint perfume of -heliotrope that was shaken forth now, as of old time, from her hair and -her garments no longer intoxicated, but sickened him. This, then, was -the woman he had mourned for fifteen years! He began to feel that he -had murmured unwisely at the dispensation of Providence. He began to -revolt at this recrudescence of an outworn passion--to realize that at -twenty-five he had taken a commonplace woman for a divinity--a woman -whom, if she had not died when she did, he would have wearied of--ended -perhaps in hating. He found himself in danger of hating her now. - -“At last they let me come. They said I should repent it--as if I -could!” Her eyes rested on him lingeringly; her hand stilled the -eager trembling of her lips. “Never! Of course, you seemed a little -strange at first. You are not quite--not quite yourself now; it is -natural--after fifteen years. And presently, when I tell you---- Oh! -what will you say when I tell you all?” - -She left her chair and came toward him, so swiftly that he had not time -to avoid her. She laid her hand on his shoulder and bent her mouth to -his ear. One of her peculiarities had been that her lips were always -cold, even when her passion burned most fiercely. The nearness of -those lips, once so maddeningly desirable and sweet, made Daymond’s -flesh creep horribly. He breathed with difficulty, and the great drops -of agony stood thickly on his forehead--not with weak, superstitious -terror of the ghost; with unutterable loathing of the woman. - -“Listen!” she said. “They are wise in the place I came from; they know -things that are not known here.... You have heard it said that once in -the life of every human being living upon earth comes a time when the -utterance of a wish will be followed by its fulfilment. The poor might -be made rich, the sick well, the sad merry, the loveless beloved--in -one moment--if they could only know when that moment comes! But not -once in a million million lifetimes do they hit upon it; and so they -live penniless and in pain, and sorrowful and lonely, all their lives. -I let my chance go by, like many others, long before I died; but yours -is yet to come.” Her voice thrilled with a note of wild triumph; the -clasp of her arm tightened on his neck. “Oh, love!” she cried; “the -wonderful moment is close at hand! It is midnight now”--she pointed -to the great north window, through which the frosty silver face of -the moon was staring in relief against a framed-in square of velvet -blackness, studded with twinkling star-points--“but with the first -signs of the dawn that you and I have greeted together, heart of my -heart!--how many times in the days that may come again!--with the -graying of the East and the paling of the stars comes the Opportunity -for you. Now, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” - -He understood and quailed before her. But she was blindly confident in -his truth, stupidly reliant on his constancy. - -“When it comes, beloved, you shall take me in your arms--breathe your -wish upon these lips of mine, in a kiss. Say, while God’s ear is open, -‘Father, give her back to me, living and loving, as of old!’ and I -shall be given--I shall be given!” - -She threw both arms about him and leaned to him, and sobbed and laughed -with the rapture of her revelation and the anticipation of the joy that -was to come. - -“Remember, you must not hesitate, or the golden chance will pass beyond -recall, and I shall go back whence I came, never more to return--never -more to clasp you, dearest one, until you die too, and come to me (are -you cold, that you shudder so?)--and be with me for always. Listen, -listen!” - -As she lifted her hand the greatest of all the great clock voices of -London spoke out the midnight hour. As other voices answered from far -and near Daymond shuddered, and put his dead love from him, and rose up -trembling and ghastly pale. - -They moved together to the window, and stood looking out. The weather -was about to change; the snow was melting, the thaw drip plashed -heavily from roof gutters and balconies, cornices and window ledges. As -she laid her hand once more upon his shoulder the stars began to fade -out one by one, and in a little while from then the eastward horizon -quivered with the first faint throes of dawn. - -“Wish!” she cried. “Now! now! before it is too late!” She moved as if -to throw herself again upon his breast; but he thrust her from him with -resolute hands that trembled no more. - -“I wish,” he said very distinctly, “to be Sir Robert Daymond, Baronet, -and President of the ---- before the year is out!” - -She fell away from him, and waned, and became unsubstantial and shadowy -like the ghost she was, and unlike the thing of flesh and blood she had -seemed before. Nothing remained to her of lifelikeness but the scorn -and anger, the anguish and reproach of her great eyes. - -“Only the dead are faithful to Love--because they are dead,” she said. -“The living live on--and forget! They may remember sometimes to regret -us--beat their breasts and call upon our names--but they shudder if we -answer back across the distance; and if we should offer to come back, -‘Return!’ they say! ‘go and lie down in the comfortable graves we have -made you; there is no room for you in your old places any more!’ They -told me I should be sorry for coming; but I would not listen, I had -such confidence. I am wiser now! Good-bye!” - -A long sigh fluttered by him in the semi-obscurity, like a bird with -a broken wing. There was a rattling of curtain rings, the dull sough -of falling tapestry, and the opening and closing of a door. She was -gone! And Daymond, waking from strangely dreamful slumbers to the -cheerlessness of dying embers and burned-out candle, rang the bell for -his servant, and ordered lights. A few minutes later saw him, perfectly -dressed, stepping into his cab. - -“Chesterfield Gardens, Mayfair,” he said, giving the direction to his -valet for transference to the groom. - -“Beg pardon, sir, but Lady Mary Fraber’s servant is still waiting!” The -man pointed back to the house. - -“Ah!” said Daymond, who had had a passing glimpse of alien cord gaiters -reposing before his hall-fire. “Tell him I have taken the answer to his -mistress myself.” - -And as he spoke he scattered a handful of torn-up squares of paper--the -fragments of a letter--in largesse to the night and the gusty weather. - - - - -AN ORDEAL BY FIRE - - -Mr. Lanter was bookkeeping clerk in a New York dry-goods store. For -his services he was remunerated at the rate of fifteen dollars per -week. His bedroom at the boarding house with daily breakfast and three -meals on the Sunday, cost him ten dollars; the remaining five supplied -all other necessities--fed him at cheap restaurants, dressed him from -cheap clothing stores, and allowed him to send a cash bill now and -then to his mother, who lived in a New Hampshire village on tea, bread -and sauce, wore her hair in looped bell-ropes on either side of her -forehead and a rosette behind, and thought her son the most splendid -man in the world. But despite heroic efforts, Mr. Lanter had not -succeeded in putting by anything against a rainy day. As to marriage, -it was not to be dreamt of, which is probably the reason why Mr. -Lanter dreamed of it so frequently. But the feminine form that figured -in those dreams was not that of a typist, or a sales-lady, or even a -chorus-girl or variety artist. Mr. Lanter was a young man with a turn -for reading, who regularly spent his Sundays at the Cooper Institute, -and he did not feel that he could undertake to do his duty as a husband -by anything short of a heroine of romantic classical fiction. He had -had imaginary love passages with several of these, both ancient and -modern. _The Faëry Queen_ had given him Britomart, and the _Volsunga -Saga_ had supplied him with Brunhild. Hypatia’s erudition made her -a little alarming, but the affair was pleasant while it lasted; and -Iseult was too dark for Mr. Lanter’s taste, but he changed the color -of her locks as expeditiously as a French hairdresser, and roamed the -forest ways with her more appreciatively than Prosper. Theaters Mr. -Lanter did not frequent, because Mrs. Lanter regarded such places as -pitfalls dug by the devil for the capture of unwary young America, and -he had promised his mother he would not visit them. Indeed, had he -been inclined to go back on his word, he could not have afforded to do -so. But neither concert-halls, museums, nor circuses figured on Mrs. -Lanter’s black list, because she had forgotten to specify them; and one -half-holiday Mr. Lanter found himself entering Kneeman’s Star Musée -with an order. - -The Kneeman Musée is a big, opulent building, with a central dome of -colored glass, a gorgeous façade ornamented with groups of sculptured -figures and a gilded vestibule where are displayed an array of -life-sized photographs and gigantic colored posters illustrating -the wonders to be seen within; promising upon this occasion, among -other exquisite novelties, the unique whistling entertainment of -Madame Smithers, the Kentucky Mocking Bird; the Celebrated Centaur -Family, in their feats of Equitation; the Balancing Bonellis, in their -electrifying plank-and-ladder interlude; Madame la Comtesse Püspök -Ladany, the Beautiful Hungarian (heroine of one of the most sensational -European elopements) in her Elegant Effects of Equestrianism upon the -highly-trained Arab Maimoun, assisted by Rurik the Gitano, who had -the honor, upon the sensational occasion above alluded to, of eloping -with Madame la Comtesse. Then came the Mermaids in a Tank Act, and -three-inch notes of exclamation clamorously invited attention to the -American Girl Giantess, Mademoiselle Minota, nineteen years of age, -nine feet in height, weighing four hundred and twenty-six pounds, able -to lift a weight of one hundred and forty pounds with one hand.... -The remainder of the bill was filled with dwarfs, performing lions, -snake-charmers, and ventriloquists. - -Mr. Lanter presented nothing remarkable to the ordinary observation. -He was fair, undersized, and short-sighted, and the necktie he -had chosen was of a vivid salmon-pink, trying to his complexion, -which had been injured by overwork and close confinement in a glass -counting-hutch lighted by electricity, and heated by steam. He -followed his companion, who was a smart, bustling young salesman -with a lady-killing reputation, and sporting proclivities; and as he -went he smiled a little vaguely, and his mouth was not quite shut, -a negligence which deprives the expression of intellectuality. They -had fauteuil seats so close to the Ring that their knees rubbed -against the low velvet-cushioned barrier that enclosed the sand-strewn -space, which seemed to Mr. Lanter to be a brown central-patch, in a -gorgeous, multi-colored dream. The dome above, all glass and gilding, -the pretty women in the boxes, the perambulating vendors of candy and -ices, the orchestra tuning up in a gilded balcony on the left of the -stage, the whiffs of menagerie, gas, and stabling which escaped from -the coulisses, the people who pushed past into their places, Madame -Smithers trilling and piping in emulation of the feathered songsters -of American groves, the Centaur Family upon their gaily-trapped -steeds, the bursts of applause, the shouts of laughter, were all made -of dream-stuff.... But when heavy tableau-curtains rose upon a scene -representing a mediæval banqueting-hall, and revealed the American -Girl Giantess, throned upon a high seat, arrayed in gilded chain-mail -and flowing purple draperies, a sword in her large white right hand, -a crimson cloak upon her shoulders and a dragon-crested helm upon her -large fair head, the start Mr. Lanter gave would have awakened any -ordinary sleeper. But the dream closed in again, as Miss Minota rose, -and, bowing to the right, to the left, to the middle, descended the -baize-covered staircase which led from the stage to the Ring.... Other -spectators saw a young woman monstrously overgrown, with tow-colored -hairplaits as thick as coir-cable, and blue eyes as round as silver -dollars, who was well-proportioned in her huge way, and who, if looked -at through the wrong end of an opera-glass, when divested of her tawdry -theatrical trappings, might have appeared an honest, ordinary young -person of average good looks. But Mr. Lanter saw a golden roof-ridge -and a ring of magic fire roaring up, and the Brunhild of his visions; -and breathed hard, and felt a clammy sensation about the palms of -the hands, while his heart drummed heavily against the lining of his -ready-made waistcoat. He must have been very pale or very purple in the -face, for his companion nudged him. - -“Guess you’re feeling off color!... Like to get out into the air?... If -so, I’ll keep your seat,” he whispered; but Mr. Lanter shook his head. - -The band struck up a march, Miss Minota descended into the arena, -a voluble gentleman in evening dress, who acted as showman, and, -when necessary, as interpreter, walking in the shadow of her -elbow. She seemed, indeed, an overwhelming example of feminine -physical development as she gravely performed her round, replying -in monosyllables to the remarks that were made to her by members of -the audience, complying with their expressed desire to shake her -enormous hand. Mr. Lanter was hot and cold by turns as her monumental -proportions drew nearer; he meant to rise in his place and boldly -engage her in conversation; he got as far as getting on his legs. -It seemed that the large blue eyes of the giantess dropped upon him -inquiringly; he almost fancied her about to pause. But his tongue -refused to utter the word which would have arrested her progress.... -She swept past, and it was as though the mainsail of a yacht had gone -over on the starboard tack, emptying a whole breeze out of an acre of -canvas. Another moment and she had ascended to the stage, her draperies -of crimson and purple trailing as she went; she had lifted her weights, -respectively guaranteed at one hundred and one hundred and forty pounds -avoirdupois; she had made her three bows, and the tableau-curtains had -descended and closed. Thenceforward Mr. Lanter took no interest in the -entertainment. With fishy eyes he sat, retrospective, unobservant; and -his companion, the lively Mr. Goter, found him mighty dull. - -“Oh, look here!... Say now! what’s up with you?” he protested, as they -walked home together through the crowded streets. - -The clang of street-car gongs, the intermittent roar and rattle of -the elevated railway, mingled with the blare of tin horns, and the -clamor of voices. It was hot May weather, and there was a smell upon -the languid air that seemed to combine in itself the flavor of rotten -fruit, the musky odor of African skins, the pungent acridity of frying -oil, and the rankness of coarse tobacco. - -“Up with me? Why, I’m all right,” said Mr. Lanter, “and I’ve had a real -good time, thanks to you, old man!” - -“Come, have a drink?” said the pacified Goter, and they turned in at -the swing doors of a beer saloon. “Bully, wasn’t she?” he broke out, -after ordering two iced bocks. “My style all over! Guess I’ve a good -mind to take her on!” and he winked knowingly. - -Mr. Lanter set down his tall glass of untasted Münchener. “Look here, -who are you talking about?” He was salmon-pink to the edge of his black -Derby hat, and his pale blue eyes had angry sparks in them. - -“That girl that did the jugglin’ business on the plank-and-ladder,” -responded Goter. “Black eyes, black hair, high color, and spankin’ -action. Did you s’pose I meant that walkin’ grain-elevator in the tin -armor? No, sir!” - -He had yet another fulminating witticism on hand, and he discharged it. -Before it had done crackling he saw stars, for the placable Lanter had -suddenly smitten him upon the nose. - -“Good thunder! what are you up to, anyway?” spluttered the astonished -Mr. Goter. - -“Hol’ off there! Go easy!” shouted the barkeeper. Half a dozen men, -their drinks in their hands, their hats tilted back from interested -faces, had gathered round, and a colored boy was mopping the -red-stained marble table with a wet cloth. - -“He--he insulted a lady!” gasped Mr. Lanter, “and I struck him! If he -does it again--I’ll do it again!... Mind that!” The tone and the look -with which he delivered the final warning convinced Mr. Goter that he -had better mind. - -Thenceforward he ceased to regard Mr. Lanter as a “Willie” and Mr. -Lanter ceased to regard himself as a Christian young man. His own -violence had shocked him. There must be a good deal of cold reason, he -reflected, at the bottom of Mrs. Lanter’s inveterate prejudice against -public places of entertainment, and his conscience pricked him. But she -had made him promise that he would not go to “theaters,” and he salved -his conscience by reminding himself that he had kept his word. But he -went again and yet again to Kneeman’s Star Musée. And upon the third -occasion he mustered up courage to speak to Miss Minota. - -“How do you do?” he blurted out. Then as an afterthought he blurted -out, “Mademoiselle.” He had to tilt his head quite back to look up into -Miss Minota’s large fair moon-face. He wondered what she would say if -anybody told her that she was his ideal of womanhood? - -“I guess I am very well, thank you,” responded the giantess. She had a -plaintive, mooing voice, and despite the usage of a public career, she -seemed little less bashful than Mr. Lanter. - -“Do you like N’York?” Mr. Lanter inquired. - -“Well,” Miss Minota returned, “I guess I do!” She sighed as she -continued: “But one place is much the same as another to you--when you -don’t see anythin’ more of it than the inside of the hotel where you -happen to be located, and the inside of the hall where you chance to be -exhibitin’.” - -“Why, now, that’s a shame!” said Mr. Lanter, growing red with sympathy. -“Don’t your friends take you around some, when you feel you’d like to -go?” - -“I suppose they’d be real pleased,” said Miss Minota, after an -instant’s consideration, “if I didn’t attract so much attention. -But when you’re too big to go on the cars, like other folk, or pass -along the sidewalk without blockin’ it----” She shrugged her enormous -shoulders with a little air of fatigue, and the gentleman in evening -dress, who officiated as showman, gave her the signal to move. -“Good-afternoon!” she said graciously, and passed on. - -But Mr. Lanter’s brain was surging with sympathy. “My gracious!” he -cried to himself, “is it possible that that splendid creature isn’t -happy?” A vague look of gentle melancholy was certainly floating on the -surface of those limpid china-blue eyes. He breathed through his nose -and clenched his fists, one of which already bore a proof impression -of Mr. Goter’s projecting front tooth. And the very next half-holiday -found him waiting at the side-door through which professionals found -entrance to the back scenes of Kneeman’s. One or two sallow, cropped -men in furred overcoats passed in, one of them in company with a -black-eyed, vivacious, middle-aged woman, who conversed with her -fingers, her shoulders, and every muscle of her face--and in whom Mr. -Lanter recognized Goter’s houri. Then a vehicle like a hotel-omnibus, -only taller and shinier, drawn by a pair of stout horses, pulled up by -the curb; two men, moustached, and dressed in a kind of buff uniform -faced with red (Mr. Lanter recognized it as the livery common to the -attendants of the Musée), got down from the box seat and opened the -omnibus door.... Mr. Lanter’s heart thumped wildly as a colossal foot -and ankle, appareled in a pink silk stocking and rosetted black satin -shoe, cautiously descended to the ground, and the rest of Miss Minota -followed by gradual instalments until the giantess stood upright on -the pavement, her nine feet of height handsomely accentuated by an -umbrageous hat, with a plume of nodding feathers which might have -served for the central ornament of a canopy of state. She inclined this -tremendous headgear in gracious recognition of Mr. Lanter. Mr. Lanter -took off his hat with his best manner, and boldly stepped forward. - -A large pink flush invaded the giantess’s immense cheeks, previously -of a pale or dough-colored complexion. “Won’t you walk in a minute?” -she said, in a timid, fluttering way. Then, not without difficulty, she -went in at the side-door, Mr. Lanter followed, the attendants mounted -to their seats, and the large shiny omnibus drove away. - -The sensation of moving and speaking in a dream bore heavily upon Mr. -Lanter as he followed the tall, stooping figure of the giantess up -a short flight of stairs and through what seemed to be a labyrinth -of winding passages, each of which seemed more dark and dusky than -the preceding one, and conveyed a stronger olfactory impression -of gas, mice, and turpentine. But the labyrinth ended in a vast -echoing chaos of shaky canvas scenes and machinery, which Miss -Minota introduced as the stage. The iron curtain that separated the -stage from the auditorium was down, and they stood together in the -midst of a heterogeneous jumble of properties among which Mr. Lanter -recognized the plank-and-ladder of the equilibrists, the gilded props -and rubber-covered block-tackle used by the tight-rope dancer, the -belled and ribboned saddles employed by the Centaur Family, and Miss -Minota’s mediæval throne, flanked by the gilded weights employed in her -exhibition of manual strength. - -“Won’t you----” Involuntarily he pointed to the gaudy throne-seat. - -“Well,” said the giantess, “I don’t know but what I will sit down--just -a minute.” Seated, her large round face and china-blue, rather foolish -eyes were above the level of Mr. Lanter’s as he stood before her. -Certainly, but for the suet dumpling pallor of her fair complexion and -a prevailing flabbiness, the result of insufficient exercise, Miss -Minota would have been good-looking. “I guess I ought to thank you for -being so polite!” she said, and her tone and accent were homely as -those of the New England village-folk among whom Mr. Lanter had been -raised. “I guess you thought I acted like I was silly just now; but -boys do scare me so.... If there’s one thing more than another I dasn’t -face, it’s a boy; and you bet boys know it, and lay along for me--the -nasty little things! So there’s another reason why I can’t go round -like other folks--even if the management wouldn’t object to my givin’ -the show away!” She folded her immense hands upon her knees and looked -placidly at Mr. Lanter. - -“But why should the management object, Miss--Mademoiselle?” asked Mr. -Lanter, standing, very red and stiff and embarrassed, at Miss Minota’s -knee, like a somewhat dull little boy about to say a lesson. - -“Because once folks have seen me for nothin’, they’ll leave the -pay-place alone,” said Miss Minota. “It’s human natur’, take it how you -will. An’ I’m only Mademoiselle on the posters. My first professional -exhibitin’ tour was in the State of Minnesota, an’ that’s how I got -my professional name. My own name seemed kind of one-horse for a -poster--Quilt--Miss Hattie Quilt of Smartsville, New Hampshire, I was -when I lived to-home.” - -“I’ve been to Smartsville,” said Mr. Lanter eagerly, as though it were -a bond. “It’s only forty miles from Saunderstown where I was raised. -My mother, Mrs. Lanter, she lives there now. And Quilt’s a name I’ve -heard.... There was old Deacon Quilt that had the lawsuit----” - -“I guess he was my grandfather!” said Miss Minota soberly. - -Mr. Lanter tilted his head, trying to remember what the lawsuit had -been about. - -“It was a suit about an iron bedstead,” said Miss Minota. “It’s ’most -ten years ago. Grandfather bought it for me, because I’d crowded -mother out of hers. We slep’ together till I was ’bout eleven years -old. Well, grandfather measured me himself for that bed, but it didn’t -get delivered for a month on end, and I’d growed beyond my measure, -and didn’t fit it, or it didn’t fit me. Mother tried to convince the -old man by showin’ him my frocks--she’d let ’em down eight inches -only four weeks back, an’ they was hardly on speakin’ terms with my -boot-tops by then--but he said on’y Jonah’s gourd growed at that rate, -an’ the dry-goods man must change the bedstead or he’d go to law. An’ -the dry-goods man said rather than have legal trouble he’d change the -bed for a bigger, ’n he did; but the new one was six weeks in gettin’ -delivered, and it was the same story over again--it didn’t fit me, -nohow! So grandfather went to law, an’ the case was tried in the -Smartsville court-house, an’ grandfather would ’a got damages if the -dry-goods man’s lawyer hadn’t asked to have me produced in court. It -was my first public appearance, an’ I was dretful shy. People used to -laugh at me bein’ so shy, but you’ve no idee what a tryin’ thing it is -bein’ bigger ’n anybody else--when you first find it out!” The large -form of Miss Minota was convulsed by a shudder. “You’d hide yourself in -a mousehole, if it was big enough to hold you. Well, they called Miss -Hattie Quilt, an’ I got up an’ straightened out, for I’d been settin’ -cramped in a kind of pew, an’ it seemed even to myself as if I’d never -end. An’ the judge looked at me through his glasses. My! didn’t he -stare! An’ he asked how old I was, an’ I said ‘Risin’ twelve’; an’ the -judge allowed if I kep’ on risin’ I might get somewheres in time; an’ -that a man with a granddaughter like that growin’ up about him ought to -provide india-rubber bedsteads an’ a sliding roof. An’ all the folks -laughed an’ grandfather had to pay sixty dollars damages an’ costs.” -Miss Minota’s gentle, monotonous, mooing voice left off talking; she -paused to draw breath. - -“And then----?” said Mr. Lanter, in whose brain dim and faded hearsays -connected with the Quilt law-case were stirring. - -“Then grandfather took a kind of down on me,” Miss Minota explained, -“though he’d set a deal of store on me before. An’ mother used to -beg me with tears in her eyes not to grow at that rate; an’ I tried -not--hard; but I kep’ on. I stinted meals an’ wore an iron pound-weight -on my head under my hat--but still I kep’ on. An’ at last grandfather -opinioned to father and mother it was time to let out the house--or to -let out me. So they hired me to Dan Slater--perhaps you’ve heard of -Slater’s Traveling Museum of Marvels--an’----” - -“I should have thought they’d been ashamed!” burst out Mr. Lanter, -flushing to the temples. “Their own flesh and blood!” - -“That’s what other people kep’ saying to grandfather, ‘your own flesh -and blood’!” returned Miss Minota. “But all grandfather ever said was -that there was more flesh and blood than he’d bargained for, and he’d -thank ’em to ’tend to their own affairs.” - -“I don’t think he was a nice kind of man,” said little Mr. Lanter, -thrilling with indignation to his toes and finger-tips, “to send a -young girl away from her home and her mother--out into the world--among -strangers who might have treated her badly!” He looked up at his ideal -of womanhood with passionate chivalry. - -“Oh, but they didn’t treat me badly!” said Miss Minota. “Dan Slater -was real kind. An’ when I outgrew the caravan I traveled in at first, -he telescoped two together--an’ as one of ’em had been made for the -giraffe, I got on pretty well. But I’ve never got used to bein’ made a -show of, an’ stared at, and asked questions by people, whether they’re -ordinary folks or Kings an’ Queens an’ Serene Highnesses--an’ I guess I -never will. Perhaps you wouldn’t believe it’s lonsome to be bigger ’n -anybody else--but it makes me feel so, times!” - -“I wish I could prevent your feeling lonesome!” burst out Mr. Lanter, -before he was aware. “I wish I could carry you right away from -this”--he waved his hand comprehensively--“and take care of you. I -wouldn’t let a rough breath blow on you as I could help. I’d stand -between you and the world, and shelter you--I’d spend my life in doing -it--and spend it gladly!” He forgot himself in what he was saying, and -therefore did not blush, but his awkward, plain, and homely little -figure in its badly-fitting store clothes was a spectacle to smile -at. “Oh! if you knew all I’d thought and dreamed of since I saw you -first!” he said, with a quiver of passion in his voice. “It seems like -a dream to be talking to you here.... If it didn’t how could I tell -you straight out as I am telling you now, what I haven’t even had the -courage to write--that I--I----” - -Miss Minota modestly reared her Alpine height from the mediæval throne -as a trampling of feet sounded from the dusty passage beyond. “I guess -I have got to go and dress,” she said modestly. - -“Oh, please wait one minute!” pleaded Mr. Lanter. “You must know it, if -you never speak to me or look at me again. I think you the grandest, -most glorious woman I ever saw! I’m ready to die for you right now, if -the dying of a common store clerk would be any use! But it wouldn’t,” -said Mr. Lanter, “and so I must go on thinking of you, and worshipping -you, and loving you to the end of my days----” He broke down, blushing -and stammering. - -“Oh, my!” cried Miss Minota. In her surprise she sat down again so -unguardedly that the mediæval throne creaked and tottered. “You don’t -mean it? Honest, you don’t?” - -“I mean it with all my soul!” asseverated Mr. Lanter. - -Miss Minota blushed a dull red all over her immense face, as she met -the young man’s rather ugly, candid gaze. Then her large china-blue -eyes brimmed over; she pulled from her pocket a cambric handkerchief -as large as the mainsail of a toy yacht, and began to cry like a -thunder-cloud. - -“Don’t!” begged Mr. Lanter. “Please don’t! If you’re angry with me I -don’t know what I should do. I don’t, indeed!” He was dreadfully in -earnest, and quite pale, and large drops stood upon his forehead, for -the air in the Musée was insufferably hot and close. There was a smell -of charred wood and blistering paint, and the unsettled dust of the -place made the straggling rays of daylight that bored their way into it -seem blue and smoky. A sudden clamor of voices broke out below, almost -under the stage it seemed, and then came the trampling of feet, the -crash of broken glass, and the smell of some spilled chemical mingled -with the grosser odors of the place. The scent, the stir, the sounds, -seemed vaguely associated in Mr. Lanter’s mind with something dangerous -and sinister. But he was listening to Miss Minota. - -“I ain’t a mite angry,” said the giantess, giving her overflowing eyes -a final dab with the handkerchief, now crumpled into a damp ball. “I -should hate to have you believe it! I--I think you’re real generous, -an’ kind, an’ noble. And I shall be grateful to you all my life”--she -mopped her eyes again--“for makin’ me feel--for once--like I’d been an -ordinary-sized girl; for I--I’ll own I have fretted considerable. But -there, when things can’t be altered, anyhow, it’s no good frettin’, is -it? An’, of course, there could never be nothin’ between us--I couldn’t -ever play it so low down on a man that’s as generous and kind as you -are, as to say there could be. But I’m just as obliged. And now I’ll -say good-bye, and if we don’t never meet again you’re to remember I was -grateful. My land! I do believe the show’s afire!” - -For the crackling, blistering heat that parched the flooring underfoot, -with the sudden volume of smoke that rolled upward, betrayed the -condition of things no less than the thin tongues of flame that -licked upward between the boards. In the regions under the stage the -conflagration had broken out; they heard the shouts of the stage-hands, -the crash of glass fire-bombs breaking one after another, and next -moment a solitary man, smoke-blackened and red-faced, burst upward from -the regions below, and, rushing to the fire-hose, coiled like a brown -snake against the bare masonry of the wall, began to haul it down. As -the man tugged and swore at the hose, other voices shouted and other -feet clattered, and half a dozen other men, singed and blackened like -so many demons, emerged as the first had done, from those conjectural -lower depths. - -“It’s no use--no use!” they shouted as they ran, and the fireman -dropped the hose and ran with them. They did not have to cross the -charring, blistering stage, for they were on the right side for the -passage-way. They fought and struggled, shrieking, in the narrow exit, -blocked by their terrified bodies. - -“Come! Didn’t you hear?” shouted Mr. Lanter. He caught Miss Minota by -the skirt and tugged at it like a faithful terrier. “Run!” he shouted -again. But a choking volume of smoke, a blast of fiercer heat fanned -up from below. The boards of the stage were now in flames. And the -flames were of beautiful, ravishingly-delicate shades of blue and -hyacinth and orange-red. And they devoured where they licked with a -deadly greed and a purring, crackling kind of satisfaction.... “Come!” -Mr. Lanter shouted again. The giantess had sunk upon her knees, -he shook her violently by the shoulder, and she lifted her large, -terrified face and staring blue eyes, now for the first time upon a -level with his own. - -“I dasn’t!” she cried. “The floor wouldn’t bear me--I should never -git across! Save yourself while you have time!” As she sobbed and -shuddered, Mr. Lanter put his arm round her, as though she had been -quite an ordinary-sized girl. - -“Pluck up!” he shouted, for the fire roared as triumphantly as though -Kneeman’s Star Musée were the choicest morsel in the world. “I’ll get -you out of this or burn with you, by--thunder!” and he kissed her. The -kiss seemed to revive Miss Minota, for she gasped, and struggled to her -feet, and looked with him upon a wall of rejoicing flame that soared -upward between them and the passage-way. “These doors behind us--where -do they lead?” Mr. Lanter shouted, and Miss Minota shouted back, “To -the dressing-rooms!” - -There was no way of escape before them; the iron curtain walled them -in. As the slim greedy tongues of fire began to lick the boards on -which they stood, they retreated to the back of the stage. But the -stifling smoke and the greedy fire followed them, and the end of things -seemed not far off.... It seemed quite natural now that they should be -holding hands. They were blackened both, and smoke-begrimed, parched -and giddy with the terrific heat, and the incandescent air fanned on -their smirched faces as though the wings of Azrael had stirred it; but -they were a comfort to each other. To be heard by each other in that -fiendish tumult of insentient things was impossible; but they pressed -close to one another like children in the smoky dark, and held one -another’s hands. - -“I don’t know as I’d choose to have things different,” said a grip of -Mr. Lanter’s; and the answering squeeze of Miss Minota’s large hand -said, “Thank you for helping me to die so like an ordinary-sized girl!” -But the hand she pressed seemed to melt in hers and slip away, and, -groping downward in the dun-colored smother, the giantess touched the -senseless body of Mr. Lanter lying at her feet. And then she gave a cry -of love and grief and anger mingled, as an ordinary-sized woman might -have done--and lifted her lover from the blistering floor as though he -had been a baby. The smoke seemed less dense a few feet beyond where -she stood, and, moving forward with Mr. Lanter held upon one arm, the -other outstretched gropingly, Miss Minota bruised her knuckles against -a wooden door. It was the high, narrow door of solid, iron-clamped -timber (usually situated at the back of the scene-dock), by which -scenery and the more bulky properties were hoisted up to or removed -from the stage of Kneeman’s Musée. In the joy of the discovery Miss -Minota cried out. Then she laid down Mr. Lanter very gently on the -floor, and fumbled for the door-bolts. But the door opened by a winch -and lever, and Miss Minota fumbled in vain. A chill despair seized her. -He lay so helpless and inert at her feet that he might have been dead! -“O Lord!” Miss Minota prayed, “where’s the use in You havin’ made me so -much bigger than other folk if I can’t save him? Help me to do it, and -I’ll never go back on You by grumblin’ at my size any more!” - -A dizziness overcame her, she reeled and staggered against the side -wall of the scene-dock, bruising her knee against something that fell -with a dull, reverberating crash. It was a solid bar of iron used by a -professional athlete in a weight-lifting exhibition, and it might have -weighed a hundred and sixty pounds. The crash of its fall brought Miss -Minota to herself. She stooped, and found and lifted it, and exultant, -for the first time, in the stature and the strength that marked her -out and set her apart from her ordinary-sized sisters, the giantess -attacked the door. One battering blow from the weapon wielded by those -tremendous arms, and the hinges started and the stout planks split; a -second, and a plank crashed splintering outward; a third, and a shout -went up from the crowd assembled in the street below, as, amid volumes -of escaping smoke, the begrimed and fire-scorched figure of Miss Minota -appeared, carrying the insensible body of Mr. Lanter in her arms. - - * * * * * - -“Well,” said Madame Lanter, the Colossal American Marvel, some months -later, to an interviewer specially despatched from the office of the -_Boston Magpie_, “I guess you know what happened after that!” She -blushed a little, being yet a bride, and coyly turned her wedding -ring, a golden circlet of the dimensions of a baby’s bracelet, upon -her colossal finger. “We brought him to, and then _he_ brought it -off. Flesh an’ blood is flesh an’ blood, an’ we all have our weak -p’ints!--and if I did lay out never to marry a man as I couldn’t look -up to--I guess it would take half a dozen of my size, standing on each -other’s heads, to equal the loftiness of Mr. Lanter’s mind!” - -The young man thus eulogized presented to the reporter’s view a spare -and rather undersized personality, plain of feature, and awkward -of manner, drawbacks afterward transmuted by the magic touch of -the stylographic pen into “_slightness, unpretending elegance, and -unaffected simplicity. The beaming affection discernible in the glance -he turned upon his stately bride justified the eulogistic terms in -which that lady spoke of her husband. Their brief but thrillingly -romantic courtship, with its strikingly sensational ‘dénouement,’ -created a ‘furore’ when detailed by the New York press. The -disinterested nature of the attachment of Mr. Lanter (who is a member -of one of our oldest New England families) to the superb specimen of -American womanhood who bears his aristocratic name may be gathered -from the fact that the marriage ceremony was some weeks old before -Mr. Lanter discovered that Mrs. Lanter had amassed, during the period -of time spent by her in exhibiting her personal developments in the -principal cities of Europe and the States, a fortune of ninety-five -thousand dollars._” - -And in this final statement the stylographic pen distilled pure truth. - - - - -HOW THE MISTRESS CAME HOME - - -The avenue of lofty elms was veiled in a white fog; upon the low-lying -parklands, cropped meadows, and sere stubble-fields, the same woolly -vapor lay dankly. But the square windows of the fine old Tudor -manor-house flashed with ruddy light, and the hospitable hearth-fires -of the hall diffused glow and radiance through open doors. Sir Vivian -and Lady Wroth were coming home after a honeymoon of eight months’ -duration spent in scampering over the face of the habitable globe; and -the village was in a state of loyal ferment over the advent of the lord -and lady of the manor. Already the local band, heavily primed with -home-brewed, was posted at the station in readiness to burst into the -strains of “See the Conquering Hero” upon the arrival of the London -express. Eight sturdy laborers, in clean smock-frocks, waited, rope -in hand, for the opportunity of harnessing themselves to the bridal -brougham, while Venetian masts, upbearing strings of flags and fairy -lanterns, testified to the strength and temperature of popular goodwill. - -“A sweet pretty creature, ’m, I hear!” said Mrs. Ansdey, the -white-haired, handsome, black-silk-clad housekeeper to the Rector’s -wife, who had driven up to the house to ask for a cup of tea, and leave -a parcel addressed to the new mistress of the manor, containing three -dozen very raspy cambric handkerchiefs, hemmed and initialed by the -Girls’ Sewing Class at the National Schools. - -“Quite a picture, Sir Vivian’s valet said!” added the butler, who was -comparatively young, not being over sixty, and therefore looked down -upon by Mrs. Ansdey from her vantage of fifteen summers. - -“Beauty is grass!” said the Rector’s wife, who was not overburdened -with the commodity. She was a long, thin, high-nosed woman, with color -distributed over her countenance in little islands. She drank her -tea, and toasted her large, useful feet at the glowing wood-fire, and -praised the Sally Lunns. - -Her reverend partner was down at the village reading-rooms, rehearsing -the shrill-voiced school children in the “Greet Ye To-night, Thrice -Happy Pair,” chorus from _Lohengrin_. She knew the quality of the cocoa -to be obtained there, and longed to share with him the hospitable -burden of Mrs. Ansdey’s silver tray. But as this amicable division of -spoil was manifestly impossible, the Rector’s wife consoled herself -by making a clean sweep. And so she ate and drank and chatted to the -not displeased Mrs. Ansdey with unflagging vigor, while the famous -Reynolds portraits of departed ladies of the manor smiled and simpered -from the shining paneled walls, and the gray-muzzled bloodhounds, last -of a famous race and favorite of the last Baronet, snored upon the -leopard-skin hearthrug. - -“You have had many visitors this season?” queried the Rector’s wife, -with a calculating glance at the donation box, the contents of which -went to the Cottage Hospital twice in the year. - -“Troops of them,” returned the housekeeper, nodding her lace lappets. -“And, as usual, half of ’em with American twangs. Even if they didn’t -talk through their noses, I should guess ’em from the States, shouldn’t -you, Mr. Cradell?” - -“Without doubt, ma’am,” rejoined the butler. “There’s a feverish -anxiety to get the greatest amount of information in the shortest -possible time, and an equally ardent determination to finger what isn’t -meant to be fingered, price what can’t be priced, and buy what isn’t -for sale, which, to my mind, is a trademark distinguishing the bearer, -male or female, as hailing from the other side of the Atlantic.” - -“Even if he didn’t call me ‘marm’--if he’s a man and middle-aged, and -put American dollars in the box instead of English half-crowns if he -happens to be a lady,” continued Mrs. Ansdey. “But what I will say is, -if it was with my latest breath, that the young ladies are most elegant -and have a real appreciation for old and what you might call romantic -things,” she added somewhat hastily; and the Rector’s wife said, as she -added sugar to her fourth cup: - -“The new Lady Wroth is an American, I have always understood.” - -“Born in Washington, but edicated in Paris,” said Mr. Cradell, putting -a fresh log of apple-wood upon the glowing fire at the lower end of the -hall. - -“She comes of a fine old family, we have always understood,” said -the housekeeper, smoothing her lace apron with her plump white -hands. “Rutherfoord her maiden name was, and with her beauty and her -jewels--for her late papa was a Senator, besides being what I’ve heard -called a Railway King--she created a sensation when she was presented -by the Duchess of Balgowrie last May but one.” - -“As to her style of good looks,” said Mr. Cradell, dusting lichen from -his coat, “Sir Vivian was always partial to dark beauty. ‘What is she -like?’ says he to me when I took the liberty of asking, as an old -servant may. ‘A black pearl, Cradell, and I hope to wear my jewel in -my bonnet as my ancestor Sir Guy wore Queen Elizabeth’s ruby--until the -day I die!’ He’d a light in his eyes when he said it, and what with -love and happiness and all, he looked more like a boy of twenty-three -than a man of forty. And I said to Mrs. Ansdey, ‘If ever there was -a love-match,’ I says, ‘Sir Vivian’s is one.’ And now the carriage -is waiting at the station to bring home both the master and the -mistress--bless them both!” - -“She wrote to me from Mentone,” went on Mrs. Ansdey, “and I truly -call it a pretty thought, and a gracious one, of me that have been my -master’s nurse, and held him on my knees when he picked out bounding -‘B’ and curly ‘Q’ with an ivory crotchet-hook.” She produced from a -morocco pocketbook, of solid and responsible appearance, a letter -written with violet ink on thin, foreign paper, in delicate upright -characters. “‘_My husband has told me of all your faithful service and -true devotion to him and his_,’ she read; ‘_and I hope before long to -take your kind hand in mine and thank you for him and for myself!_’ -There now!” - -“Gracious and graceful too,” said old Cradell, who had beaten noiseless -time to the reading of the young mistress’s letter with one wrinkled -finger on a withered palm. “Good breeding there--and old blood--in -every line!” - -“And she looks forward to seeing her husband’s dear old English home,” -went on the housekeeper, “and prays God to give them many days in it -together--and I trust He will!” - -“Let us hope so, for all concerned!” said the Rector’s wife, who -resented theological references as trenching upon her own particular -province. - -“Though in this family it’s been like a fate, or a doom, or whatever -you might please to term it,” said Mrs. Ansdey, “that the course of -true love, the deeper it was and the truer it was, was always to be -broken--not by change or faithlessness of one that loved, but by the -hand of death. There was Sir Geoffrey and Lady Euphrasia--hundreds -of years back--that were drowned crossing the ford on the ride home -from their baby’s christening and the baby lived to be Sir Launcelot, -whose bride was carried off by the Black Death before the roses on -her wedding garland were withered.... And then there were Sir Alan -and Sir Guy, who were both killed in battle within a year of their -weddings, and Sir Vivian’s great-grandfather, old Sir Vivian, found -his young wife dead at her tapestry-frame when he’d crept up quiet to -surprise her with his unexpected return from the Embassy to Rome. And -Sir Vivian’s own dear mother lived but a very few years after the dear -child came to comfort her for his father’s early loss. But time goes -by, and the curse--if it be a curse, as they say it is, brought upon -the founder of the family for some secret deed of evil--the curse may -have passed over, or worn itself out. What’s that?” - -“What’s what, ma’am?” asked the butler, as Mrs. Ansdey rose in her -rustling silks and made a sign for silence. - -“I fancied I heard a timid kind of tap on the hall door,” said the -housekeeper. - -“A robin blew against it, perhaps,” said the butler. “They’re stupid -with the frost.” - -“There was a footstep too,” said Mrs. Ansdey, holding up her hand and -making her old-fashioned rings gleam and twinkle in the firelight. “At -least, if there wasn’t, Mr. Cradell, I admit I’ve been deceived!” - -“We’ll see, we’ll see!” said Cradell, moving to the great oaken door. -“It may be a tramp.” The handle turned, the massive oak door moved -inward. The fog had thinned, it had grown clearer beyond doors. Within -the frame of the massive lintels appeared the glimmering stone steps, -a segment of the formal garden, with its black Irish yews, pale marble -urns, and cartwheel beds of late flowers, enclosed within borders -of box. Beyond the trees reared a somber barrier, shutting out the -sky, and the chill wind of winter drove the dead leaves in swirls and -drifts across the melancholy picture. The Rector’s wife, thinking of -her walk across the park to the Rectory, sniffed and shivered, and the -housekeeper motioned to the butler to shut the door. - -“For I was mistaken, as you see, and there’s not a living soul about, -unless it’s skulking in the shadow of the trees,” she said. “Another -cup of tea, or a drop of cherry-brandy, ma’am, to keep the bitter -air out as you walk home? Though there’s no reason you should walk -when there’s the pony-chair.... Or perhaps you would rather----” She -started. “Call me nervous, or finical, or what you like,” she said, -peering anxiously through her gold-rimmed spectacles in the direction -of the door. “But, if I spoke with my dying breath, there was a tap, -and then a pause, and then another tap, as plain as plain could be!” - -“Dear me!” The Rector’s wife, alarm in her eyes and crumbs on her -chin, rose from her chair, dropping her imitation sable boa. “I really -believe I heard it too!... Had you not better----?” - -Cradell shook his old head and clucked softly with his tongue. “The -ladies must always have their way!” he said, shuffling on his neatly -polished shoes toward the hall-door. He opened it, and both the -housekeeper and the Rector’s wife uttered a simultaneous exclamation -of surprise. - -For a woman was standing in the moonlight outside. She was of slight -form, and wore a wide-brimmed feathered hat, and the heavy shadow of -the portico fell blackly over her, so that she seemed no more than a -silhouette with a pale glimmering background. But a delicate perfume -stole upon the senses of those who, from within, looked out at her, and -when she moved there was the unmistakable frou-frou of silken linings. - -“Ma’am!” the butler began. - -“I came on before,” a sweet plaintive voice said--a voice that was -viola-like in its rather thin, but sweet and vibrating quality. “And -you must be Cradell.” - -“_Ma’am?_” the old servant said again, while the Rector’s wife and the -housekeeper listened with strained anxiety. - -“I am Lady Wroth,” came in the clear, vibrating tones. “I came on -before.... It does not matter why. There was a slight accident between -Greystoke Station and the Elvand Tunnel. Do not be alarmed. Sir Vivian -is safe, quite safe,” she went on, as agitated exclamations broke from -the three listeners. “Indeed only one person was killed, though two or -three are injured, and he--my husband--is helping the sufferers. He is -always like that, so ready to help, so full of sympathy....” - -She was now standing in the firelight, whose ruddy glow illumined the -slight figure, and drew gleams of crimson and emerald from the jewels -at her throat and shone in the depths of her great dark eyes. Her face -was of delicate, pearly paleness, her hair had the tints of autumn -leaves, and her draperies, too, were of the tints of autumn. She drew -off a glove, and her wedding ring, with its diamond keeper, showed upon -the slight and pretty hand, as her traveling mantle of velvet trimmed -with costly sables fell to the floor. - -“Oh, your ladyship!” cried the housekeeper. “What must you think of -us--standing here and staring? But as goodness sees us--what with your -sudden coming, and the news about the accident, and all--we’ve lost our -heads, me and Mr. Cradell!” - -“So very alarming!” said the Rector’s wife. “I trust Lady Wroth will -excuse what may seem like an intrusion----” - -“The intrusion is mine,” said the sweet viola-voice. “I should have -given warning of my coming, but it was not to be. Oh! the dear house!” -She looked with wondering, shining eyes upon the paneled walls, the -trophied arms, the noble pictures, and the quaint antique furniture, -and between her lips, of the faintest rose, her delicate teeth gleamed -like pearls, as her breath came quick and eager. “Vivian’s old home ... -Vivian’s home, and mine!” she whispered to herself, and laid a hand -upon her heart, as though to check its beating. - -“I will not intrude,” said the Rector’s wife. “I will hope for -the pleasure of calling, with the Rector, at a more fitting time. -Good-night, Lady Wroth.” - -The Rector’s wife had held out her large hand in its cheap glove, but -the new mistress of the manor only smiled upon her with vague wistful -sweetness, and did not touch the massive extremity. Whereupon its owner -set down Lady Wroth as “proud,” and made a mental note to tell the -Rector so, as her large feet carried her out of the house and out of -the story. - -The two old servants exchanged a glance as the slight figure of their -mistress moved across the polished floor, strewn with Oriental rugs and -skins of wild beasts. - -“Would my lady wish to go to her room, or to have some refreshment in -the dining-room?” the housekeeper asked. - -My lady declined. - -“I have no need of anything. I only wish to rest a little and see my -husband’s home before starting upon a journey,” she explained. - -“A journey? Dear, gracious me! And your ladyship just fresh from -travel, and shaken by an accident and all!” cried Mrs. Ansdey, shaking -her lace lappets. - -“I am so used to travel,” said her ladyship, “though this is the -longest journey I have ever taken--or ever shall take!” She smiled upon -the two old people, and settled herself in the seat she had chosen, -and resting her elbow upon the arm of it, and her pretty chin in her -delicate palm, let her sweet shining eyes travel about the place. “All -as he described it, yes!” she whispered to herself. “The mullioned -windows with the coats of arms, the carved and painted ceiling, the -hooded Tudor fireplaces, the arms and the pictures.... That is the -great Gainsborough portrait of Sir Alan’s young wife, the girl who died -of grief when they brought her husband’s _bâton_ of Field Marshal to -her--won an hour before he was killed in battle. There is the painting -by Velasquez of the Wroth who was made Bishop of Toledo. That must be -the Vandyck of Lady Marjorie with the deerhound by her side, and there -is the Watts picture of Vivian’s young mother playing ball with her -boy. Ah! what a sweet, sweet child!” - -The plaintive voice thrilled and trembled. Tears might not have been -far from the shadowy dark eyes, as Lady Wroth rose and moved to the -foot of the great staircase, attended by the housekeeper. - -“Shall I show you your rooms, my lady?” Mrs. Ansdey began. “The fires -are burning beautifully, and everything is quite ready, and I feel -sure your ladyship must need rest after----” - -“I will rest presently. But what I wish now, is to be shown the house, -if you are not too tired. Lady Audrey’s turret, and the paneled chamber -where Sir Roger fought the duel with the Spanish cavalier, and the -bedroom where Queen Elizabeth slept, and the banqueting-hall and the -chapel where the Templar’s heart is buried under the altar, and the -gallery where Lady Euphrasia danced with King Henry VIII., in masquing -dress, and the whispering corridor, and the painted room----” - -“And the ghost-chamber, my lady? Oddly enough, that’s the first room -that American ladies ask to see!... But maybe your ladyship doesn’t -believe in ghosts, or the fact of its being late and getting dark----” - -Lady Wroth laughed quietly and sweetly. “Do you believe that the -spirits of those who have passed on can only appear in the dark, dear -Mrs. Ansdey?” - -The housekeeper rustled her stiff silken skirts as she followed her new -mistress up the broad staircase with its carven balusters and mossy -carpets. - -“I don’t believe in ghosts at all, my lady!” - -“Not in ghosts as they are commonly imagined; those shadowy white -things that point and scare and hover,” came floating back in the thin, -sweet tones; “but in the spirits of the departed--it may be long-dead, -or newly called from earth--who borrow for a little while the semblance -in which they lived and loved, and return for one last look at a -beloved home, or come for one dear glimpse of what might, but for the -Infinite Eternal Will, have been a home. You believe in them, do you -not? Or, if you do not now, you will! Ah, yes! you will, dear Mrs. -Ansdey!” - -Looking upward from the hall, the butler saw the slight figure -of Sir Vivian’s bride traverse the first landing and pass out of -view, followed by the portly figure of the housekeeper; and in that -moment came the grind of wheels upon the avenue, a loud knock at -the hall-door, and a sharp peal at the bell. Two liveried servants, -appearing in haste, admitted the master of the house, and at the first -glimpse of Sir Vivian’s ghastly face and torn and disordered garments, -Cradell cried out in alarm. - -“Sir Vivian--sir! It’s worse than what my lady said!... You’ve been -hurt! Shall I send for the doctor?” - -“He is with us!” came the hoarse reply, and Cradell, peering out into -the chill, gathering darkness, saw a strange carriage drawn up before -the door, whose lamps threw a yellow reflection on the clouds of steam -rising from the flanks of a pair of jaded horses. They were busy -about the door; something was being lifted out? _What?_ asked the old -servant’s shaking lips dumbly. - -“Drove in from Greystoke ... hospital carriage.... Send the men -to help.... Get me some brandy,” came from Sir Vivian in hoarse -shaking tones. “I can’t ... my arm ... dislocated, that’s all. I -wish to Heaven----” His face expressed the nature of the wish, and -the old butler cried with spirit, as he brought the brandy from the -dining-room. “You should be thankful, sir, that you’ve been spared to -her!” - -“Spared to--her?” - -The decanter clinked against the glass. Sir Vivian set it down upon the -tray, and turned a white, seamed face and haggard eyes upon Cradell. - -“Spared to my lady, sir, God bless her!” the old servant said. “Your -hand shakes sadly; let me pour the brandy out.” - -Sir Vivian laughed, or made a grimace of laughter, showing his teeth -and stretching his pale lips. - -“Lord, sir! don’t look like that!” Cradell begged. “Think if her -ladyship were to see you! She----” - -“If her ladyship were to see me!” repeated Sir Vivian. He drank off a -glass of brandy and laughed again. “Cradell--are you mad, or am I?” - -“Neither of us, sir, I hope!” said Cradell. Then a light broke upon -him, and he cried, “Good gracious, Sir Vivian, is it possible that you -don’t know ... my lady is here?” - -“I know it.” An awful agony was expressed in Sir Vivian’s face. “I know -it too well!” Great drops stood upon his forehead; he turned aside, -clenching his hand, and fighting for self-command. - -“She came half an hour ago,” began the butler. “Me and Mrs. Ansdey were -quite took aback. Mrs. Ansdey is upstairs with her ladyship now....” - -“Man--man!” cried Sir Vivian, “do you know what you are saying?” - -He turned his streaming face upon the frightened butler and gripped him -by the arm, fiercely. - -“Lady Wroth--my wife, she is dead! There was an accident--she was -killed instantaneously, with little pain, thank God! They said so at -the Greystoke Hospital.... She is outside--there!” He pointed a shaking -hand toward the partly open hall-door, through which a pale line of -moonlight came stealing as the careful, measured tread of men carrying -a precious burden sounded on the stone. “Yet you say to me--she arrived -half an hour ago! You are raving--or I am delirious!” - -For answer the butler pointed to the velvet mantle trimmed with costly -sables that lay upon the floor. - -“It’s heaven’s truth, Sir Vivian! And there lies the proof! ... and -here is Mrs. Ansdey to confirm it.” - -Both men looked up as the portly figure in its rustling black silken -robes hurried down the great staircase. - -“Sir Vivian! Oh, welcome home, Sir Vivian, a thousand times!” The -housekeeper’s face was very pale, her hands worked nervously, crumpling -her fine lace apron. “But something dreadful has happened! it’s written -in your face!” she cried, “and God forgive a sinful woman, but I am -beginning to believe that I have spoken with a spirit!” - -“Cradell tells me that----” Sir Vivian made an upward gesture. - -“It’s true,” cried Mrs. Ansdey. “Her ladyship--if ’twas her -ladyship--explained that you were delayed. Someone was killed in the -railway accident----” - -“Someone _was_ killed!” - -“And you were coming on after you had seen to the wounded.... She--she -would not eat, or drink, or rest; she wished--all she wished was to -see the house, and I obeyed, and we went through room after room -until--there was a ring at the hall-door bell, and a knocking, and -I turned to speak to my lady as we stood together in the painted -chamber--and she was gone! Oh, Sir Vivian, what does it all mean?” -cried Mrs. Ansdey. - -“It means--that!” - -As the hall-door opened to admit the bearers with their precious -burden, and as the men laid that cold, lovely, smiling image of Death -reverently on the settle, the bloodhound wakened from his slumber and -rising, uttered a long plaintive howl. - -“Welcome home, my wife!” said Sir Vivian. “Now please to leave us here -together!” - -So the servants and the bearers withdrew. - -“It was the same face!” Mrs. Ansdey whispered, as her faithful old -comrade led her away. “Why did she come?” - -Cradell said: “Because she’d made up her mind to--and she was a woman! -There’s two answers in one!” - -He stooped mechanically to pick up the sable-trimmed mantle that had -lain upon the floor. No hand had touched it, but it was no longer -there. - - - - -THE MOTOR-BURGLAR - -A DEVELOPMENT OF THE AGE OF PETROL - - -“A quite remarkable case of coincidence, dear fellars--a parallel -without precedent,” said Hambridge Ost to a select circle of -listeners in the smoking-room of the Younger Sons’ Club, “is that the -giant plate-burglary successfully accomplished at Lord Whysdale’s -shooting-box in Deershire on Tuesday last by a party of three polite -persons traveling in a large, roomy and handsomely-appointed pale -blue ‘Flygoer’ automobile, was echoed, so to put it--on Friday by -a colossal robbery at the seat of my cousin, Lord Pomphrey; the -defrauding persons being also, in that case, a trio of civil-spoken -and well-dressed strangers, occupying a light green ‘Runhard’ of -twenty-eight horse-power with a limousine body and singularly brilliant -nickel fittings. The _most_ remarkable point on one side, and one which -has given cause for the noisy derision of the _profanum vulgus_--do you -foller me?--being that Lord Pomphrey--I regret to add--assisted and -abetted by the humble individual now speaking, actually assisted the -thieves to get clear off with his property, includin’ an Elizabethan -beaker with a cover, out of which the Virgin Monarch graciously quaffed -a nightcap of the cordial called ‘lambswool’ when staying at The Towers -during a Royal progress in the year 1566, and a silver tea-kettle and -punch-bowl presented by the tenants on the late Earl’s coming-of-age, -with a cargo of other valuables, out of which I had the melancholy -privilege of rescuing one Queen Anne Apostle spoon. - -“My cousin Wosbric, between attacks of his hereditary gout, is an -ardent golfer. Residing at his Club during the absence of Lady Pomphrey -and the family in the Tyrol, he takes every feasible opportunity of -cultivating his skill and renewing his enthusiasm for the game, the -intricacies of which, dear fellars, I may own I have never been able -to master. To me, when a large, cheerful, whiskered man, dressed in -shaggy greenish clothes, with gaiters, announces, rubbing his hands, -which are invariably encased in woolen mitts, that he has _taken his -driver twice going to the twelfth hole; did not altogether mishit -either shot, and yet was not up to the green, because the wind bore -down like a Vanguard omnibus_;--to me nothing wildly incredible or -curious has been said. The large man in the shaggy clothes is talking a -shibboleth I do not and never could understand, dear fellars, if I bent -my whole intelligence--considered by some decent judges not altogether -contemptible--to the task, until the final collapse of the present -Social System. But, nevertheless, Lord Pomphrey is partial to the -company of this humble individual upon his golfing days, and to me the -Head of my House--d’ye foller me?--in mentioning a preference issues a -mandate. Enveloped in a complete golfing costume of Jaeger material, -surmounted by two fur-lined overcoats, the pockets of the under one -containing two patent ‘keep-hot’ bottles of warm and comforting -liquids--coffee and soup--which aid to maintain the temperature -of the outer man at normal, before being transferred to the inner -individual--I manage to defy the rigors of the English climate and -support the exhaustion consequent upon indulgence in the national game -of North Britain. My walking-stick is convertible into a camp-stool; -the soles of my thick boots are protected by goloshes, a peaked cap -with flaps for the ears crowns my panoply; and, place in the mouth of -the individual thus attired one of Dunhill’s ‘Asorbal’ cigarettes, -each of which is furnished with a patent hygienic mouthpiece-filter -which absorbs the deleterious oil of nicotine, and catches the stray -particles of tobacco--d’ye foller me, dear fellars?--which otherwise -find their way into the system of the smoker--and the picture is -complete. - -“The run by road from the Club doorsteps to Cluckham Pomphrey, where -the Fargey Common Golf-links equal any that our country can boast, -faithful copies of the eighteen best holes in the world having been -carefully made under the supervision of Lord Pomphrey--the run can be -made within four hours. We started. I had received the Fiery Cross from -my kinsman, so to put it, in a laconic note, running: ‘Golf to-morrow -if the weather keeps up and the gout keeps down.--Yours, Pomphrey.’ -We started in a mild drizzle, at six-thirty. Our car, a ‘Rusher,’ of -twenty-six horse-power, with a detachable top and glass driving-screen, -behaved excellently. Driving through Cluckham, our county town--it -happened to be market-day!--we accidentally converted a lamb into -cutlets; but the immolated creature, as it chanced, being the property -of one of my cousin’s farmer-tenants, the casualty passed over with -fewer comments than generally ensue. Bowing to several well-known -yeomen and county land-holders, my cousin and myself alighted at the -Pink Boar, kept by an old retainer of the family, took a light but -nourishing ante-luncheon or snack of a couple of raw eggs beaten up -with whisky, and proceeded on our way to the Fargey Common Links. - -“A mile from The Towers, whose picturesque battlements could be -descried, dear fellars, embosomed, as it were, in surroundin’ trees, -we encountered some motorists upon the road in quite a regrettable -plight. Their car, a large, light green ‘Runhard’ of twenty-eight -horse-power, was drawn up by the roadside;--quite an arsenal of -tools glittered in the wintry rays of the sun, spread out upon an -india-rubber sheet, and what had occurred was plain to the meanest -automobiling capacity. A tire had exploded after a long, stiff climb of -the steep hill, a notable feature in our county landscape--the descent -of which we were about to negotiate. And the spare tire, after being -attached, had proved to be leaky beyond repair. - -“Fellar-feeling, dear fellars!--would have moved any fellar of you to -foller our example. We raised our hats, the three strangers in the -‘Runhard’ car politely returning the salutation; we offered aid, and -met with grateful acceptance. Larger than our own locomotive--the -‘Runhard’ wheels were of exactly the same diameter--the ‘Runhard’ tires -were ‘Fridolines,’ like our own. We offered our spare tire, it fitted -to a miracle. We were overwhelmed with the grateful acknowledgments of -its three polite proprietors. - -“‘You will at least permit me to pay for the tire!’ pleaded the -gentleman who appeared to take the lead. As Lord Pomphrey refused, with -the courtly wave of the hand that distinguishes this thirteenth wearer -of the coronet, he continued: ‘For you do not know--you never can -know!--how inestimable a service your lordship has rendered us!’ - -“Wosbric was known, then. He elevated his eyebrows in polite surprise. -Not being able to discern the features of the strangers behind their -cap-masks and goggles, he could not recall ever having met them -before. Then the second polite stranger, who was even more polite than -the first, explained in a slight American accent the reason of his -companion’s recognition of Lord Pomphrey. ‘We have, like many other -tourists,’ he said, ‘recently enjoyed the privilege of going over your -lordship’s antique and noble family pile. In the hall, the feudal -stateliness of which especially appealed to me as an American citizen, -hangs a portrait of your lordship taken, in company with a gold-hilted -sword and a red velvet curtain, as Lord-Lieutenant of the County.’ - -“Lord Pomphrey bowed. ‘As Lord-Lieutenant of the County,’ I put in. -‘Quite so. The likeness is agreed to be a striking one. And as you have -viewed the other treasures of The Towers, I presume you did not miss -the large oak cabinet of Jacobean silver plate--magnificent and unique -as having belonged to Queen Anne of Denmark--which stands at the end of -the smaller library behind the large Chinese screen?’ - -“The polite strangers looked at me and then at Lord Pomphrey and then -at each other. A cloud passed over the bright intelligent eyes that -shone through their motor-goggles as they sorrowfully shook their heads. - -“‘We missed that cabinet!’ said the first polite stranger, with a sigh. - -“‘I guess we did!’ said the second. - -“‘Just like wot I calls our beastly, blooming luck!’ sighed the third -stranger who was sitting in the car, and who, though polite, was not -in the least a refined sort of person. As all three of them seemed -unfeignedly depressed, Lord Pomphrey, who is the soul of hospitality, -begged them to return to The Towers, accept refreshment, and examine -under his personal superintendence, the magnificent contents of the oak -cabinet in the second library. - -“‘We thank your lordship profoundly!’ said the first polite stranger, -bowing, ‘but we are unable to accept your invitation!’ He bowed again, -and got into the car. - -“‘And we shall never cease to regret, I guess,’ said the second, -‘that we have missed the most valuable item of your lordship’s -collection of silver heirlooms. But we have garnered many precious -momentos’--it struck me at that moment that there were a great many -waterproof-covered bundles in the ‘Runhard’ car, and as he spoke he -patted one of these affectionately--‘of our visit to this country which -must serve to sweeten life for us when we are far away. And with these -we must endeavor to be content!’ - -“He too bowed, dear fellars, and got into the car. The machinery began -to splutter at a touch upon the lever. - -“‘Let ’er rip, Cocky,’ advised the third stranger; ‘we ain’t got none -too much of a start with this yere tire a-busting. So long!’ he said, -and like an arrow from a bow, so to put it, dear fellars, the large, -light green ‘Runhard’ leapt forward and was out of sight in an instant. -We proceeded in the ‘Rusher’ toward our destination. - -“Presently, dear fellars, we met two large, hot, county constables on -bicycles. They did not recognize us, so great was their haste. Their -large boots vigorously trod the pedals, their bulky, blue-uniformed -figures were crouched over the handle-bars as they pounded up the hill -from Cluckham Pomphrey. We wondered whither they might be going? We -questioned what agricultural breach of the peace, what local felony, -had spurred them to such an unusual display of energy. We found out. - -“For at the next bend of the road, dear fellars, we encountered quite -a little cavalcade of hot and red-faced, or pale and panting persons. -The steward from Pomphrey Towers in his T-cart, the head-bailiff from -Pomphrey Towers on his cob, the coachman driving a light gig with two -armed grooms on the back seat, an excited mob of stable-helpers and -gardeners straggling along behind.... Even before they recognized us, -those in the van of the pursuers shouted to us, asking if we had passed -an automobile upon the road--a large, light green ‘Runhard’ containing -three men? - -“In a few gasped sentences, dear fellars, the ghastly truth stood -revealed; the facts were laid bare to us. Pomphrey Towers had been, -to employ the expression of the bailiff, ‘cracked and burgled,’ only -an hour previously, of a quantity of silver articles and a mass of -valuable plate. Lord Pomphrey and myself had met the burglars upon the -road, had supplied them with the means of continuing their flight, -had entered into conversation with them, and returned their polite -farewells. - -“We joined the pursuit, all thoughts of golf submerged in the bosom of -Lord Pomphrey, beneath the boiling lava-flood of rage and indignation. -To be robbed is bad; to be placed in the position of confederate to -the robbers, unknowing aider and abettor of their nefarious flight, -is maddening. The three polite individuals in the large, light green -motor-car have not, up to the present, been traced. One small spoon -of the Apostle-headed kind, found by the roadside where they replaced -their own deflated tire, with that so generously bestowed upon them by -Lord Pomphrey, is the only clue so far. - -“A distressin’ experience, dear fellars!--confoundedly so in the -estimation of this humble individual. Thanks, I _will_ take another of -those long Dutch cigars and a Scotch, with Hebinaris’--the new mineral -water, do you foller me?--with iridescent bubbles that snap at your -nose. My love to you, dear fellars, and a Happy New Year!” - - - - -THE LOST ROOM - - -They were going to part at last--to separate quietly, but -formally--after a married life of nearly three years. - -There was no Other Woman, even she was quite sure of that; there wasn’t -even the shadow of another man. He rather wished there were, with a -good solid six-foot personality to project it. He was so confoundedly -tired of conjugal life. - -He had an old historic title, a large estate unencumbered by the -prodigalities of ancestors, unhampered by his own. She had inherited -from an American mother a large fortune and some of the biggest jewels -Tiffany had ever set. Their tastes were similar, their constitutions -robust, their tempers strong and healthy, their temperaments ardent -and enthusiastic, their moral and mental temperatures since the last -decisive meeting between the trustees of her property and his family -lawyers had been slowly descending to normal. Never, oh, never would -either of them put their heads again, they were determined, into -the noose of marriage! even if a _decree nisi_ should ever make it -possible. Because naturally, as time went on, she would meet somebody -she liked, he thought.... Because men were so constituted, reflected -she, that if a woman only told one of them often enough that he was in -love with her, he would begin to believe it. - -They had used up all their capability for passion, devotion, and so -on, during their romantic wooing, their short but divine engagement, -and the incandescent eight weeks’ honeymoon that had followed the -wedding. They wanted to forget the world then, and be alone together; -and they got what they wanted, one April, one May, in that great old -granite-built pepper-box turreted Scotch mansion on the banks of the -silver Tweed. - -It was heavenly, or at the very least Paradisaical. They wanted it to -be quite an old-fashioned honeymoon, so they did not go down by motor, -but by the Euston express. Ten hours of traveling, and then they got -out at a little gray station of a little Scots town with a dreadful -tweed-factory in it whose dye and grease terribly defiled the silvery -river reaches, and does so to this day--and drove through lovely woods -of larch and birch and hawthorn, just breaking into green leaf, to -Maryhouse, the cradle of the race from which she sprang, the unhappy -lovely Queen--whose great wrought gates of rusted iron, with the Stuart -shield of arms in faded gold and crimson and blue, would never be -unlocked again until a Stuart should reign once more upon the throne of -England. - -The great avenue had been turned into park, and you reached the house -by the lesser way. It had a square courtyard, closed by another pair of -great wrought gates, and bears with ragged staves were on the pillars, -and even held up the antique scraper at the low-browed door, and the -knocker was the tiniest bear of all. There were no rooms to some of -the four hundred casements that winked out of the lichened walls. You -pulled the bear-handle of the house-bell, and it clanged up high out -of sight somewhere among the twisted chimneys and the great slants of -stone-tiled roof studded with pinky house-leek and gay with yellow moss. - -Then the low, square, iron-studded door had opened, and two people had -gone in, to commence, among the tragic relics of vanished, forgotten -existences, their own new life together. Perhaps some sorrowful shadow -of failure and disillusion had fallen upon them from those old gray -walls. A week before they went there a piece of paneling had fallen -from the wall in the great hall, revealing in a niche behind it a -skull, and what else Time had left of the man who had suffered such a -tragic ending. - -As I have said, the Deed of Separation had been formally signed by both -parties, their trustees and lawyers. She was beautifully free. She sang -a little song as her motor-victoria ran her homeward to the house which -he had no right to enter now, and she ordered the touring limousine to -be at the door very early in the morning before she ran upstairs. - -She was as gay as possible. She told her maid, as she hummed the “Dream -Waltz,” to have a cabin trunk and a bag packed. Only these, because she -would be back in a week. She was only going to visit some old great, -quiet people in an old great, quiet house up North, who had been very -fond of society in their time, but now never even dressed for dinner. -She meant the fair murdered Scots’ Queen and the Kings who had dwelt at -Maryhouse, of course. - -“Fancy that, my lady!” said the maid, thanking her own stars that she -was not to accompany her mistress. Many silken calves and much company -above and below stairs constituted the waiting-woman’s ideal of Life. - -Well, the itinerary of the Great North road--that would take too long. -Behind the glass screen she sat, swathed in her sables, while the -taciturn, clean-shaven chauffeur made England spin by. She chose her -own road, the collieries were left behind in their smoke, the ruins -of St. Oswald’s Chapel of Ease were passed, standing gray and battered -on their battle-site. Serving-shields, where under the enchanted hall -sleep Arthur and his Knights, she saw before she lost the vision. She -slept at Carlisle, and went on next morning to Peebles, where Needpath -elevates its single fang above the salmon pool. - -And so to Maryhouse, not even a telegram having been sent ahead of her. -She knew her dear friends, the owners of the place, were still abroad. -But there was always Mistress Dumphie, the old, old lady-housekeeper, -who had been born and reared and wooed and married, too, at Maryhouse. -Mistress Dumphie would take her in for a night, and if not--there was -an inn in the ugly little weaving village. The great limousine rolled -through the gates of the smaller avenue and over the bridge of the -Arbalestiers Tower, and stopped before the great, rusty crowned gates -of the sunny courtyard. - -The larks were singing. The Quhair brook ran under the hazel-banks. Oh! -what sweet quiet after the roar of Paris and London and the dust of the -roads. - -The rusty chain was pulled, the great bell clanged on the side of a -pepper-box turret ever so high overhead. Mistress Dumphie, in her -morn’s merino and black net cap, appeared behind the rusty grille. - -“Guid preserve ’s a’! It’s the young lord’s leddy!” she said. - -The “young lord’s leddy” came in. She was to stay. The chauffeur went -back to the hotel. - -“I feel as though I should find something here,” said the “young lord’s -leddy,” “something that I have lost somehow. It is very odd!” - -She wandered about the beautiful old house all the rest of the day. - -“Here is the great oak window-seat where we used to sit together. -Here is the little stone parlor where we quarreled and made it up. -Here is the vast tapestried chamber, with the faded Stuart portraits -on the walls, that was my bedroom; and this smaller room, with the -acorn-shaped stone mullions and the ebony and tulip wood furniture, was -_his_!” - -What fine days they had spent in those daisied avenues, under those -huge oaks. What wet ones under the old painted, diapered ceilings. The -wettest of all they had spent in looking for the Lost Room. - -The Lost Room was a chamber that everybody knew of, but nobody ever -discovered. Counting from outside, you could be sure there was an extra -window, but go where you would about the hushed mysterious house, you -never opened a door that led into the Lost Room. - -She supped in a little dining-parlor that those dead Queens had used -before her. She went to bed in the tapestried room. She slept well and -woke in the middle of the night with a great bell clanging in her ears. -She could not sleep after that. Lights flickered before her shut eyes -in the darkness. - -“I _did_ hear a step on the staircase! I _did_ hear the shutting of a -door!” she said to herself, and got out of the great bed on the daïs -and put warm slippers on her white little naked feet, and threw on a -dressing gown lined with unborn Persian lambskin--such a cruel idea, -you know, but very fashionable. And she took her electric torch, and -unlocked the door noiselessly, and stepped out boldly into the wide, -dusky corridor. - -She trod upon something soft, and repressed a scream. She held the -light downward and picked up a man’s dogskin glove. - -“Ah, now I know that I am dreaming!” she said quite cheerfully. She -need not be afraid of mice or rats, because she knew that she was all -the time lying in bed in the big tapestried room. As for ghosts, she -wanted to see one frightfully--always had. - -The door of the room that had been his was just opposite. Something -made her go in, on her noiseless dream-feet, carrying the dream-glove -in her hand. The dream went on quite as dreams usually do. She had gone -back to the sweet old half-forgotten honeymoon time. - -“This is the night on which we had tiffed, and I was the first to make -it up!” She smiled and went in. It was just as she had expected. There -he lay, fast asleep in the big tapestry-hung bed. - -She went up to the side of it, and pulled back the curtain without -waking him, and sat down, shading the light from the dear, handsome, -manly face, and devouring it with famished eyes. This was what she had -come seeking; some glamour of the old time; some sweet remembrance -unspoiled by anything that had happened since. - -The jars, the disagreements, the quarrels had never happened.... She -was back in the old times, and he was not yet regretting his lost -freedom, but tightening the bond a little closer every day by words and -deeds of love. - -This was the Lost Room, this dream-chamber where he lay. She was glad -to have come down to Maryhouse for this. Who would not take a journey -to find your old self and your old self’s self at the end of it, and -Love lying sleeping in the shadow of dear memories, ready to be wakened -with a kiss? - -She stooped and gave the kiss. He started and awakened. He stared at -her, and the light of the old joy leaped into his eyes. - -“Alice! You’re only a dream, I know, but it is better than the real -Alice, who grew to hate me. Oh! put your arms round me again! let me -have your heart on mine again; let both of us forget what a ruin we -have made of the life that we set out to make so sweet and fair!” - -He caught her hands. The torch fell with a crash, and went out. The -dark was full of light, and warm, throbbing memories, and they were one -again. Just for a little while, only in a dream.... - -But day came through the diamond casements, laughing, and hand in hand -with Hope. There were tears and laughter in her train. Two real people. -No dream after all. - -He had wanted to look at Maryhouse again, and had traveled down in the -express from Euston, hours after she had started. It was he who had -rung the bell in the night. - -Mistress Dumphie had let him in and given him supper, and lighted the -old room for him. He had thought there was a curious twinkle in her eye. - -The Deed of Separation, now waste-paper, may be had on application, -by any young, wealthy couple who are desirous, upon a sensible -arrangement, to part. - - - - -FATHER TO THE MAN - - _Being a Confidential Letter from the Right Hon. Viscount - Tynstone, at the Rev. O. Gotobed’s, Eton College, to the Lady Mary - Cliffe-Bradlay, ooo Wessex Street, Park Lane, W._ - - -GOOD OLD POLL,-- - -It is awfully nice of you to be so fritefully sick about it--_i. -e._, my Getting Swished this Half, but fellows get Hardened to these -things at School. Hemming major says there is something in a rotten -poetry-book about a Divinity that shapes our Ends. I expect the beggar -who wrote it was trying to get round the Head for his own Reesons. Your -simpathy about the Ladies’ Plate is cumforting, but the Eton Eight -must give other Crews a chance sumtimse. So everyboddy says, and as -far as stile went our Fellowse boddies were better under controle, and -the whole Appearanse of the Rowing was up to the best traddishunse of -Eton. No. 7, Biggly-Wade, presenting a beautiful example of rithm and -elastissity; and Henson No. 4, simply being a Tower of strength. N. B., -he is Captain of my Tutor’s and Has licked me awfully several timse, so -I am in a pusition to Judge. - -While the Thames Cup was being slogged for I made up my mind to -Sacrifise myself for the good of my Fammaly, and drop into Lunch with -Mr. and Mrs. Le Moser, those Millionaire Friends of Mother’s, who she -said were such Howling Cads, and so anxhus to know me. They Had an A.1. -Motor-Launch, sedar-built, with plated fittingse and with salloons 4 -and aft, and Green Awnings second on the Bucks side 2 Private Lawns -billow the Kingston Rowing Club. There were Moundse of Flowers, and -though lots of other awfully smart launches filled up the First Section -of the Bank before the Houseboats Began, where you, and Mother, and -the Girls were on Uncle Todmore’s _Roulette_, the Le Moser craft -collared the bikker for sumshuous splender. Regger minor of my house, -who is quite an awfully Brilliant umorist, made an eppigram about the -general Swellness of boats and launches billonging to people like the -Le Moser’s. He said: “On the Berks side there are piles only, and no -Booms. On the Bucks side there are _both_ Boomse and Piles.” - -Regger was so awfully Pleased with himself for saying such a clever -Remark that I Had to Kick him to Tone Him down. He is Fritefully -litterary and Artistic, because his Father Has just Bought a Weakly -Illustrated Journal, and He is to Eddit it when He leaves Oxford; and -the Things he said about the akwatic Fairy Palaces bineath the Pine -treese and the Green-clad Hilly Vista, kombining to make up a Picture -uneek in its English beauty, and without Paralel in the sivilised World -were like hearing bitts read out of some Rotten Newspaper the day after -the Rigatta. - -I had Not Had much Brekker, bicause our Boys’ Maid is quite awfully -spoons on Henson No. 4 of the Eight, and forgetse where she has Hidden -the Knives and Forkse to kepe Other Fellows from getting at Them. I -Found them in my Cricket Pads after I had Eaten eggs and Sausages with -my Fingers like one of those Prehistorick Beggers with Stone Hatchets. -So the Hospitallity of the Le Mosers was ixtremely Welcome. Mrs. Le -Moser was Frightfully Civil. She Had Diamond buttons on a White Reefer -Jacket, and Rows and Rows of pearls as big as Sparrows’ eggse. A White -Gangway, railed with gilt chains on posts with gilt Knobs, led to a -Markay on Shore, which was Decorated as a Medievil Banqueting Hall, and -there was a Footman in the Le Moser livery behind everybody’s chair. -The Dalmatian Band and the Castillian Minstrels Played, and it was an -awfully ripping lunchon, with everything you could think of to Eat and -Drink and lots more bissides. There were 4,000 Pot plants on Board, and -when it Got Dark the Fairy Litse looked awfully fine. - -Mr. Le Moser was a ripping good Host, though his waistcoat and necktie -were frightfully loud, and he wares his Nails as long as the front ends -of a Pair of Swedish Skates. N. B., Perhaps it is to Rake in the Money -with? He told me that my Distinguished Father’s Name was Down as One -of the Directors of His New Company, and that He Hoped to have Mine -in a Few Years. He said the Risponsibilities of Rank were fritefully -tremendous, and never seemed to Notice how I kept Slogging into the -Champagne. He told me to keep the Cigarretts biside me, and offered me -a Partagga in a glass case, price 8s. 6d., which I expect comes to a -frightfully big price for a box of 100. I acsepted the luxurious Weed, -but Did Not Smoak it. (N. B., I have got it now, and Regger, who has -been swotting Pericles this half for English Classics, calls it “a -glorious casket stored with ill.” I can’t think what makes him.) - -After everybody was stodged we went on Board the launch, and Miss Le -Moser--Mother is quite rite about her being a pretty girl, though her -Pater and Mater are such awful form, and her Pater doesn’t know how -to stop talking about the money he has Bagged on the Stock Ixchange, -and in other Places, the Diamond Mines in South Africa particularly. A -chap in the Guards who was on the launch said it was a well-developed -case of I. D. B., but Forgot to tell me what the Letters ment. He -said, “Josie would carry the pile” (Josie is Miss Le Moser), and that -if I was a sensible young beggar, and not a rotten Ass, I would see -where my own advantidge lay even before I left School for Sandhurst. -He went on about an infusion of Radical blood being a good thing to -mingel with the ancient Tory blue, and rather Valuable than otherwise -to one’s descendents, and said that to win a young and distinctly -decently-looking wife with a hundred and eighty thousand jimmies in -her wedding nightcap would be getting the Grand Slam in mattrimony. I -checked him a bit and asked him if he had Praktised what he jolly well -preached, and he twisted his mustash and said: “Unfortunately, no, -young ’un; as like a Good many other fellows, I Came under the Married -Women’s propperty Act before I was eighteen.” - -Then he pointed out a weedy, long-legged Beggar with the ghost of a -red mustash and fritefully swagger clothes, who was making himself -tremendously nice to Josie Le Moser, and said he was the Son of Mr. -Joyd Lorge’s privite Secretary and an _enfant gâtày_ of the Liberal -Government, with a seat in the Lower House being kept warm for him -until he should come of age, and a lot more, ending up by asking me if -I was driving an Automobile and saw a Dog trying to Bite through one -of my Tyres, what I should do to the dog? I said I should Drive over -it, of course, which seemed to pleese him frightfully, for he tipped -me a sov, and then winked towards the Fellow who was showing his teeth -at Miss Le Moser and said, “Then, there’s the Dog, don’t you know!” -and went off to talk to a frightfully swell woman who called him to -come over to her. I should rather like to be like that Guardsman when -I go into the Army. His name is Gerald, for I heard the lady call -him by it; he is Lord Dennismore, and he was so jolly Respectful and -attentive to the lady, who wore quite a lot of vales and had heaps -of golden hair, though she was quite old, and a tremendously red and -white Complection, and a front figure that rinkled and bulged when she -stooped or sat down, that I thought she must be his Mother, until Mrs. -Le Moser told me she was the Duchess of Rinkhorn and his great friend. -What I said about the Duchess being his mother seemed to amuse Mrs. Le -Moser like mad, for I Heard her tell quite a lot of people, and they -All yelled, as if I had been trying to be funny, which I was Not. - -She told me lots more About Lord Dennismore, which made me feel beastly -proud of his having talked to me, and given me Advice. He was out with -his battalion in the South African War, and did splendid thingse at the -Front, and got speshally mentioned in Despatches, after Jaegersfontein -and for Rescewing twenty wounded Tommies who had fallen in the Grass -which the liddite from the shells had set on fire--I think it was -liddite. And he got potted in the Shoulder, and was getting quite fit -again, and would have done a lot more fiting if the Duchess hadn’t -come out in a Speshul Hospital ship and carried him back “to England, -Home and Duty,” as a lady who was listening to Mrs. Le Moser put in. I -think it was jolly mean of the Duchess, don’t you? As if a chap could -be properly grateful for being muffed like that! I forgot to say that -Lord Denismore, when a little chap, was Father’s fag at school, and -used to field for him when stump cricket in the passage in wet weather -first came in. And he, Lord Denismore, was picked to Play in the School -Eleven when he was still only a Lower Boy, and was Captain for a half -before he left. And I feel awfuly Glad I met him, but I wonder why he -said that about coming under the Married Women’s Property Act before -he was eighteen? There is a Duke of Rinkhorn, who goes about in a Bath -Chair with a Nurse in a white cap and apron to feed him and blow his -nose when it wants it, so Perhaps the Duchess is the married woman he -meant after all. - -I must say Josie Le Moser seemed to like me talking to her and -explaining things more than she seemed to when the weedy chap with the -ghost of a red mustash was trying to. After the phinal of the Diamonds, -when the Crowds began to thin, and later when the Twilite came down -and the Nats came out, and the Le Moser’s launch and their markay were -elluminated up with about twice as many Fairy Lites as anybody else -had, and the Castillian Minstrils played splendidly on their mandalins, -I began to think her an awfully pretty girl. I don’t believe it was -the crême de Menth her Pater had made me have with my coffy after -Lunch and the Champagne, or the Russian rum they sent round in little -dekanters, with the five o’clock tea, because the fellows say my Head -is frightfully strong. But I got her hand and squeezed it a lot of -times, and whenever the sucking M. P. edged a word in, and he tried to -keep in Josie’s pocket the Most of the time, I wanted to fit him, and -I think He guessed it from my Manner. He let Out He had been Edducated -by Private Tutors at Home because his constitushion was dellicate as a -Boy, and I said “Oh!” and I think Josie began to feel him rather in the -way after that. His name is Wenham-Biggs, and I xpect his Constitushion -is giving him a lot more trouble by now. - -The thing happened like this. I had only leeve till 7.30, but Mr. Le -Moser asked me to stop and Dine, and I thought I could work the squash -at the Station, and being three tranes late for an extra 2 hours so -consentid with thanx, as it is a Poor Heart that Never rejoices, as -Regger says. Josie and Me were up in the Bows where there is just Room -for 2, and Wenham-Biggs was sitting on the Steersman’s Box rubbing -his chin against the Wheel, to make his Beard grow I suppose, and -Getting more Sickeningly Sweet and Centimental in the things He was -saying to Josie every Minute. I call it Nerve to go on like that with -another fellow nearly as old as yourself listening to every Word. At -last he Said he was ready to Die for the Woman he Loved--I like that, -don’t you?--Whenever she asked the sacrafice, and I said it would be -the Leest he could Do, if she had an objection to a red mustash. It -must be being so much with Regger makes me bat off these Things I -xpect. Wenham-Biggs was perfeckly wild, and Josie giggled so mutch -that she Forgot she was Close to the Edge and the Rubber mat slipped -or something, the Launch being polished like a Looking Glass, and she -went plump into the River, and it is pretty Deep on the Bucks side, and -there is a good deal of Streem. - -I was Glad of all the Swimmers I had gone in for at Cuckoo Weir. I -was Beestly sorry about my Swagger Flannelse and my new colors I had -sported for the 1st time; but of corse I had to go in after Josie and -thogh I don’t suppose I showed much skill, People made an awful Row, -crowding to the Bullarks, and throwing life-boys and cork fenders at us -like ennything. Mr. Le Moser kept offering rewards in lbs. and making -it ginnies, and Mrs. Le Moser had histerrics in Lord Dennismore’s arms, -which shows she was not quite unconshus because He was the best-bread -and best-looking man of the Launch-party. - -What price your Little Brother when Me and Josie were Hauled up into -the Launch all over pslime and Duckweed. Everybody Shook Hands with Me -and said things that Made me Tingal all Over, and all the Women kept -kissing Josie who they took away and put to Bed. Mr. Le Moser lent me a -Change of his Thingse. O crumbs! if you Had seen me in them ispeshally -the Wastecoat and the etsetras with stripes down the Legs. And he rote -me a letter to Take back to my Tutor, and left it ungummed. And the -things He said about my Pluck and Daring and his Eternal obbligation -made me feel quite Shy when I read them going back in the last trane. -There were two other Lower Boys in the carriage, and besidse them, a -Fellow of my house who is One of the Swells of the Sixth Form, who was -awfully annoyed at being obbliged to travel with us. - -The Butler was sitting up for us at my tutor’s, and everyone Else in -Bed, as it was past 12, when we Got Back, but beyond a Slite Cold in -my Head the Risults of the Outing were Not Paneful, my Letter putting -Things in an awfully good light, which made the Other Fellows rather -envious thogh they were let off with midling paenas. - -I Forgot to say Mr. Le Moser tipped me £100, which will come in very -usefull. Also I am to try and get leave to go and Spend the Day at -their Place at Staines next week, and they will send me Home in one of -their motor-carse. Xcuse Spelling and mistakes as my Cold is making me -Sneaze pretty Frequently, and with love to Mother, and all at home. - - Bilieve me, - Your loving Brother, - TOBY. - -P.S.--You Never saw a Fellow with plenty of conceat and Nerve about Him -look as small as Wenham-Biggs when Lord Dennismore asked Him why He did -not Dive in after Josie too, and he Had to own up He Could not swim a -Stroak. What price private Tutors and being Edducated at Home? - - * * * * * - -P.P.S.--I saw Josie before I came away, and Mrs. Le Moser kissed me, -which was horrid, and so did the Duchess and Several Other Ladies, and -then they told Josie to and she did and gave me a little Diamond Duck -to wear on my watch chane. N.B.--I think I see myself doing it and -getting fitted by my fagmaster for side. T. - - * * * * * - -P.P.S.S.--Lord Dennismore neerly rung my hand off when I said Good-bye, -and said, “You’ve tumbled in for a good thing, you lucky little beggar, -and I’m ½ inclined to billeve....” And then he left off without saying -What. But he tipped me 3 soverins more, and asked me to come and -lunch with Him when Next he is on Duty, and you bet I said delighted -thanks.... T. - - * * * * * - -P.P.P.S.S.S.--As my Fagmaster seemed inclined to be Nasty about my not -getting Up in Time to Fill his Bath and make his tost and cofy in the -morning I gave Him Mr. Le Moser’s 8s. 6d. Partagga in the glass case. -First he bitt the end of the case off and it neerly choaked Him, and -then He had a lot of trouble in getting it to Lite, and before it was -½ through he had a lot more trubble of a different kind. (N.B.--Ask -mother if it would Not be a good Thing for me _i. e._ marrying Josie -Le Moser when I am of Age? I shall be fritefully poor and she will be -awfully Rich, so her Father and Mother would not matter much. Also it -would be Better than coming under the Married Women’s Propperty Act at -18, like poor Dennismore!) TYNSTONE. - - - - -THE FLY AND THE SPIDER - - _Being a Confidential Letter from the Right Hon. Viscount Tynstone, - on board the Yacht “Spindrift,” Cowes Roads, to the Lady Mary - Cliffe-Bradlay, Silversands Park, Sussex._ - - - TUESDAY, _August --_. - -GOOD OLD POLL,-- - -I thought you were Rotting about Lord Dennismore and the Duchess at the -baginning of your Letter, but your Locking him up in the Peech House -was a Stunning Lark. The Duchess must Have been in a Regular Wax, and -He must have been Fritefully Wild, only you can’t Hit a Girl, they are -so Soft and Go down so Easily. - -Uncle Todmore Has the Usual Yacht Party for the Rigatta, and the old -_Spindrift_ looks A.1. painted white with a new Copper Rail and a New -Sett of Lifeboyse, etc. I asked Uncle Todmore How Much it had Cost, and -He Heeved a Sigh, and said sufficient to the Day was the evil Thereof, -so I xpect it comes to a Lump, and He and Aunt Honoria will Have to -spend the Winter down at that Beestly Place of His in Devonshire -instead of Going to the Riviara or Egipt this time. - -I said He Had the Usual Party on Board; but there are Two New People--a -Captain Clanarthur, late of the Malta Artillery, a Man who Parts His -Hair Down the Back, and Wares a Gold Braselet on his Left Wrist, and -his Wife. Mrs. Clanarthur is a simply Fritefully pretty woman, with -Long Black ilashes that Curl at the endse, and Eyes you Cant tell the -right Colour of, never Being the Same Twise Running. Aunt Honoria is a -Great Friend of Hers. And she Wares a Silver Belt with her Ruff weather -Serge Gown that was a saint Bernard Dog’s Collar--so you may immagine -How Small her waste is. She says I am a Mear Boy, and Ought Not to -Notice Such Things; but I shall be Sixteen in September, and lots of -Our Fellows at My Tutors are in love. Greening Minor, Who is a Regular -Shrimp, regularly rites verses To the Barmade in the Slough Station -refreshment room. First class--I mean the Refreshment Room, not the -Verses. One Poem bigins-- - - “How Nobly Does Thy Fair Form Tower, - Whenare I Gaze On Thee. - I Wish thou Wert a Lilly Flower, - & I a Hunney Bee.” - -Which is Not Half Bad for a Lower Boy. And Regger is Secretly ingaged -to his Sisters Jerman Guverness, who is 30 if a Day. She Has Promised -to Wate for Regger, who is a Year Older than Me, and simply awfully -Divoted to Her. She Makes Splendid Gingerbred with Nuts in it, which -will come in Usefull if Regger’s Pater Cuts Him Off with a Shilling. - -Mrs. Clanarthur’s Christian Name is Ermengarde, but Her Friends call -Her Nini for short. The Divise on Her Note Paper is a Gold Spider in -a silver Web, and she Wares a little Broach with a Diamond Spider in -a Gold Web. She keeps on Telling me she is Not Young, but That must -be All Rot, because She is so mutch moar Girlish than the 2 Girls on -Board. They are the Pope-Baggotes, and Lady Jane is Fatter than ever. - - - WEDNESDAY. - -I can’t Immajin Why Mrs. Clanarthur ever married such a regular Scug as -Captain Clanarthur, though she Says she was a mear Child, and did It -to Pleese Her Family. They have been 10 Yearse married, so if she was -so young at the time she cannot be as old as she says she is. She says -she Had Her Hair Done up and wore Long Skirts For the first Time on her -Wedding Day, and thought more of the Cake and the Presents than what -was to Come. She cried when she Told me that, after dinner on Deck, -when an Italian Opera Fellow, whose Name I can’t spell, was singing -Love songs to the Acompaniment of the Mandolin, and the Starse were -shining more Brightly than I ever remember to Have Seen Them. Her Hair -has a Scent like Violets, and when Her Head Comes Near you it makes -you Feel Hot and cold and Swimmy--at leest it does Me. Clanarthur was -Away Racing a Yawl of His at the Royal Portsmouth Corinthian Yacht Club -Rigatta, and I thoght if He should Get Drowned what a Jolly Good thing -it would Be. He Ought to be Kicked for Making that woman so frightfully -wretchid when She is 10,000 times Too Good For Him. N.B.--Of course -She did Not Tell me what he has Done, but I bet you ½ a crown it is -sumthing Beastly caddish. - -I think the Men on Board a Not very Well Bred Sett, as they chaff Me -like mad about Mrs. Clanarthur; and even when she is Within Earshott, -which makes Me want Frightfully to Kick them all Round. I Cannot Sleep -at Night as I used to Do, and my Head Aches in a Beastly way in the -Morning. I have got a handkerchief of Mrs. Clanarthur’s I Stole when -She was Not Looking, and I Keep it Under My Pillow at Night and Switch -the illectric light On and Look at it every Now and Then. There is -“Nini” imbroidered in the Corner, and it Smells of Violets, like her -Hair. If I was married to a Lovely Woman like that I should not be a -Beast like Clanarthur. She Told Me that she Never has suffered Him -to Kiss her on the Lips Since She Knew Him to be Unworthy of a Pure -Woman’s Love. Sumhow I am glad of that, thogh it is Rough on Clanarthur. - - - SATURDAY. - -Last Night Sumthing Happened I am Now Going to tell you about. They -were Throwing Coloured Lites on the Sea from the Victoria Pier, and -all the Big Steam Yachts Had Fairy lamps Hung Out, and the Music of -the Bands and things Comming Over the Water quite made it simply -ripping. It was after dinner, and I was Sitting on Deck with Mrs. -Clanarthur, and She thought She would like a Moonlight Pull in the -Yacht’s dinghy, as the Sea was so Beautifully Smooth. So I tipped two -of the _Spindrift_ men to get the boat reddy, and not say ennything to -ennybody and We Started. There was a Fritefully Stiff Tide on. I Rowed -Her Round and Down a Lane made of Torpedo Gun-boats on One Side and -1st Class Cruisers on the other, All Reddy for the King to inspect on -Saturday. It was Ripping Fun, and Nini was Delighted. Then we Drifted -dreemily along Towards Ryde, and I Forgot there was such a Fritefully -Stiff Tide Running out to Spithead because I was Holding Nini’s -Hand--she let me--and thinking there were Worse Things than Coming -under the Married Women’s Property Act after All. - -When We Had got a Good Distance Out I found I could Not Get Back For -Nuts, However Hard I Pulled. - -The Perspirashun was Running off me like Water and my Arms Ached like -Mad. Nini--she had said I might call her Nini the Evening Before--Nini -Could not See ennything was Wrong, but I knew we were being Carried -Out to Sea at About 100 miles an Hour and it Kept Getting Darker. -N.B.--Of course, I did Not Care For myself, but I Kept Thinking of -Nini. She said the Poetry of the illimittible Oshan made Her Trill like -a Smitten Lute, and I said, “Does it?” and Kept Slogging Away against -the Tide without making 1 Not in 1,000 Hours, as the Signals in Coes -Roads kept getting Smaller. Then a Southampton Liner came Rushing out -of the Dark. I Saw Both her Port and Starboard Litse as I Turned my -Head, so she must have been Coming Straight down on Us. You may Suppose -I had Fits, thinking of Mrs. Clanarthur, and I would have tried to -Shout, but I Had Lost my Wind completely. - -“How pretty,” said Nini--Mrs. Clanarthur I mean--“that must be the -_Campania_ for New York from Southampton.” And she went on Gassing -about the Beauty of the Seen without an Idea that we might be cut in 2 -Next Minute. But we got off. The liner swerved to port and went by us -lighted up like a sea Alhambra, all her deckse crowded with People and -her Band Playing ‘The Merry Widow,’ and Clanarthur lost his chance of -being a Merry Widower. But she passed so jolly close to us that a lot -of Wash slopped in, and Nini screamed and called out, “You silly boy, -it’s all your Fault!” which I like, considering the sittuation. And -She Pulled her White Evening Wrap round her and said, “Let’s get back -to the yacht; it’s shockingly cold and the sea is getting abominably -Rough!” And then I had to own up what a jolly Hat we were in, and that -we had been steddily Drifting Out to Sea for Some time Past. - -What price me? I felt small enough to get into a cricket-ball case -already, but I felt something worse when Mrs. Clanarthur Boxed my -Ears. She said I was a Little Idiot, and that she had been culpably -Reckless to alow Me to Take Her on the Water, and what would Freddy -say? Freddy is Captain Clanarthur. So I said I would stand up to Him -with or without Gloves, Fight Him with Rivolverse across a necktie if -he liked, and that He could Divorse Her afterwardse and then she could -marry me, and everything would be jolly well settled all Round, as -she Had Told me He was aborrent to Her only the night before when she -kissed me under the Aft Awning three Times--which she Had Done, though -she called me an untruthful little Retch for saying so, and then she -had Histericks, and then what Uncle Podmore calls the Mallady of the -Wave came on, and I had to ship the oars and Hold Her Up, and she was -Awfully Bad. Mother on the Turbean xing to Boulogne was Nothing To it. -I am not Joking When I Tell You that We Drifted About in That beestly -Dinghy all night at the immanent Risk of Being Run Down by anything -from a Tramp Steamer to a Government Crooser, and if the Tide Had Not -Turned, which it did at 4 o’clock in the Morning, we should be as dead -now as Two People can be. - -O crumbs, when I looked at Nini, who After jawing at me till she was -Tired Had Gone to sleep with Her Head on my Shoulder! By the Glimmaring -Light of Dawn she Looked as Old as Aunt Honoria, and not Half as Nice. -Her Swagger Evening Gown and Mantal were Ruined with Seawater, and -one Long Tale of her Lovely Hair was Washing about in the Bilje at -the Bottom of the Dinghy, we had shipped such a lot in the Night. Her -Forhead and one Eye were nearly Hidden by a Top Piece with curls that -had come off, though there was lots of Hair underneath it, and she was -Perfectly Blue with Cold and Fright. - -I thought she must have been Pretty Old when she Married Captain -Clanarthur after all, and when I Remembered how mad I had been about -Her, and how I wanted to Snipe Clanarthur and Marry Her, I felt awfully -sick at having been such an unlimited ass. - -She woke up and called me some more Names and then a Pilot cutter came -along bound for Portsmouth Pier, and I Haled the Pilot and He agreed to -take us back to Cowes Road for £1. And they Hawled us on Board because -we were too jolly stiff to clime up the cutter’s side and we Got back -to the Yacht in Time for Breakfast. - -You may guess if the men of the Party chaffed me Before how frightfully -they chaff Now, I am Roasted about the Beastly Business from morning -till Night. Uncle Podmore told me they had sent out 2 Boats to Find -us and burned blue Lights. All Captain Clanarthur Said when He saw -Mrs. Clanarthur come up the yacht’s side like a Ragbag, was, “So there -You are, are you?” But suppose he is Lying Low to bring an Axion for -Divorse, do you suppose I shall have to marry Mrs. Clanarthur? - -I do jolly well Hope Not. She is old enough to be my mother, and Has a -Perfectly awful temper. - -Fancy me being as Pleased as a Fox-terrier with 2 tails when she let me -Kiss Her under the Deck Awning after dinner. Fellows with lots of good -sense can be asses at times. - -Of course I tell you All this in Confidence on the Strict Q.T., because -you are Not like other Girls about Keeping a Secret. There is a Big -Review of the Home Fleet and the Swedish Squadron by the King to-day, -and the Fleet will be elluminated in the Evening after dinner, and -there will be Fireworks from the Victoria Pier. But whether it is my -having been Out all Night with Nini--I mean Mrs. Clanarthur--in that -rotten Dinghy or something else I don’t ixactly know, but I feel jolly -miserable. - -I wish Greening minor was here, it would do me Good to give the little -Brute a regular licking. Fancy him Being in love with a Barmade and -writing her verses. And Regger, who has the nerve to make up to his -sister’s Jerman Governess. I can’t think why Fellows do such idiotic -Things. - -I Think rather than Have to marry Mrs. Clanarthur I would Run away and -be a stoker like that Fellow in the newspapers. She looks quite young -again this afternoon and her Hair is beautifully done, but I keep on -seeing Her as she was at 4 this morning, when that pilot-cutter Found -us. - -I am getting rather sorry for Clanarthur tied up to a Woman who Boxes a -Fellow’s ears and calls him Names for Nothing--that is, I should feel -sorry for him if I was quite Eesy in my mind about his bringing an -Axion for Divorse. - - Ever your affeckshionate Brother, - TYNSTONE. - - - - -FOR VALOR! - - -The city of Smutborough was holding a solemn public function in honor -of one of her sons. Formerly a soldier in the Smutborough Regiment, -he had won his V. C. a long time back in the early days of the last -South African War. At the conclusion of hostilities, having, like many -other men, attained perfect competency and ripe experience with the -expiration of the age-limit, Color-Sergeant Stoneham was naturally -shelved as being of no further use to the nation, except in an -emergency like the last. - -The rear of the Town Hall, Smutborough, formed one side of an unsavory -blind alley: a dingy _cul-de-sac_ blocked at the end by the high, -sooty, spike-bordered wall of what was termed, with mordant but -unconscious humor, the Workhouse Recreation Yard. The Workhouse loomed -large upon the opposite side. Though the great main entrance for misery -was in another street, a solid oaken door, hospitably garnished with -large nails and a double row of bristling prongs, exhibited upon a -mud-splashed fanlight above it the black-lettered legend, “Casual Ward.” - -It was only one o’clock, and the door would not open before seven, but -a queue of deplorable applicants had already mustered before it. A -tall, upright, gaunt man of about forty, dressed in a weather-stained -jacket-suit of tweed, and wearing a shabby deerstalker low over his -haggard eyes, had been one of the last to attach himself to Poverty’s -kite-tail. - -Against the wall of the Workhouse Recreation Yard was the excuse for -a considerable expenditure of public funds at a moment felt by the -humbler citizens of Smutborough to be extremely inopportune. The excuse -was let into the sooty brick masonry. It made a queerly-shaped bulge -in the middle of an oppressively new Union Jack which covered it, and -upon each side of this tantalizing mystery stood a large, pink, shining -police-constable, in the largest size obtainable of brand-new white -woolen gloves. - -At the bottom of the blind alley were more constables, ready in case of -the mob of unemployed making a rush round from the front of the Town -Hall. But at present it surged, a human sea lashed to fury by the whip -of hunger and the voice of Socialism, in the square outside the long -row of first-floor windows where the sumptuous luncheon was laid for a -hundred guests. - -“A’a’ah! T’ss’s! Ya’-’aah!” - -“Close up here, close up!” A police-sergeant, hurrying from the bottom -of the alley, herded the struggling queue before the door of the casual -ward into a compact bunch. Then the rearward portals of the Town Hall, -before which a red-and-white striped awning had suddenly sprouted, were -thrown wide. A crush of rosetted stewards, carrying very shiny hats, -preceded the Mace-Bearer; the Mayor, a plump and rosy personage, in his -furred robes and chain of office, appeared, walking between a lovely -lady in sumptuous sables and an accurately-attired gentleman, whose -intense vacuity of eye, mechanical bow and smile, and inability to -utter anything without being first prompted by an attendant secretary -from behind, denoted him a Personage of the first importance.... -The Sheriff followed with the Mayoress, the Aldermen and the guests -trooped after. And the mob at the other side of the Town Hall, making -a charge round the corner, and being repulsed by the police, vented -its indignation in such an outburst of boo’s that the Mayor’s speech -was delivered in dumb show. Everybody clapped when he had done, -though. Upon which the Personage, prompted by his attendant spirit, -delivered himself in short, House of Commons gasps of the contents of -a Be-ribboned roll of typoscript. The last sentence was audible: “And -let this! Be a perpetual! Reminder to this! And succeeding generations! -How our! Mother country! Rewards her! Heroic sons!” Everybody clapped -and applauded the Personage. The Personage, then, advancing upon -exquisitely-polished boots to the Union Jack with the mysterious bulge -under it pulled a white cord with a lavender kid glove, and brought -the flag down, revealing a square block of Caen stone bearing some -sculptural figures in low relief set in the masonry above a neat little -drinking fountain. Then the Personage, the lovely lady in furs, the -Mayor and Mayoress, Sheriff, Aldermen, guests, and stewards trooped -back into the Town Hall to luncheon, and the crowd surged back again -to boo the banqueters. But after the last of these had, under a -cross-fire of gibes and taunts, taken himself away, the turbulent ocean -of humanity rolled back into its foodless garrets and cellars, and the -Socialist leaders who had urged on the ring-leaders retired to dine at -a hotel. Subsequently the alley behind the Town Hall became gorged with -homeless persons seeking shelter for the night, and when seven o’clock -struck and the Casual Ward door opened, one rush of misery packed it -instantly from wall to wall, and Stoneham, V. C., late Color-Sergeant -in the Smutborough Regiment, found himself shut out. - -He wondered, as he ruefully felt in his empty pockets, whether it would -end in his having to sell the Cross? He had never failed to raise money -on his reserve-pension when the General Brushmaker’s Union had forced -him to come out with the other men, because a non-union _employé_ -had been taken on at the factory. Since then he had navvied, stoked, -scavenged, done everything and anything that a capable man might do to -get bare bread and common shelter for himself and his. Now the wife was -in Clogham Infirmary with two of the children, and another was dead of -clemming, and ... and the old wound from the cross-nicked Mauser bullet -pained him horribly. He was giddy and sick with starvation, and the -world was spinning round.... - -Just in time he caught at the edge of the new drinking fountain, and -saved himself from falling. The grudging glimmer from the fanlight over -the door of the Casual Ward showed him something that roused him as a -swooning man may be roused by a splash of icy water in his face. It was -his own name in shining gold letters, boldly incised upon a handsome -tablet under the sculptured block that jutted from the sooty brick wall. - -“Lord above, what’s this?” gasped the man whom Smutborough had that -day toasted. He struck a match, the last he had, and read, beneath the -bas-relief which represented the city’s hero in the act of shielding -a wounded officer with his body from a supposititious volley of Boer -bullets: - - TO COMMEMORATE THE GALLANT ACTION - BY WHICH COLOUR-SERGEANT H. STONEHAM, - OF THE SMUTBOROUGH REGIMENT, - AND A NATIVE OF THIS CITY, - WON THE VICTORIA CROSS. - - IN ACTION, PAARDFONTEIN, TRANSVAAL, SOUTH AFRICA, 1901. - - -“Move on, you!” said the voice of a police-constable behind him. -And Stoneham, V. C., drove his freezing hands deep into his ragged -pockets, wheeled and obeyed. - -“It’s a rum world!” He reeled a little in his gait, and whispered -thickly to himself, as if some of the champagne and grub that had been -consumed that day in his honor had got into his head by proxy. “Damned -queer from start to finish! But, in the long run, I’m a bit better off -than the bloke in the Bible. He asked for bread, and they gave him a -stone. And I’ve got a drinking fountain into the bargain!” - -And the wet night swallowed him up. - - - - -MELLICENT - - -“Happy is the corpse, they say, that the rain rains on,” observed Mr. -Popham, “but knowing his rheumatic nature, I could have wished him a -drier day. However, we must take what comes, and it’s curious that what -comes is generally what one would have preferred to be without. Life is -very like a switchback railway,” continued Mr. Popham. “Now you’re up, -a-looking down upon other human beings; and now you’re down a-looking -up at ’em. And similarly your fellow-creatures as regards you. It’s a -curious reflection that I shan’t ever measure out his colchicum again; -or soothe the morning twinges in his knees and elbers with a lithia -lollipop in a glass of warm water; or hear him swear when I tighten -his straps and buckles; or fetch and carry his wigs between this and -the hairdresser’s in Regent Place. Who do those wigs belong to now? -Yesterday his coffin, an extra-sized, double oak casket, metal-lined, -with plated handles and silver name-plate, stood in there!” He jerked -his head at the double doors leading into the bedroom. “This morning we -accompanied him to Woking Cemetery. This afternoon they are a-reading -of the Will in Portland Place, and Odlett gave me his solemn word that -John Henry shouldn’t remove his ear from the library keyhole without -finding out whether a little bit on account of faithful services -rendered hadn’t been left to Frederick T. Popham, valet to the above. -For he promised to leave me something all along, and almost with his -last breath, ‘I haven’t forgotten you, Popham,’ says he. ‘You’ve been -remembered, you’ll find, in the Will.’ And ... Lord! Was that you? What -a turn you gave me, Miss Mellicent!” - -“Why, you’re quite nervous, Mr. Popham, sir,” said Miss Mellicent. - -Miss Mellicent had bumped at the door with the end of a coal-scuttle, -and now apologized, bringing it in. Miss Mellicent was a thin person -of some thirty London summers, dressed in a worn black gown with -stray threads sticking out where crape had been ripped off. Her hair -would have been a nice brown if it had been less dusty, her gray eyes -were timid and kind, and her dingy pale face had a look of belated -girlhood--was sometimes quite transfigured into prettiness when she -smiled. - -“I’ll own I am a little unlike myself,” agreed Mr. Popham. “Perhaps -it’s his luggage all ready in a pile near the door, as if we were -off to a foreign Spa within the next five minutes, or going down to -Helsham to stop in his usual rooms in the south wing. Perhaps it’s his -going off so sudden in quite a mild attack. Perhaps it’s the strain -of the funeral this morning, perhaps it’s sympathy for Sir George -and the family, perhaps it’s a little anxiety on my own account! I -know what he had, and I’ve my notions as to how he’s disposed of it! -The likeliest way to bring about a lawsuit and get it into Chancery -would be his way, bless you! The embroilingest way; the way to bring -about the greatest amount of jealousy and bitterness; the way to cost -the most to all concerned and bring about the smallest return in the -way of satisfaction and profit to ’em, would be the way he’d give -the preference to over all. And if he was a-listening to me at this -minute,” said Mr. Popham, with a slight uncomfortable glance toward the -folding doors that led into the bedroom--“and I’m sure I hope he’s -better employed!--he’d own I’ve done him no more than justice!” - -“The many years I’ve known General Bastling,” said Miss Mellicent, -“and it’s going on for twenty that he’s lodged with us four months in -each twelvemonth--I’ve never asked or cared to know. Was he a rich -gentleman?” - -“Why, I should call him pretty snug at that,” said Mr. Popham. “Ten -thousand in Home Rails; a pretty little nest-egg of five thousand in -Government Three per Cents; a matter of sixteen hundred invested in -the Chillianmugger Anthracite Mining Company; and a nice little bit of -loose cash in the current account at Cox’s. That’s what I’ve my eye on, -to tell you the truth; and I don’t think it’s unnatural or greedy.” - -“I would never believe you selfish or money-seeking,” said Miss -Mellicent, folding her hard-worked red hands upon her worn stuff apron, -“not if an Angel was to come down out of the stained-glass window in -church--I sit under it on a Sunday evening sometimes, when I’m not -wanted at home--and tell me so!” - -“I hope I’m not naturally more of a groveler than other men in my -situation--my late situation--would be,” returned Mr. Popham. “But -forty odd is getting on in years, and I’m reluctant at my time of -life to go looking for another middle-aged gentleman to valet. The -young ones are too harum-scarum and given to late hours for a man -like me; and if they weren’t, they’d be unnatural phenomenons. A -nice little inn in a country town, with a decentish bar custom and a -solid bottle-and-jug department, and a cold lunch in the coffee-room -on market-days, would suit me; with Hunt, Harriers, Freemasons, and -Friendly Societies’ dinners to cater for; and a private understanding -with a few gamekeepers anxious to promote their own interests in a -quiet, unassuming way--the guards of the late and early Expresses--and -one or two West End poulterers and greengrocers as I have met in what -I might call the butterfly stage of my existence, when I wore silk -stockings and livery, floured my hair regular, wore a bookay on Levée -and Drawing-Room days, and would as soon have eaten cold joint or -cleaned the carriage as taken up coals. And why I haven’t relieved you -of the scuttle before this, is a question between me and my conscience. -Let me take it and put it down. It won’t be the first time, if it is -the last, will it?” - -“Don’t, Mr. Popham, sir!” pleaded Miss Mellicent; “don’t speak in that -downhearted way.” Her red hands plucked at a corner of her dingy stuff -apron, her gray eyes were already pink about the rims. Tears rose in -them. She coughed and swallowed nervously. - -“The Bastling Arms is the name of that there little inn,” said Mr. -Popham. “The sign is the same as the crest on _his_ notepaper and -his seal-ring and the lock of that despatch-box.” He pointed to the -despatch-box crowning the pile of solid, well-used, much be-labeled -portmanteaux and imperials that occupied the corner near the door of -the room--a comfortably furnished, rather dingy second-floor apartment -in a quiet street above, and running parallel with, Oxford Circus. “The -landlord died the day before yesterday--as if to oblige or aggravate -me, I don’t know which!--and the widow, knowing my ambitions, dropped -me a postcard to inform. Three hundred is wanted for the lease, stock, -and goodwill, and fifty for the furniture, stable and yard-effects. -A bargain, Miss Mellicent, if I only had the money! But as it goes, -I’m a hundred and fifty short--unless John Henry’s ear is tingling at -this moment with tidings of comfort and joy. Now, what do you mean by -lighting a fire as if I wanted coddling, when you’ve a dozen people to -look after, if you’ve one?” - -Miss Mellicent was down on her knees at the old-fashioned grate, laying -a fire. She struck a match and lighted the kindling, and, though it was -mid-June, the bright blaze was welcome in the dingy sitting-room, whose -window-panes streamed with torrents of rain. - -“The gentlemen are all out but the third-floor front,” she said, -“and when the rain began, and I thought of you sitting up here in -the dim light alone, it seemed as if I might do this much to make -things cheerfuller. For you’ve done so much for me ever since I came -here”--her red and blackened knuckles went up to her pink-rimmed -eyes--“you always done so much for me!” - -“For you, my dear soul!” ejaculated Mr. Popham, with circular eyes. -“You make too much of things, Miss Mellicent!” - -“That’s one of ’em,” cried grateful Mellicent, turning upon him a thin, -blushing face down which two tears openly trickled. “You’ve called me -‘Miss Mellicent’ from the first. From the time I came here to Mr. and -Mrs. Davis, an orphan, ten years old, in my cheap black frock, made out -of the skirt of poor mother’s mourning for poor father, you’ve always -called me ‘Miss.’ It helped me, somehow; just as your carrying up the -heavy cans of hot water and the coals did.” - -“You was a bright-eyed, grateful little mouse, too,” said Mr. Popham -retrospectively, “and many’s the time I’ve had it in my mind to speak -to Mr. and Mrs. Davis about their driving a little thing like you so -hard. They’re past driving now, that’s one comfort! It’s years since -I’ve set eyes on either of ’em, now I come to think of it!” - -“It’s years!” Mellicent echoed in a slightly bewildered way. “Why of -course it would be years!” - -“She was a mountain, was the venerable lady, and the old gentleman -was a mere lath,” said Mr. Popham meditatively. “He used to answer -the letters we wrote year by year, season in and season out, from the -family seat at Helsham, from the Engadine, Aix, or Ems, Paris, or the -Riviera, to say we were coming on such a day. Ten years ago the writing -of the letters changed to a feminine hand--and since then I haven’t -seen him.” - -“Why--don’t you know--he died?” said Mellicent. - -“Did he really?” cried Mr. Popham. “Well, it was like him to keep it so -quiet, and like the old lady, too. Reminds me--I haven’t set eyes on -_her_ for a matter of five year and over!” - -“Oh dear, Mr. Popham! she’s dead too!” gasped Mellicent in distress. - -“She’d be pleased to know how little we’ve missed her, I know,” -responded Mr. Popham cheerfully. “Now, quite between ourselves, -Miss Mellicent, since for the first time since I’ve known you we’re -indulging in a confidential conversation--who’s carrying on the house?” - -“Don’t you know? No--you’ve never asked or thought to ask in all these -years,” returned Mellicent. “The person who carries on the house -is--not quite--but I suppose she would be called so--a lady!” - -“And very sensibly she manages,” approved Mr. Popham, “in keeping -out of the way and letting you do it for her. And a nice income she -makes, I’ll be bound! Why, the house has never been empty since first -I come here. Old gentlemen with ample means on every floor, toddling -out to their clubs when their various complaints permit, and dining -at home--and dining comfortably, too--when they don’t. Such a polish -on the boots, such a crispness of the breakfast bacon, such a flavor -about the coffee and the curries, such a tenderness about the joints, -such a dryness about the daily newspaper, and such an absence of -over-statement about the total of the weekly bill as, with all my -experience, I’ve never found elsewhere. And all owing to You! If your -modesty allowed you to think over yourself for one moment--which I -truly believe you’ve never done since you were born--you’d admit, Miss -Mellicent--that you’re a wonder!” - -“Oh! do you truly mean it?” she cried, with her heart upon her lips. - -“I do,” answered Mr. Popham, with warmth. “And if the present -proprietor of the lodgings wasn’t a lady--and knew what was good for -him--he’d----” - -“Oh no! No, Mr. Popham, sir, no! He wouldn’t. No one could ever think -of me in such a way!” Her red and blackened hands went up to the -piteous, quivering face, and her lean bosom heaved behind the meager -bib of her scorched stuff apron. “Never!” - -“Tell me now, upon your honor,” Mr. Popham pressed. “Haven’t you never -looked at nobody in that way yourself?” - -Miss Mellicent fairly writhed and shuddered with nervousness. But -she laughed, looking away from Mr. Popham and into the old-fashioned -but handsome glass over the mantelshelf, in which, within an Early -Victorian frame of fly-spotted gilding, the reflection of Mr. Popham’s -alert, well-featured, respectable profile and her own poor, wistful -face appeared together. - -“If you won’t ask me no more--yes, then! but he never dreamed o’ me!” - -“More shame for him!” asseverated Mr. Popham stoutly. “Why, what a -put-upon young woman you are, Miss Mellicent! Since you were ten years -old, I do verily believe you’ve never had a pleasure, never had a -present, never had a friend, never had an outing--no more than you’ve -had a sweetheart.” - -“Ah, but,” she cried, with a happy laugh, “I have had a friend! You’ve -been my friend, haven’t you? And I have had pleasure in knowing that. -And I’ve had an outing--twice. Once Uncle Davis took me to the World’s -Fair--it was my twelfth birthday--and once, two years later, you -treated me to the pantomime.” - -“Did I? And uncommon generous and considerate it was of me, I must -say, to have done that much for you, you poor little neglected, lonely -creature!” uttered the remorseful Mr. Popham. - -“I never forgot it,” Mellicent cried, with beaming eyes. “The glory and -the splendor, the living roses and the talking animals and the shining -fairies, and you to explain it all and be so kind. I never forgot it! -Who could?” - -“Why, I’m beginning to remember something about it myself!” said Mr. -Popham, clearing. “We partook of a dozen oysters and some shandy-gaff -at a fish-bar on the way home. According to present views, we ought to -have shaken carbolic powder over that shellfish instead of pepper, and -washed it down with Condy’s Fluid; but, being behind the present times, -we enjoyed ourselves.” - -“Didn’t we!” Mellicent clapped her hands. “I have gone back to that -beautiful evening in memory hundreds and hundreds of times! It has -helped me through such a lot of hard things--for things are hard -sometimes. Sometimes, when you aren’t here, and there isn’t no one to -speak to on the stairs, and the gentlemen are over-particular about -their boots and changeable about the hours for their meals, things get -the better of me to that extent that I scream and run!” - -“Scream and run, do you?” said the puzzled Mr. Popham. “And how do you -do it? Or do you do it without knowing how, eh?” - -“I shriek out loud and hear myself as though my voice came from a long -way off,” said Mellicent, opening her large eyes, “and then my feet -begin to run. I scream, and I run screaming up to the little top attic -I slept in when I came here as a child, where my old rag doll is still, -and mother’s patchwork counterpane covers the truckle-bed. And I hide -my head in that, and cry myself quiet and patient again!” - -“And Lord have mercy on your lonely little soul!” cried Mr. Popham. -“Patient you are, and that’s the truth!” He took the knotty red hand -and held it in both of his for an instant, looking at the downcast -face. “But don’t scream and run any more. It isn’t good for you!” - -“I haven’t screamed and runned for quite a long time now,” she -answered. “But”--her poor lips trembled--“I think I shall when you are -gone for good.” - -“Nonsense, nonsense!” Mr. Popham squeezed the red hand and dropped it -gently. “I’ll come and see you from time to time.” - -“And leave your little country inn?” said Mellicent, trying to smile. -“You won’t be able!” - -“I could leave the landlady in charge,” suggested Mr. Popham. “Stop, -though, a landlady is the kind of article that doesn’t go with the -furniture and fixtures. I shall have to look out for her myself.” His -face changed. “Upon my word I shall!” - -“I know the kind you’ll choose,” sighed Miss Mellicent. “And the best -won’t be good enough for you, Mr. Popham. She must be young and fair -and plump and rosy and blue-eyed, with golden curls like the Fairy -Queen in that pantomime, or the lovely dolls I see in the shop windows -when I’m out buying meat and groceries for the gentlemen. And her hands -must be as white and soft as mine are red and hard. And----” - -“Don’t cry, my dear!” begged Mr. Popham. He stooped over her as she hid -her flaming cheeks in the hard-worked hands. “You have pretty hair, -Miss Mellicent,” he said, with a sensation of surprise at the discovery. - -“I’ve been turning out rooms,” she sobbed, “and it’s full of dust!” - -“And you’d have a pretty figure,” said Mr. Popham, now embarked upon -a career of discovery, “if you took the trouble to pull ’em in. And -you’re young--barely thirty--and I’m ten years older. And you’re a -first-class double extra A.1. housekeeper, cook, and manager. See here! -Give the lady proprietor a month’s notice, and come and be landlady of -the Bastling Arms at Helsham!” - -“You--you’re not in earnest?” - -She faced him, quivering, transfigured, panting. - -“Ain’t I?” remarked Mr. Popham simply. “Say ‘Yes,’ Miss Mellicent, give -me a kiss, and we shall both begin to believe it. Run and change your -dress, and we’ll call a cab and make another evening of it, and if the -Alhambra ballet won’t do as well as the pantomime, under the present -circumstances, I shall be surprised! There’s John Henry’s knock at the -hall-door. He brings good news, or it wouldn’t be such a loud one. It -takes the girl ten minutes to get up the kitchen stairs; she’s a born -crawler, if ever there was one, and I’ve a fancy I should like you to -let the boy in--if you’ve no objection?” - -“Oh, no, no!” she cried gladly, and flashed out of the room. - -“She’s wonderfully nimble on her feet,” mused Mr. Popham; “and though -I’ve never seen ’em to my knowledge, I shouldn’t mind putting a bit on -the chance of their being pretty ones. Lord! I seem in for discoveries -to-day. Come in, John Henry!” - -But it was not John Henry, but the butler from Portland Place. - -“Odlett! Well, this is kind; and you with such an objection to getting -your feet damp!” Mr. Popham shook the large dough-colored hand of Mr. -Odlett until the butler secured the member from further assault by -putting it into his pocket. - -“The boy was wanted to go upon an errand,” explained Mr. Odlett, in the -voice of the description known as rich. “And as a friend!”--his smile -creased his large pale cheeks, and caused the temporary disappearance -of his small twinkling eyes--“as a friend, no more port being wanted -for the party in the library, I thought I’d come and put you out of -your misery!” - -“That was uncommon kind of you, Odlett!” breathed the acutely-anxious -Mr. Popham. He wiped his brow, and fixed an intense gaze on the -particular feature from which intelligence might be expected. - -“The boy did his duty faithful from first to last,” said Mr. Odlett, -selecting a chair and carefully separating his coat-tails as a -preliminary to sitting down; “and when he laughed, ’ad the presence -of mind to drop his ’ead to the level of the library door mat, -consequently it was supposed to be the pug a-sneezing!” - -“Well,” gasped Mr. Popham. “Well?” - -“The Will come up to our fondest expectations,” continued Mr. Odlett. -“Sir George, who never shoots, ’ave the General’s old saloon-pistols -and sporting Mantons, and _Bell’s Life_ and the _Army Gazette_ for -twenty year back. Mr. Roderick is left the Chinese and Indian -curiosities on condition of his dusting ’em hisself regularly. My Lady -’ave ten pounds to purchase a mourning-ring, provided she’ll undertake -to wear it; the young ladies ditto; and the money----” - -“The money----” choked Mr. Popham. - -“The money, with the exception of several smaller legacies, goes, with -the consent of the Mayor and Corporation of Helsham, to purchase and -lay out a Public Park for the people in memory of the Testator. There’s -to be a mausoleum in the middle of it, in which his crematory urn is to -be kep’, and a bandstand at each end, because he always loved to see -people cheerful about him. Also, he bequeaths to Miss Mellicent Davis, -at his lodgings in Margaret Place, five guineas and a set of ivory -chessmen; and to his old and valued friend, William Odlett, which is -me, the sum of two hundred pounds. He adds, he hopes I’ll drink myself -to death on it, inside of a month; but he always was a playful old -gentleman. No--you’re not forgotten!” - -Mr. Popham wiped his brow with an air of relief. - -“You’re not forgotten--which ought to be a consolation to you!” -repeated Mr. Odlett, creasing all over with a vast, comprehensive -smile. “You’re to ’ave his walking-sticks, clothes, wigs, the rugs and -plaids, and the spare set of teeth, hoping you’ll always have something -to employ ’em on. I came over a-purpose to tell you; you’re so fond of -a joke, Popham.” - -“I don’t deny it,” said the crushed and disappointed Mr. Popham; “but -where the humor of this one is, hang me if I know!” - -“You’ll see by-and-by,” said Mr. Odlett consolingly. “When you’ve ’ad -time to think it over. Meanwhile I’ll stand a couple of whiskies hot. -A man don’t come into two hundred, cool, every day, and this windfall -is particularly welcome. You know Madgell, the landlord of the Bastling -Arms at Helsham, is gone over to the majority?” - -Mr. Popham nodded a pale face. - -“The lease, stock, goodwill, and fixtures of that pleasant little ’ouse -is to be ’ad for what I call a song. And I’m going--in a week or so, -when I’ve laid my hand secure on this here little legacy--to pop in and -settle down. Plummer, the cook, a plump and capable young woman, ’ave -expressed her willingness to be the landlady. I did suppose she had had -a bit of an understanding with you. But she’s quite come round my way -since the reading of the will, and I thought you’d like to know it!” - -“You’re uncommon considerate,” said the rasped and tingling Mr. Popham, -“but I’ve made arrangements elsewhere.” - -“Perhaps the Other One will change her mind when she finds out you’re -diddled in your expectations!” said the comforting Mr. Odlett, shaking -hands heartily. “Good-night. I shan’t hear of you coming to the door!” - -But Mr. Popham did come, and slammed it behind the departing form of -Mr. Odlett with great heartiness. - -“Damn his wigs and walking-sticks!” he said in the murky passage, “and -his spare teeth as well! A nice Job’s comforter, Odlett! ‘Perhaps -she’ll change her mind when she knows you’ve been diddled in your -expectations.’ Beg pardon, Miss Mellicent, I didn’t see you were there! -You’re not hurt, are you?” - -“Only by your thinking I could change!” said Miss Mellicent, with a sob. - -The ground-floor sitting-room door stood ajar; the room was unoccupied. -Mr. Popham led Miss Mellicent in, turned up one of the blackened -incandescent gas-jets, and stood petrified at the sight its hissing -white glare revealed. - -“A gray silk gown, trimmed with real lace, and a gold chain!” cried the -bewildered Mr. Popham. “A diamond brooch, as I’m a living sinner! and -an opera-mantle and kid gloves and a fan! And your pretty brown hair -done up quite tastefully, and your eyes a-shining over the roses in -your cheeks! What’s done it? Who’s responsible for it? How did it come -about?” - -If she had been less shy of him, she would have answered in two words, -“Through love!” But she only faltered: - -“I’m so glad you think I look a bit nice in them. They--they belonged -to poor Aunt Davis, and I’ve had ’em altered to fit. She--she left them -to me when she died!” - -“And handed over the lodging-house and furniture to the present lady -proprietor,” observed Mr. Popham, searching in his trouser pocket for a -cab whistle, “whom I don’t happen to know by sight.” - -“Oh, yes, you do!” Miss Mellicent’s blush and smile made quite a pretty -little face of hers, and Mr. Popham boldly kissed it on the spot. “Oh -yes, you do, for she’s me! I should say, I am her! Law bless you, -dear Mr. Popham, I didn’t mean to startle you like that! Who cares -about your being left a lot of old clothes and wigs instead of a sum -of money--though you deserved it, true and faithful as you was to him -that’s gone! Haven’t I plenty for both? And landlord of the Bastling -Arms you shall be to-morrow, if you’ve set your heart on it! and we -shall be late for the beautiful sights at the theater if you don’t -whistle for a taxicab.” - -“Life is certainly a switchback!” said Mr. Popham, as he breathed and -trilled alternately on the damp doorstep. “Now you’re down a-lookin’ up -at your fellow-mortals, and now you’re up, a-lookin’ down upon ’em!... -We’ll have a bit of supper at that very fish-bar, if it’s still in -existence, on our way home, carefully drawing the line at oysters as -risky and uncertain articles of diet for two middle-aged people about -to enter upon the duties and privileges of married life!” - - - - -THE COLLAPSE OF THE IDEAL - - -Canwarden did not write sonnets, or he would have composed many, not -only in celebration of Petronella’s eyebrows, but of her crystalline -blue eyes and burnished hair, her willowy figure of the latest and -most wonderful shape, and her slim, white hands and arched insteps. -But in all his plays--for he was a budding dramatist of exceeding -promise--he described her in red-lined type:--“_Enter So-and-So, a -fair and graceful girl of not more than twenty-five summers, with -sapphire eyes and golden locks, attired in the costume of the period_” -(whatever the period might be). “_She exhales the joyous freshness of -a May morning, and her gurgling laugh rivals the spring song of the -thrush._” This pleased the leading ladies hugely, even when their eyes -were not of sapphire; but stage-managers found Urban Canwarden’s stage -directions a trial. If he had been firmly seated in the motor-car of -public approval, both hands on the driving-wheel as he ripped along -the track of success, they would have smiled even while they writhed. -But Canwarden was not yet famous, and the stage-managers were free not -to disguise their feelings. However, he went on; getting thin--thin -for a plump man--in the effort to make enough to marry on. For the -beloved of his soul was not of the bread-and-cheese-and-kisses type of -betrothed of whom we read in novels that have many years ago silted -to the bottom-shelves in public libraries, and are occasionally -issued as new in paper covers at fourpence-halfpenny. Her full name -was Petronella Lesser, and she dwelt with her parents in an Early -Victorian villa on Haverstock Hill, a residence which had been slowly -settling down on one side ever since the Tube borings had started. The -lease would be out, old Mr. Lesser calculated, a day or two before the -Corinthian-pillared stucco and brick porch sat down. He was something -in the Italian warehouse supply-line in the City, and a singular judge -of olives, Gruyère, and barreled Norwegian sprats. Petronella never -looked a fairer, more poetic thing than when concealing vast quantities -of these zests behind the latest thing in blouses, day or evening wear, -and Urban Canwarden, as he gazed upon his betrothed, or very nearly so, -swore to himself that she should never know what it is to go lacking -the _hors d’œuvres_ that lend piquancy to the Banquet of Life. - -Petronella was a girl whose white and well-developed bosom was the -home of emotions but little livelier than those that animate the -beautiful person of a Regent-street wax-doll. Sawdust will burn, it -is true, but the costlier puppets are stuffed with choicer stuffing. -She had not fallen in love with Urban Canwarden; she had simply frozen -on to him. She had liked sitting in the author’s box on First Nights, -while the author tore his hair at his Club or in his chambers. She -liked his person, his friends, his prospects. She looked forward to an -elegantly-furnished villa on Campden Hill, with a cottage at Sonning -or Hampton Wick, and mid-winter runs to the South of France, when a -distinguished dramatist, the husband of a charming and attractive wife, -whose _salon_ would be the constant resort of the fine flower, the top -of the basket of London Society, should require rest and change of air -after his exhausting labors undergone in the composition and rehearsal -of the brilliant play, in four acts and eleven scenes, destined to be -the opening attraction of Mr. James Toplofty’s Spring Season at the -West End Theater. She would dream thus paragraphically, whenever she -did dream, which was seldom, for her imaginative region was small. She -was stupid and narrow, cold-hearted and mercenary. - -“Since I have loved you,” Canwarden would say, “I have been able to -write of noble women. You have inspired me; everything that is best in -me comes from you; everything I have done that is good I owe to you....” - -“You dear, exaggerating, Romantic Thing!” was invariably the reply of -Petronella. “And when we are married we shall have a 28 h.p. Gohard -with nickel fittings and a changeable body, and a chauffeur in livery. -I used to dream of a dear little private brougham when we were first -engaged, but nobody who wants to be thought Anybody would have such -an old-fashioned thing now. How the world is changing, isn’t it, with -motors and airships and Tubes to travel in?” - - * * * * * - -The Haverstock Hill villa vibrated as she prattled, and the porch -settled lower by the fraction of an inch. It was a July evening, and -the lovers, arm-in-arm, paced up and down the damp and puddly graveled -avenue under the liquid-soot-distilling lilacs and acacias. The -reflection of a large fire danced upon the windows of Mrs. Lesser’s -drawing-room, and Petronella, despite the warmth of Canwarden’s love, -felt chilly. She wondered why Urban had pressed her to put on goloshes -and a warm wrap after dinner and take this clammy evening stroll -arm-in-arm with him. And then she was conscious that the heart against -which her right hand rested thumped heavily, and she felt his arm -tremble, and remembered that at dinner her betrothed had shown a poor -appetite in conjunction with a well-developed thirst. As pigs are said -to feel wind coming, as cats--even the most sedate--set up their backs -and sprint about the garden at the approach of a storm, Petronella -instinctively felt that bad news was in the air. A more sentimental -and much prettier girl might have anticipated a shipwreck of the -affections--expected to be told that Canwarden had found his Fate in -another’s eyes. Petronella’s previsions of disaster concerned only his -banking account. It was that to which she was really referring when she -said she felt that something had happened. - -“It is true, dearest,” Canwarden said, with the kind of hoarse groan -that he had not been able to extract from the leading young man in his -last romantic drama even with the grappling-hooks of continued effort. -“Something has happened. My great play--for that it is great I feel, -and always shall, despite the slings and arrows of that eater of red -meat, the Transatlantic critic ... my great play, ‘_The_ ...’” - -“I know, ‘_The Popshop Hearse_’ ...” Petronella put in hurriedly. - -“No, no ... ‘_The Poisoned Curse_,’” corrected the author, with a -wince. “My play, produced a fortnight ago at Barney and Keedler’s -Classical Theater, New York, is a failure ... a blank and utter -failure! Yes, yes! the management did cable to me to say it had -been enthusiastically received. I showed the message to you, and -you shared my gladness. But here--here is another cable from -my agent, Loris K. Boodler, of Skyscraper Mansions, 49,000,000 -Broadway, that says....” He drew a crackling, flimsy paper from his -waistcoat pocket, and tried to unfold it with hands that shook. “I -can’t read it because it’s too dark, but I remember every word. -‘_Your--play--taken--off--Saturday--following--production. Variety -vaudeville substituted. Writing. Boodler._’ And I was looking forward -to the author’s fees to”--he coughed in a choky way--“to furnish our -house and ... and buy that motor-car you were talking about. It ... it -seemed so sure a thing! I had got such capital percentages; Barney and -Keedler had cabled to say the play was a success....” He choked. “And -now!...” - -“You told me all that before, dear,” said Petronella. “But you have two -other plays coming out, haven’t you, in London theaters?... West End -houses.... And one failure doesn’t spell ruin....” - -“One failure can break a dramatist, when it is a failure of this kind,” -said her disconsolate lover. “Those two other plays are ... were -coming out at theaters held by the same lessees--Barney and Keedler, -of the Mammoth American Dramatic Trust. And so, don’t you see, all my -balloons are deflated at once. I’ve come down with a crash, and ... it -hurts! But you will trust me, won’t you? You will go on believing in -me, though I’ve had what technical people will call a set-back. And -if our ... our marriage must be delayed....” He stopped under one of -the liquid soot-distilling lilacs, and caught Petronella in his arms, -crushing the draperies arranged by her Hampstead dressmaker roughly -against his damp evening overcoat. “You will not mind!... We will wait -and hope, and love each other ... love each other.... After all, while -we are together, nothing is too hard to bear....” - -Thus spoke Canwarden, counting his chickens ere their emergence from -the shell, after the fashion of a young man too deeply in love to -see clearly what manner of young woman his heart is set upon. But -Petronella shivered, conscious that the Hampstead garden was clammy, -and that the dazzling halo of coming fame and approaching prosperity -had been banished from Canwarden’s brow. He stood before her, tall and -straight, and sufficiently good to look at, with his bright brown eyes, -straight, short nose, and sensitive, clean-shaven lips, though his -curly hair, it must be added, was receding too fast from a brow more -bumpy than, according to the accepted canons of classical proportion, -a brow should be. Upon his shirt-front a lilac had shed an inky tear, -and his voice was husky with love and sorrow, not of an utterly selfish -kind, as he promised Petronella to work hard, never to cease working -until he had regained the lost ground. - -“But you never may!...” she said, and the doubt in those shallow blue -eyes--he never had realized before that they were shallow--pierced him -to the soul. “And Nora will be married before me, and she is two years -younger, and everybody in Hampstead will say....” - -Canwarden, with heat, devoted Hampstead to the devil. I am not -defending him. Petronella thought him brutal, coarse, and profane. -Women of Petronella’s kind always enthusiastically uphold the dignity -of the devil. She told him what she thought, and she wound up in the -red-papered hall of the one-sided Hampstead villa by saying that he -and she had better part. She added, as women of Petronella’s type -invariably do add, that the dead past might bury its dead. And she drew -off her engagement ring--an olivine, imposed by a Bond Street jeweler -upon the too-confiding Canwarden as an emerald, harnessed between two -indifferent diamonds of yellowish hue--and thrust it back upon him, and -went upstairs to her room and locked the door; and as the hall-door -banged violently and the iron avenue gates clashed behind the haggard -Canwarden, his late betrothed sat down to pen a little note to Percy -Flicker--a young man without a chin, junior partner of a small but -pushing firm of shipbrokers at No. 35,000 Cornhill. The porch made up -its mind and sat down that night, and Percy the chinless called upon -the following evening, and was compelled to enter his Love’s bower by -the back-door. - -And Canwarden, seeing volcanic ruins smoking where his Castle of -Hope had stood, wandered the West End and the Strand like a thing -accursed. He went into his club, and men slapped him on the shoulder -and congratulated him upon the New York success. They would learn the -truth later, he said to himself, and then they would chuckle and sneer. -The rustling of the cablegram in his waistcoat pocket whispered “_Yes -s’s’!_” Meanwhile he had no appetite for solid food, and, quenching -the thirst that consumed him with iced brandy and soda, he, Canwarden, -usually the most temperate of men, realized how easily spanned is the -gulf that severs the sober man from the inebriate. He might, perhaps, -have crossed it for good and all had he not chanced to pass the -invitingly open door of Grow’s Transatlantic Bureau of Exchange. The -shipping advertisements loomed large and gaily-colored in the window; -passenger lists and railway guides hung from hooks upon the walls, and -lay in piles upon the counter, and a civil clerk and an attractive -girl with squirrel-colored hair were busy over ledgers and things. -Prompted by his guardian angel Canwarden went in and asked for the -New York papers. The mail was just in, and he got them, and, leaning -on the polished shelf-desk where people write out code telegrams, he -turned to the theatrical column. His drama, _The Poisoned Curse_, had -been withdrawn a fortnight ago from the stage of Barney and Keedler’s -Theater--slain as a thing unfit to live--and a variety vaudeville -substituted in its stead. Did not the cablegram--Loris K. Boodler’s -cablegram--say so? He would see the hideous announcement for himself, -and then go under, as men went who had broken the golden bowl of Youth -and Hope, and were too weary to go on fighting. - -Could it ... could it be a mistake...? Was the play a success after -all? It looked like it. For in flamboyant type _The Poisoned Curse_: a -Romantic Drama in four acts and eleven scenes, by Urban Canwarden, was -announced by the _New York Trumpeter_ as being presented to-night, and -every night, and to-day at 1.30, and Saturday _matinées_ as announced. -The play had been running when Loris K. Boodler sent the cablegram -announcing its withdrawal; the play was running now--would run. -Canwarden’s hands shook so that the flimsy news-sheet tore. He glanced -at the girl with the squirrel-colored hair and apologized, saying that -he would pay for the paper. She smiled, and he found that he was able -to smile back again. He despatched a short but expressive cablegram to -the office of Mr. Loris K. Boodler, relieving that smart and go-ahead -agent from further responsibility in connection with the collection -of his percentages, and walked out of Grow’s Transatlantic Bureau of -Exchange with his head up--a free man. - -Petronella married Percy Flicker. Canwarden is a flourishing and -popular dramatist, with a thumping bank balance and a permanent -predilection for bachelor existence. All the female villains in his -plays are blondes. The stage directions, underlined in red, run thus: -“_Enter So-and-So, a fair and slightly formed woman of barely thirty, -with icy and repellent blue eyes and hair of a pale and sunless straw -color. She conveys the impression of cold insincerity and self-centered -absorption, and her hard and mocking laugh falls gratingly upon the -ear._” Which goes to prove that Human Nature is and never will be -anything but Human Nature until the Curtain drops. - - - - -THE HAND THAT FAILED - - -Four men were seated about a round table, with dessert and wine -upon it, in the dining-room of a luxuriously furnished house in a -fashionable street in the West End of London--a street which is the -Eldorado of the struggling professional man, the Tom Tiddler’s ground -of successful members of the faculties of surgery and medicine. The -aroma of Turkish coffee and choice Havanas was warm and fragrant -upon the air, and the Bishop consented to a second Benedictine. His -left-hand neighbor was a dry-faced, courteous gentleman, a King’s -Counsel, famous by reason of several _causes célèbres_. The third man -at table was merely a hard-working, small-earning practitioner of -medicine and surgery, settled in a populous suburb of the high-lying -North. Coming to the host, with whom the Highgate Doctor had walked the -hospitals in his student days, one may describe him as a world-famous -Consulting Specialist and operator; one of the kings of the scalpel, -the bistoury, and the curette; a man of medals, orders, and scientific -titles innumerable. Forty-three years of age, shortly about to be -married (to a widowed niece of the Bishop), and in excellent spirits--a -thought too excellent, perhaps.... - -“Wants rest, decidedly. Pupils of the eyes unnaturally dilated, -circulation not what it ought to be. Overdone.... Changed color when -the servant dropped a fork just now.... He had better take care!” said -the Highgate Doctor to himself. He had to deal with many cases of -nervous breakdown up Highgate way, where there are so many compositors -and clerks and journalists. But the Bishop and the King’s Counsel had -never seen the Distinguished Surgeon look more fit, and so they told -him. - -“What makes it more remarkable, in my poor opinion”--the Bishop, -employing his favorite phrase, emptied his liqueur-glass and folded -his plump, white hands--“being that our distinguished friend here”--he -waved the fattest and whitest of his thumbs toward his host--“seldom, -if ever, takes a holiday.” - -“When,” said the Distinguished Surgeon, playing with a gold fruit-knife -belonging to a set which had formed part of the First Napoleon -camp-equipment at Leipsic, “when a professional man’s brain is -absolutely clear, his nerves infallibly steady; when his digestion, -sleep, appetite are unimpaired by any amount of physical and mental -labor; when his hand is the ready, unerring, unflinching servant of his -will at all times and all seasons, what need has that man of rest and -relaxation?” The strong, supple, finely-modeled hand went on playing -with the historical fruit-knife, as its owner added: “Work is my play! -For change of air, give me change of experience; for change of scene, -new cases, or fresh developments of familiar ones. The excitement of -the gaming table, or any other form of excitement, would be a poor -exchange for the sensations of the operator, the skilled, experienced, -unerring operator, who calculates to the fraction of an inch the depth -of the incision his scalpel makes in the body of the anæsthetized -patient extended on the glass-table before him. Life or Death are his -to give, and the trembling of the balance one way or the other is to -be guided and controlled by his unerring eye, his unerring brain, and -his skilled, infallible hand. He holds the balances of Fate--he guides -and controls Destiny, and knows his power and glories in it. He is a -supreme artist--not in clay or marble, gold or silver, pigments or -enamels--but in living flesh and blood!” - -The Bishop shifted in his chair uneasily, and turned a little pale -about the gills. The removal of the episcopal appendix some months -previously had preserved to the Church of England one of its principal -corner-stones; and the neat, red seam underneath the Bishop’s apron -on the right side, on the spot that would have been covered by the -vest-pocket of an ordinary layman, twitched and tingled. And the King’s -Counsel, who had once undergone a minor operation for throat-trouble, -hurriedly gulped down a mouthful of port. The Highgate Doctor alone -answered, fixing his steel-rimmed pince-nez securely on his nose, and -tilting his chin so as to get the host’s face well into focus: “He is a -supreme artist, as you say, and he delights in his work. But supposing -him to delight too much? Supposing him to have arrived at such a pass -that he cannot live without the excitement of it!--that he indulges -in the exercise of his beneficent profession as a cocaine-drinker or -hashish-eater, or morphinomaniac, indulges in the drug that destroys -him, morally and physically--how long will he retain in their -perfection the faculties which have made him what he is?” - -“As long as he chooses!” said the Distinguished Surgeon, putting -down the gold fruit-knife, and rising with the easy air of the -well-bred host. “He is no longer a mere man, but a highly-geared and -ingeniously-planned machine, in all that concerns the peculiar physical -functions brought to bear upon the exercise of his profession. To lie -idle, for such a machine, means rust and ruin; to work unceasingly is -to increase facility and gain in power, and, provided it be carefully -looked after--and I assure you my nuts and bearings receive the -necessary amount of attention!--the machine of which I speak may go on -practically for ever!” And he ushered his guests through the folding -doors into his luxurious consulting-room. - -“Unless there happened,” put in the King’s Counsel, “to be a screw -loose?” - -“My dear fellow,” said the Distinguished Surgeon, with a smile, “my -screws are never neglected, I have assured you. The machine won’t come -to grief that way!” - -“It might come to grief in another way,” said the Highgate Doctor in a -queer voice. “The Inventor might stop it Himself, just to prove to His -handiwork that it _was_ a machine--and something more!” - -At this remark, plopped into the middle of the calm duck-pond of -sociality, the Bishop looked pained, as might an elderly spinster -of severe morals at an allusion savoring of impropriety. The King’s -Counsel, feeling for the Bishop, turned the conversation; but the -Distinguished Surgeon and the Highgate Doctor were at it again, hammer -and tongs, in a minute. - -“I do not simply believe I shall not fail, my dear fellow! I _know_ I -shall not! As for----” (the Distinguished Surgeon, sitting smoking in -his Louis Quinze consulting-chair, mentioned a certain operation in -abdominal surgery, delicate, difficult, and dangerous in the extreme) -“I have performed it hundreds of times, successfully, within the last -twelvemonth, leaving minor operations--scores of them”--he waved the -scores aside with a movement of the supple hand--“entirely out of -the question! At the Hospital to-day” (mentioning the name of a great -public institution) “I operated in seven cases, bringing up the number -to one thousand and one. The last was the most interesting case I have -met with for some time, presenting complications rendering the use of -the knife both difficult and risky, but----” - -The sharp whirring tingle of the telephone bell punctuated the -Distinguished Surgeon’s sentence: “But she’ll pull through; I guarantee -it! We’ll have the bandages off in three weeks. She’ll be walking about -before the month’s out like the others!” - -“Under Providence let us hope so!” said the Bishop, encircled by -a halo of fragrant cigar smoke. “Thank you, yes, I will take a -whisky-and-soda. Without presumption, let us hope so, remembering, -trusting in--arah--the--arah--the Divine assurance.” - -“You may take the assurance from me, my lord!” said the Distinguished -Surgeon. He got up and went to the fireplace (carved by Adam), and -leaned one elbow lightly on the mantelshelf--an easy attitude, but -instinct with pride and power. “As I have said, Case One Thousand and -One is a difficult case. I could name surgeons of repute who would have -hesitated to operate; but, given the requisite skill and the necessary -care, failure, I hold, is out of the question. I have never failed -yet--I do not intend to fail. It’s impossible!” - -The second shrill, imperative summons of the telephone bell ended the -Distinguished Surgeon’s sentence. - -“Tch! They’re ringing ye up on the telephone from somewhere,” said the -Highgate Doctor. - -“Find out what they want, Donald, there’s a good fellow,” said the -Distinguished Surgeon, buttonholed by the Bishop, whose urbane -benevolence had creased into smiles tinctured with roguishness, as he -related a clerical after-dinner story. - -And the Highgate Doctor rang back, and unhooked the receiver and cried: -“Halloa?” and listened to the thin ghost of a voice that droned and -tickled at his ear, and turned toward the Distinguished Surgeon a face -that had suddenly been bleached of all color. - -“Well, who is it?” the Distinguished Surgeon asked. - -“It’s the House Surgeon at the Hospital. Perhaps ye would speak to him -yourself?” the Highgate Doctor said thickly; and the Distinguished -Surgeon, released by the chuckling Bishop, strolled over and took the -Highgate Doctor’s place at the receiver. - -“Halloa! Yes, it’s Sir Arthur Blank!” he called, and the ghostly voice -came back.... “One of the abdominal sections in the Mrs. Solomon Davis -Ward ... Number Seven ... Mrs. Reed ... Hæmorrhage.... Imminent danger -... collapse.... Come at once!” - -The Distinguished Surgeon glanced round, with eyes that were sunk -in pits quite newly dug. The Bishop, still in his anecdotage, was -buttonholing the King’s Counsel. Plainly they had not overheard. And -as the Distinguished Surgeon took out his handkerchief and wiped the -cold damps from a face that had gone gray and shiny, he knew relief. -He avoided looking point-blank at the Highgate Doctor as he made his -courteous excuses to his guests. “An urgent case--suddenly called -away for an hour. My dear Lord, my dear Entwhistle, my dear Donald, -entertain yourselves for that space of time, and don’t deprive me of a -pleasant end to this delightful evening!” - -But the Bishop, recently wedded for the third time, took leave, -accepting his host’s offer of dropping him at his hotel, and the pair -got into fur coats and a snug ante-brougham and drove away together. -Soon after, somebody from the Chancery Buildings came with an urgent -summons for the King’s Counsel, and he melted away with regrets, and -the Highgate Doctor sat in the luxurious consulting-room, and started -at every stoppage of swift wheels in the streets. - -The silent servants came and looked to the fire, the Pompadour clock -upon the mantel chimed eleven! And then, looking up out of a brown -study, the Highgate Doctor saw his host returned, and started at his -worn and haggard aspect. As the demure servant relieved him of his -coat and hat, and vanished, the Distinguished Surgeon dropped into -an easy-chair and sat shading his face with the right hand, whose -steadiness he had so vaunted. And that infallible, unerring hand shook -as if with palsy. - -The Highgate Doctor could bear no more.... - -“O man,” he said--in moments of excitement his accent savored of from -north of the Tweed--“dinna sit glowering and shaking there! I ken weel -what has happened! Your pride has got the killing thrust; she is in her -death-pangs at this minute I’m talking, and you stand face to face wi’ -One you have denied! Am I richt or no?” - -The Distinguished Surgeon moved the shaking hand and said, not in the -calm level tone the Highgate Doctor knew, but one jerky and uneven: - -“You are right! You shall know the truth, though it places my -reputation at your mercy....” - -“Forget your reputation a meenute,” said the Highgate Doctor. “As to -Case One Thousand and One ... is the woman dead?” - -“No ...” said the other--“no, I reached the Hospital in time ... we -called up the chart-nurse and the Matron, had her taken up to the -theater and----” - -“Found that ye had bungled--for once in your life!” said the Highgate -Doctor. “And weel for you, if not for your patient, that it is so. The -ligature had slipped, I take it, being insecurely tied?” - -The Distinguished Surgeon looked him steadily between the eyes and -answered: - -“The ligature was not tied at all! A grosser instance of neglect I -never met with.” He got up and leaned against the mantelshelf, folding -his arms. “I said so pretty plainly, and I have made a minute on the -Hospital register to that effect. I shall also draw the attention of -the Committee to the matter without delay!” - -The Highgate Doctor blew his nose violently. His eyeglasses were misty. - -“Ye have censured yourself? Ye will report yourself? O man! I kenned ye -were a great one, but ye have never been so great--in my eyes--as ye -are this night!” - -“Thank you!” said the Distinguished Surgeon, as the two men gripped -hands. “And--Donald, old fellow--I am going to take a holiday!” - -“Where is the whisky-and-soda?” said the Highgate Doctor gleefully. - - - - -HIS SILHOUETTE - - -“He walked down Upper Bond Street, after leaving his chambers, half-way -up on the left-hand side. The ground floor is occupied by the only -London purveyor of American chewing-gum, who does a tremendous business -in the imported article, and the shop is crowded all day by ladies, -young and old, whose jaws, even in moments of repose from conversation, -are in perpetual motion. Englishwomen do not yet chew gum. Let us hope -that our wives, sweethearts, sisters, and cousins will be slow to -acquire what, in my opinion, is an unpleasant habit, but too suggestive -of arboreal tendencies inherited from anthropoid ancestors.” - -The man who was telling the story stretched out his hand across the -coffee-cups to select a toothpick. The man who opposed him at the table -promptly annexed the glass-and-silver receptacle containing the article -required. - -“The original ape,” he said, “probably employed a twig. I cannot -encourage you in a practice you so strongly denounce. Waiter, take -these things away! Bonson, my good fellow, let us hear your story--if -it is worth hearing. If not, keep it to yourself. The man began by -walking down Bond Street. There is nothing original in that. I myself -do it every day without being the hero of a story.” - -“This man was the hero of a tragedy,” said the man who was telling the -story. “Other people might smile at it for a farce--it was a tragedy to -him.” - -“Where did the horror of it come in?” asked the other man. - -“Under Shelmadine’s waistcoat,” said the man who had been addressed -as Bonson. “Shelmadine was losing his figure, which had been his -joy and pride and the delight of the female eye ever since he left -Oxford, without his degree, and, thanks to the influence of his uncle, -Colonel Sir Barberry Bigglesmith, K.C.B., Assistant Under-Secretary to -the Ordnance Office Council, took up a Second Division Higher-grade -Clerkship at £280 per annum, which sufficiently supplemented his -younger son’s allowance of £500 to make it feasible to get along with -some show of decency--don’t you follow me?” - -“If I had followed this beggar down Upper Bond Street,” hinted the -other man, knocking an ash off a long, slim High Dutch cigar, “where -would he have led me?” - -“Into his tailor’s,” said the man who had been addressed as Bonson -promptly. “He walked in there regularly every day on his way to the -War Office. Clothes were his passion--in fact, he simply couldn’t live -without clothes!” - -“Could we?” answered the other man simply. - -“I have heard that Europeans shipwrecked on the palm-fringed shores of -a Pacific Island,” said Bonson, “have managed to do very well without -them. Under those circumstances, let me tell you, Shelmadine would -still have managed to be well dressed. He would have evolved style out -of cocoa-fiber and elegance out of banana-leaves, or he would have died -in the attempt. I am trying to convey to you that he had a genius for -clothes. He evolved ideas which sartorial artists were only too happy -to carry out. He gave bootmakers hints which made their reputations. -He would run over to Paris every month or so to look at Le Bargy’s hat -and cravats. He never told anyone where he got his walking sticks, but -they were wonderful. I tell you----” - -“Every man likes to be well dressed,” said the man who was listening to -the story, “but this beggar seems to have had coats and trousers on the -brain.” - -“Rather,” said the narrator. “He thought of clothes, dreamed of -clothes--lived for clothes alone. Garments were his fad, his folly, his -passion, his mania, his dearest object in life. Men consulted him--men -who wanted to be particularly well got-up couldn’t do better than put -themselves in Shelmadine’s hands. He permitted no servile copying of -the modes and styles he exhibited on his person. ‘Forge my name,’ -he said to a fellow once, ‘but never copy the knot of my necktie!’ -Chap took the advice, and did forge his name--to the tune of £60. -Shelmadine would not prosecute. He was planning an overcoat--a kind of -Chesterfield, cut skirty--with which he made a sensation at Doncaster -this year, and when a certain Distinguished Personage condescended to -order one like it, Shelmadine made the three he had got, quite new, -and wickedly expensive, into a parcel, poured on petrol, and applied a -match. Shut himself up for three days, and appeared on the fourth with -a perfectly new silhouette.” - -“A perfectly new what?” said the listener, with circular eyes. - -“Shelmadine’s creed was that for a man to look thoroughly well dressed -he must have a perfect silhouette. Every line about him must be -perfect. The sweep of the shoulders, the spring of the hips, the arch -over the instep, and so forth, must display the cut of scissors wielded -by an artist--not a mere workman. Now, on this particular morning, -not so very long ago, it had been brought home to him, as he looked in -his full-length, quadruple-leaved, swing-balance, double lever-action -cheval glass, that the reflection it gave back to him was not quite -satisfactory. His silhouette did not satisfy him. Then all at once came -with a rush the overwhelming discovery that he was----” - -“Getting potty,” said the listener. “Those Government clerkships play -the devil with a man’s waist. Nothing to do but eat, drink, sleep, -walk, or drive to the Office and sit in a chair gumming up envelopes or -drawing heads on the blotting paper when you’re there, until you fall -asleep. Once you’re asleep, you don’t wake till it’s time to go home. -Consequently you develop adipose tissue.” He yawned. - -“Do you suppose,” asked the teller of the tale, with large -contempt, “that Shelmadine lived the life of one of those human -marmots--Shelmadine, a man so sensitively, keenly alive to the beauty -of Shape, Form, Line, and Proportion? Do you dream that he lightly -risked the inevitable result of indulgence in the pleasures of the -table or the delights of drowsiness? If so, you are wrong. He rose at -5 a.m., winter and summer, in town or country, and after a hot bath, -followed by a cold douche, pursued a course of physical exercises -until seven, when he breakfasted on milkless tea, dry toast, or gluten -biscuits”--the other man shuddered--“with, perhaps, a little plain -boiled fish, its lack of flavor undisguised by Worcester sauce or any -other condiment.” - -“Horrible!” said the other man. “I once tried....” - -“After breakfast, in all weathers, he walked five miles, within the -Radius, returning to dress for the day. Anon he would saunter down Bond -Street, look in at the shops, where he was adored, and criticize the -new models submitted to him, as only Shelmadine could, show himself -at his Club, stroll in the Park, and get to the Ordnance Office about -eleven. The floors at Whitehall are solidly built, consequently his -habit of jumping backward and forward over the office-table when -he felt his muscles dangerously relaxed, met with little, if any, -opposition in the Department. Dumb-bells, of course, were always ready -to hand. At his Club the invariable luncheon supplied to him was the -eye of a grilled cutlet, a glass of claret and water, eight stewed -prunes, and, of course, more gluten biscuits. He shunned fat-forming -foods more than he would the devil!” - -“And made his life a hell!” said the other man, with conviction. - -“My dear fellow,” said the relater, “you can’t understand what a man’s -life is or is not until you have seen both sides of it. A Second -Division Higher-Grade War Office clerkship allows of a good deal of -liberty. Picture Shelmadine as the _enfant gâté_ of Society, followed, -stared at, caressed and courted, by the smartest feminine leaders of -fashion, as well as by the swellest men, as the acknowledged Oracle -in Clothes. There’s a position for a young man single-handed to -have achieved. To be the vogue--the rage--the _coq de village_--the -_village_ being London--and at twenty-seven.” - -“Exhausting,” said the other man, “to keep up, but sufficiently -agreeable. Quite sufficiently agreeable! And I realize that at the -psychological moment, when the fellow discovered that his figure had -begun to run to seed, he sustained a shock--kind of cold moral and -mental _douche_ a professional beauty gets when her toilet glass shows -her the first crow’s-foot. Did your friend have hysterics and ask his -valet for sal-volatile? I should expect it of him!” - -“Shelmadine did not employ a man,” said the teller of the tale, fixing -his eyeglass firmly in its place, “to do anything but brush his -clothes. For all other purposes connected with the toilet he preferred -a Swiss lady’s-maid. Do not misunderstand, my friend,” he added -sternly, as the listener exploded in a guffaw of laughter. “_Honi soit_ -... the rest of the quotation is familiar to you. And Mariette Duchâtel -had been strongly recommended to him by his aunt, Lady Bigglesmith, as -a most desirable person for the post of housekeeper. She was at least -fifty--retained the archæological remains of good looks, and owned a -moustache a buddin’ Guardsman might be jealous of, by Jingo! But her -heart had remained youthful, or we may so conjecture.” - -“I begin to tumble to the situation of the swelling subject of your -story,” said the other man, pouring out a Benedictine. “When your -elderly housekeeper happens to be in love with you, it is bad enough. -Things become complicated when the victim of your charms happens to be -your maid. Continue!” - -“A visit to his tailor’s on the day on which my story begins,” said -Bonson, “convinced Shelmadine that--in fact, his outlines were becoming -indefinite. ‘This will not do, sir,’ said his tailor, a grave and -himself a portly personage, ‘with your reputation for silhouette to -keep up--and at your years. We will let out the garment one inch--a -thing I decline to do even for Royal Personages, as destructive of -the design--and as this is now the Autumn Season I recommend you to -obtain leave. Klümpenstein in the Tyrol has a reputation for reducing -weight; its waters have done wonders for several of my customers, and -the Rittenberg affords several thousand feet of climbing opportunity to -tourists who wish to be quickly rid of superfluous girth. But, first of -all, I should consult Dr. Quox, of Harley Street. Good-morning.’ - -“Quox of Harley Street went into Shelmadine’s case, elicited the -fact that his maternal grandfather had turned the scale at twenty -stone, that his mother, Lady Fanny, hadn’t seen her own shoe-buckles -for eighteen years, except when the shoes weren’t on--don’t you -twig?--and that he possessed what Quox pleased to call ‘a record of -family obesity.’ So Shelmadine, who, in spite of rigorous diet and -redoubled physical exercises, kept getting more and more uncertain in -his outlines, rushed frantically off to Klümpenstein in the Tyrol, -with what was, for him, quite a limited wardrobe. He drank the -water--infernally nasty, too--and climbed the Rittenberg religiously, -without finding his lost silhouette. Only on the Dolomittenweg, a -pine-shaded promenade of great promise in the flirtatious line, he did -find--a girl. And, despite his anxiety with regard to his silhouette, -they had an uncommonly pleasant time together.” - -“He had left his lady’s-maid behind, I presume?” hinted the listener. - -“He had,” said Bonson. “When he got back to London, though, Mariette -met him with a shriek. ‘Heavens!’ cried she, throwing up her hands, -‘the figure of Monsieur--the silhouette on which he justly prided -himself, where--where has it gone? Hélas! those beautiful clothes that -have arrived from the tailor’s during the absence of Monsieur--_jamais -de la vie_ will he be able to get into them, _j’en suis baba_ in -contemplating the extraordinary _embonpoint_ of Monsieur.’ - -“‘Hang it, Mariette!’ said Shelmadine, quite shocked; ‘am I so beastly -bulged as all that comes to?’ Mariette broke down at that, and went -into floods of tears. It took the best part of a bottle of Cognac -to bring her round, and then Shelmadine set about overhauling his -wardrobe.” - -“Nothing would meet, I presume?” hinted the man who had been listening. - -“Not by three finger-breadths,” said the man who was telling the story. -“Plowondllellm Wells in North Wales has got a kind of reputation for -making stout kine lean. Shelmadine got extension of leave on account of -bereavement....” - -“When a man loses his figure he may be said to be bereaved!” nodded the -listener. - -“Shelmadine tried the Wells, without success. All he ate was weighed -out in ounces, all he drank measured out with the most grudging care; -nothing was allowed to enter his system that contained anything -conducive to the accumulation of the hated tissue, but nothing could -keep him from putting it on!” - -“Poor brute!” said the hearer. - -“He had gone to the Wells a distinctly roundabout figure. He came back -a potty young man! Despair preyed upon his vitals without reducing his -bulk, however. He saw ‘Slimaline’ advertised.” - -“I know,” said the listener. “A harmless vegetable compound which -reduces the bulkiest middle-aged human figure of either sex in the -course of a few weeks to the slender proportions of graceful youth. -Three-and-sixpence a bottle, sent secretly packed, to any address in -the United Kingdom. _Bis!_” - -“He then,” continued the narrator, “went in for ‘Frosher’s Fat-Reducing -Soap.’ Perhaps you are not acquainted with that compound, which is -rubbed briskly into the--ah--the----” - -“Personality,” put in the other man. - -“... Until a strong lather is obtained. The lather proved ineffectual; -Shelmadine took to stays.” - -“Phew!” puffed the other man. - -The first man continued: - -“As the weary weeks went on he was compelled to return to his desk at -Whitehall--crouching in a taxicab to avoid observation. But concealment -was useless. From the Department allotted to the Second Division -Higher-Grade clerks the secret crept out, and Society pounced upon it -and tore it to shreds, shrieking.” - -“Like ’em,” said the listener--“like ’em!” - -“That night, as Shelmadine sat in his dainty dressing-room surrounded -by mountains of costly and elegant clothes, which, though only of the -previous season’s make, would no longer accommodate his proportions,” -went on Bonson--“lounging clothes, shooting clothes, walking clothes -of all descriptions--London did not contain a wretcheder man. The -exquisitely chosen waist-coats, the taffetas shirts of the once slim -dandy of the War Office--a world too narrow for the fat man who now -represented him were in piles about him. Dozens of lovely gloves in -all the newest shades--squirrel-gray, dead-leaf yellow, Havana-brown, -chrysanthemum-buff--were scattered around by the hands that were now -too stout to wear them. Piles of boots--afternoon boots, with uppers -of corduroy leather, gray, fawn, or the white antelope, emblematical -of the blameless pattern of virtue; walking boots, shooting boots, and -shoes of all descriptions; slippers in heliotrope, rose-petal pink, -and lizard-skin green, obscured the furniture. The pedal extremities -that had bulged beyond all reasonable limits must now be accommodated -in large Number Nines. Even Shelmadine’s dressing gowns--foulard silk, -lined with cashmere--had declined to contain him.” - -“’Pon my word, you make me sorry for the idiot,” said the listener; -“mere clothes-peg, as he seems to have been!” - -“Suicide--the thought of suicide had occurred to him.” - -“He ought to have swallowed a set of enamel evening buttons or a set of -five jeweled tie-pins,” suggested the listener, “and taken leave of the -world in an appropriate manner.” - -“I won’t go so far as to say that he would not have done something -desperate,” continued the man who was telling the story, “had not -Mariette--who may or may not have suspected that things were getting -to a desperate pitch--appeared upon the scene. ‘Poor lamb! thou art in -despair’--thus she addressed Shelmadine in the affectionate idiom with -which her native language abounds--‘confide in Mariette, who alone can -restore the silhouette that seems for ever lost to thee. Seems only, -Monsieur; for at the bidding of me, myself, it will return. A little -condition is attached to the recovery of thy figure, my child--not -to be carried out if I cannot be as good as my word. _Passe moi la -casse, je te passerai le séné._ All I want, Monsieur, is senna for my -rhubarb--your written promise to marry Mariette Duchâtel, daughter of -Marius Duchâtel, druggist of Geneva, if within three months you recover -your beautiful figure. What do you say? Is it a bargain? Will you be -fat and free, or slim and no longer single? Speak, then! You agree? -_Pour sûr!_ I thought you would!’” - -“And did he marry his lady’s-maid?” asked the listening man quite -eagerly. - -“He did not,” said the teller of the tale, “though he was very near it. -Fortunately for Shelmadine, the girl he had met on the Dolomittenweg -Promenade stepped in. She was an American, original, independent, and -determined. When Shelmadine wrote--on Ordnance Office paper--to her in -Paris, saying that Fate had stepped in between them, and that she never -could be his, she asked the reason why. Not getting a satisfactory -answer, she ran over to London to see for herself ... bringing her -mother--a vast person, who wore a diamond tiara, mittens, and diamond -shoulder-straps in the evening, and carried them in a hip-bag by -day--with her.” - -“The American mother is an appendage,” said the listener, “rather than -a necessity.” - -“The sight of Shelmadine, who had expanded like a balloon in the -filling-shed since the happy days at Klümpenstein, was to Miss Van -Kyper--Miss Mamie Van Kyper was her complete name,” went on the man who -had been called Bonson--“an undoubted shock.” - -“Of course,” agreed the man who was being told the story. - -“They met at the Carlton Hotel, where she had engaged a suite of -reception-rooms for the interview.” - -“Not being quite certain whether one would hold Shelmadine?” suggested -the other. - -“And the matter was thrashed out satisfactorily in five minutes, where -an English girl would have taken five weeks. ‘I guess there’s a good -deal more of you than ever either of us expected there would be,’ said -Mamie; ‘but I’ve got to choose between having too much of the man I -love, or nothing at all. And it seems mighty unreasonable--when I felt -plum-sure at Klümpenstein that I could never have enough of you--that I -should be miserable here in London because there happens to be a good -deal more than there was then.’ With a gush of warm and affectionate -devotion she twined her arms as far round Shelmadine as they would go, -and he, in accepting the fate that made him the husband of Miss Mamie -Van Kyper, renounced his silhouette for ever!” - -“But you said he got it back again!” said the second man. - -“He has,” said the first man. - -“Without the assistance of Mariette Duchâtel, daughter of Marius -Duchâtel, herbalist, of Geneva?” queried the second man. - -“Mariette,” said the first man, “on finding Shelmadine indisposed to -accept her offer, first attempted to commit suicide in a cistern; then -threw up the sponge and made a clean breast of everything. A peculiar -vegetable preparation, the secret of which she had had from her father, -the herbalist of Geneva, administered in Shelmadine’s food, had caused -the extraordinary accumulation of adipose tissue. The antidote, which -she had promised to administer in the intervals of her own designs on -my poor friend’s freedom, she confided to him, with bitter tears and -many entreaties for forgiveness, before she went out of the Bond Street -flat and Shelmadine’s life for ever.” - -“He married Miss Van Kyper immediately. He has an Assistant-Principal -clerkship at the Ordnance Office; he has recovered his silhouette, but -he no longer cares for clothes. You could scare rooks with him as he -dresses now. Fact!” - -“Facts are confoundedly rummy things!” said the man who had been told -the story. - - - - -A NOCTURNE - - -“You look,” He said nastily, as She raised her disheveled _coiffure_ -and tear-blurred features from the center of a large muslin-flounced -and covered cushion that sat at the end of the lounge that opened like -a box, and held frilled petticoats--“you look like a wilted prize -chrysanthemum.” - -She mechanically put up one hand to drive home deserting hairpins -into the mass of hair He had, in the lyrical days of early passion, -celebrated as Corinthian gold-bronze, in a halting sonnet of which -he was now profoundly ashamed. Stifling the recurrent hiccough that -accompanies a liberal effusion of tears, she stared at him blankly. - -A silver timepiece, a wedding present from His mother, who had objected -to the match, struck the midnight hour. The thin sound of the last -stroke, spun into tenuity by silence, died, and the clanking, hooting, -nerve-shattering scurry of racing motor-buses went by like a wild -hunt of iron-shackled fiends. A private car passed with its exhaust -wailing like an exiled banshee, a belated hansom or two bowled along -the sloppy asphalt, the raucous screech of a constable-defying nymph -of the pavement rent the muggy air. He hardly heard it; he had been -agreeing with his mother ever since the clock had struck. To-morrow -he would go and look in at 000, Sloane Street, and tell her that she -had always known best. In imagination he was telling her so, when the -sable-bordered tail of a dove-colored Indian cashmere dressing gown he -had worshiped during the honeymoon swept across the feuille-rose carpet -in the direction of the boudoir; Sada Yacco and Abé San, snub-nosed, -blue-and-pink-bowed canine causes of the conjugal quarrel, joyously -yelping in its wake. - -“Aren’t you going to bed?” He demanded. - -“You did not seem inclined to go to your dressing-room,” She returned -with point, “and as I have to write an important letter, I may as well -do it now!” - -He knew that the letter would be addressed to Her mother, who had also -objected to the match, and would contain a daughter’s testimony to the -correctness of the maternal judgment. Sada Yacco and Abé San, sitting -on their haunches, with their pink tongues lolling, looked as though -they knew it too. How he loathed those Japanese pugs! As he glared at -them she gathered them up, one under each arm, protectingly. - -“Don’t be afraid!” He said, with the kind of laugh described by the -popular novelist as grating; “I am not going to murder the little -brutes, after paying thirty pounds for the pair.” This was a touch of -practical economy that made Her lip curl. “What I say is, I decline to -have those animals galloping over me in the middle of the night.” - -“It is the middle of the night now,” She said, concealing a yawn behind -three fingers--his wedding ring and keeper upon one--“and they are not -galloping over you. Men are supposed to be more logical than women. I -have often wondered why since last May.” - -“We were married in May,” He said, folding his arms after a method much -in favor with the popular novelist when heroes are grim. - -“It seems,” She said, rather drearily, “a long time ago.” - -“If I had told you last May,” He retorted, “that I object to wake in -the middle of the night with one Japanese pug snorting upon my--ah--my -chest, and the other usurping the greater part of my pillow, you -would have sympathized with my feeling, understood the objection, and -relegated Sada Yacco and Abé San to their comfortable basket in the -corner of the kitchen--or anywhere else,” he added hurriedly, seeing -thievish early errand-boys on the tip of her tongue, “except your -bedroom!” - -The popular novelist would have described her pose as “sculpturesque,” -her expression as “fateful,” and her tone as “icy,” as She said: - -“The bedroom being mine, perhaps you will permit me to remind you that -you possess one of your own, and that it is nearly one o’clock!” - -It was, in fact, a quarter-past twelve. But the door closed behind Him -with such a terrific bang that the thready little utterance of the -silver timepiece was completely unnoticed. - -She put her hand to her throat, as a leading actress invariably does -in moments of great mental stress, and uttered a choking little laugh -of sorrow and bitterness. Men were really like this, then! Fool, oh, -fool, to doubt! Had she not read, had she not seen, had not other -women whispered?... And had her mother not plainly told her that -this man--now her husband!--was more like other men than any of the -other men resembled others? She sobbed a few sobs, dried her eyes, -and prepared for bed. But when arrayed in white samite, mystic and -wonderful, with the traces of tears effaced by perfumed hot water, the -pinkness of nose and eyelids ameliorated by a dab or two of powder, -the gold-brown tresses He had once sonneted, and now sneered at, -brushed out and beautiful, she took up the double basket owned by Sada -Yacco and Abé San, placed it in the boudoir, returned for the canine -couple, deposited them inside it, and then, resolutely shutting the -door of communication upon their astonished countenances, got into bed, -cast one indifferent glance at the twin couch adjoining, shrugged her -shoulders, and switched off the light. - -“S’n’ff!” - -That was Abé San snuffing inquiringly at the bottom of the door. Sada -Yacco joined him, and they snuffed together. It was impossible to -sleep, especially when they began to discuss the situation in whimpers -and short yelps. Then they began to race round the boudoir, barking -in whimpers. Then, just as She had made up her mind to buy peace by -letting them in, there was a sharp bark from Sada Yacco, a joyous -scrape at a distant door, and a rattling of claws as the couple, -emancipated from vile durance in the boudoir, joyously galloped down -the passage. Then sleep soporifically stole over the senses of a -wronged and brutally injured woman. It was not chilly, sloppy December: -it was radiant July. She was not in a London flat. She was in a -well-known back-water above Goring-on-Thames, cosy in a red-curtained -punt, with a Japanese umbrella and two Japanese pugs and a husband, -very handsome, almost quite new, madly devoted, not the quite plain, -absolutely sulky, unspeakably disagreeable He now conjecturally snoring -on the opposite side of the passage. And so She slept and dreamed. - -He was not asleep. Propped up in his own beautiful little bed in his -own cosy dressing-room, he was smoking a long cigar, and, as a further -demonstration of bachelor independence, a brandy and Apollinaris stood -untouched beside him. By the electric light dangling over his head, -where sardonically hung suspended a wooden Cupid--ha, ha!--he was -perusing a book. She objected to reading in bed, that was why--ha, ha! -again. The thin-paper volume, supposed to be an enlightening work on -Oval Billiards, proved, by a tricky freak of Fate, to be an English -translation of _Thus Spake Zarathustra_. This is what he read: - - “Calm is the bottom of my sea: - Who would divine that it hideth droll monsters? - Unmoved is my depth, yet it sparkleth with swimming enigmas and laughters. - An imposing One saw I to-day--a solemn One, a penitent of the Spirit.... - Should he become weary of his imposingness, this imposing one....” - -There came a scratch at the bottom of the door, a snuffling sound, -and a sneeze he knew well. What did Abé San straying about draughty -passages by night? But it was no business of his. Let the beast’s owner -see to it. He read on: - - “Gracefulness belongeth to the generosity of the magnanimous.” - -Sada Yacco had joined her lord. Together they burrowed, mutually they -snuffed. It was not to be borne. He got up and opened the door. Sada -Yacco and Abé San rushed in, their tongues lolling, their eyes bulging -with curiosity, and, after a brief excursion round the apartment, which -they found small, fawned upon him with a sickening devotion. He scowled -on the small black-and-white silky handfuls. Then he yielded to the -impulse that plucked at his maxillary muscles and grinned. The little -brutes were so painfully sorry for him. They were so clearly under the -impression that he was in disgrace. - -He got back into bed, and lay there, grinning still, if unwillingly. -Sada Yacco, with the forwardness of her sex, scrambled up and sat upon -him. Abé San scratched at the coverlet imploringly, until, hoisted -upward by the scruff, he, too, gained the desired haven. They had -plainly come to stay, so He resigned himself with a sigh, switched off -the electric light, and fell asleep before Abé San had turned round the -regulation number of times. - -Meanwhile She, wakened by the toot of a belated motor-taxi, began to -wonder whither the Japanese couple had strayed. Urged and wearied by -the unbroken silence, she rose, arrayed herself in her dressing gown, -armed herself with a lighted wax taper in a silver candlestick--another -wedding present--and began a tour of discovery. The pugs had vanished. -Had the maids yielded to their entreaties and taken them in? She -listened at two doors; the steady snoring of the sleepers within was -unmingled with snort or slumbering whimper of Sada and her mate. Then, -returning, she noticed that His dressing-room door was open. - -Taper in hand, She went in. He was sound asleep, Sada Yacco sweetly -slumbering on the surface covered by daylight with a waistcoat, Abé -San curled up, a floss-silk ball, on the pillow by his ear. If he had -seen her eyes as she bent over him, shading the light, he would have -regained his old opinion of them in the twinkling of the tear She -dropped upon His cheek. - -Don’t say there are no such things as guardian angels. His woke him up -just as She kissed him--the kiss was so light it would not have wakened -him by itself. - - - - -THE LAST EXPEDITION - - -I - -Suppose that you see Captain Arthur Magellison, late of His Majesty’s -Royal Navy, with the eyes of the writer’s remembrance, as a thick-set, -fair man of middle height, neat in appearance and alert in bearing. His -skin was a curious bleached bronze, and his wide-pupilled pale gray -eyes, netted about with close, fine wrinkles, had looked on the awful -desolation of the Arctic until something of its loneliness and terror -had sunk into them and stamped itself upon the man’s brain, never to -be effaced, or so it seemed to me. For his wife, once the marble Miss -Dycehurst, who had not married a semi-Celebrity for nothing, took her -husband much with her into London Society, and at gossipy dinner-tables -and in crowded drawing-rooms; on the Lawn at Ascot and in a box on -the Grand Stand at Doncaster, as on a Henley houseboat, and during a -polo tournament at Ranelagh, I have seen Magellison, to all appearance -perfectly oblivious of the gay and giddy world about him, sitting, -or standing with folded arms and bent head, and staring out with -fixed and watchful eyes, over Heaven knows what illimitable wastes of -snow-covered land or frozen ocean.... - -I have described Captain Arthur Magellison as a semi-Celebrity. -Erstwhile Commander of the Third-class Armored Destroyer _Sidonia_, -he became, after his severance from the Royal Navy, and by reason -of the adventures and hardships by him undergone as leader of the -Scottish Alaskan Coastal Survey Expedition of 1906-1908, something -of a hero. A series of lectures, delivered at the Edinburgh Hall of -Science, in the course of which the explorer, by verbal descriptions -as well as cinematographic effects, completely disposed of the theory -regarding the existence of a range of active volcanoes to the north of -Alaska, previously accepted by the illuminati, made a sensation among -scientists, and induced, in the case of Sir Jedbury Fargoe, F.R.G.S., -M.R.I., a rush of blood to the cerebrum, followed by the breaking out -of a Funeral Hatchment over his front door, a procession in slow time, -with wreaths, palls, and feathers, and a final exit _per_ trolley into -the Furnace at Croking Crematorium. - -The Public, never having bothered about the volcanoes, remained unmoved -by the intelligence of their non-existence, but the Professors and the -Press shed much ink upon the subject. Upon a wave of which sable fluid -Captain Arthur Magellison was borne, if not into the inner court, at -least into the vestibule of the Temple of Fame. Then the wave, as is -the way of waves, receded; leaving Magellison, by virtue of certain -researches and discoveries in Natural History, Botany and Physiology, a -Member of the Royal Institution, Associate of the Zoological Society, -Fellow of the Institute of Ethnology, and the husband of the marble -Miss Dycehurst. - -Never was a more appropriate sobriquet bestowed. Down in Clayshire, her -native county, the statuesque Geraldine, orphan heiress of a wealthy -landholder not remotely connected with the Brewing interests of his -native isle, dispensed, under the protective auspices of a maternal -aunt of good family--Miss Dycehurst’s mother’s deceased papa had wedded -a portionless spinster of noble blood--dispensed, I say, a lavish but -stony hospitality. In London she went out a great deal, looking like -a sculptured Minerva of the Græco-Latin school, _minus_ the helmet but -_plus_ a tower of astonishing golden hair, received proposals from -Eligibles and Ineligibles, petrified their makers with a single stare, -and proceeded upon her marmorean way in maiden meditation, fancy free. -Until she attended that series of lectures, delivered at the Edinburgh -Hall of Science by the eminent Arctic Explorer, Captain Arthur -Magellison. - -Society in Clayshire and Society in London expressed ardent curiosity -to know how the engagement had been brought about? All that is known -for certain is, that after the lecture, when the Explorer held a -little reception in a draughty enclosure of green baize screens, Miss -Dycehurst, looking rather like a mythical goddess of the Polar Regions, -her frosty beauty crowned with its diadem of pale golden hair, and her -fine shape revealed in greenish-blue, icily-gleaming draperies, asked a -local magnate to present the lecturer, and met him at a public dinner -given in his honor upon the following night. Later on in London, where -the lecture was, by invitation of the learned heads of the nation, -repeated, Miss Dycehurst with a large party occupied the second row -of stalls. Later still, Magellison dined with the heiress at 000, -Chesterfield Crescent, her town address, and later still the couple -were Hanover-Squared into one flesh. It was in May, and the sacred -edifice was garlanded with white Rambler roses and adorned with lilies -and smilax and palms. A Bishop tied the knot, and the choir rendered -the anthem with exquisite effect, as well as “Fight the Good Fight” and -“The Voice that Breathed----.” And the Bride, in dead white, with a -swansdown train and a Malines veil, and ropes of pearls and brilliants, -and a crown of diamond spikes that might have been sparkling icicles, -gleaming and scintillating on the summit of her wonderful tower of -hair, looked more like the Lady of the Eternal Snows than ever. - -No one knew whether the Magellisons’ married life was happy or the -other thing. Suffice it, as the popular three-volume novelist used -to say when not compelled to pad, that, to all outward seeming, the -couple agreed. But I think that when the high tide of Fame receded (as -during 1909, when the thrilling adventures of the dauntless explorer, -Blank, were electrifying the newspaper-reading world, it certainly -did, leaving nothing but a vague halo of heroism and adventure hanging -about the name of Magellison, and a sedimentary deposit of honorary -letters at the tail of it) the woman who had married Magellison knew -disillusion. As for Magellison, he had always been a silent, absorbed -and solitary man. And that strange look in those wide-pupilled -pale gray eyes of his, the eyes of one who has lived through the -half-year-long twilight of Arctic nights, and seen the ringed moon with -her mock moons glimmer through the ghostly frost-fog, and the pale pink -curving feathers of the Aurora Borealis stream across the ice-blue -sky, and the awful crimson of the Polar Day rush up beyond the floe -and strike the icy loneliness into new beauty and new terror--never -changed. Perhaps, in discovering the true nature of his Geraldine, -the Explorer found himself traversing a colder and more rugged -desert than he had encountered when he led the Scottish-Northumbrian -Polar Expedition in quest of those volcanic ranges proved to be -non-existent--in Alaska to the North. - -I believe he really loved the woman he had married. I know that, while -he acted as the unpaid steward of her estates, he spent nothing beyond -his half-pay, eked out by articles which he wrote now and then for -the kind of Scientific Review that rewards the contributor with ten -shillings per page of one thousand words, _plus_ the honor of having -contributed. In his own houses--his wife’s, I should say--he was a -pathetic nonentity. At 000 Chesterfield Crescent, and at Edengates in -Clayshire, the recent Miss Dycehurst’s country seat, he hugged his own -rooms, about which, arranged in cases and hung upon the walls, were -disposed native weapons, stuffed birds, geological specimens, dried -algæ, water-color sketches, and such trophies of the Survey Expedition -as had not been presented by Magellison to needy museums. When his name -appeared in newspaper-paragraphs as the writer of one of the articles -referred to, or as the donor of such a gift, his wife would pluck him -from his beloved solitude, and compel him to tread the social round -with her. But as the slow years crept on, the man himself, long before -the ebbing tide of Fame left a desolate stretch of seaweedy mud where -its waters had heaved and whispered, was so rarely seen, in his wife’s -company or out of it, that her all-but-newest friends believed Mrs. -Arthur Magellison to be the wife of an incurable invalid, and the most -recent were convinced that she was a widow. Proposals of marriage were -sometimes made to the lady, who by the way was handsomer and stonier -than ever, by Eligibles or Ineligibles laboring under this conviction. - -“I am extremely sensible of the honor you have done me,” said Mrs. -Magellison upon one of these occasions, “but as a fact, my husband is -alive. Which relieves me of the necessity--don’t you think?--of coming -to a decision!” - -The man who had proposed, a barely middle-aged, extremely good-looking, -well-made, well-bred Hawting-Holliday of Hirlmere, sufficiently -endowed with ancient, if embarrassed, acres, and a sixteenth-century -Baronetcy, to have tempted the marble Geraldine, had her frosty hand -been disengaged, to its bestowal on him, was, though impecunious enough -to be strongly attracted by the lady’s wealth, yet honestly enamored -of her sculpturesque person. Consequently as the final syllable of -the foregoing utterance fell from the lady’s lips, he assumed, for a -fleeting instant or so, the rosy complexion of early adolescence, and -stared upon the conquering Geraldine with blank and circular eyes. Then -he said: - -“By--Jove! that does let me out, doesn’t it? My dear lady, I entreat -you to consider me as prostrate in humiliation at your feet. With”--he -felt over the surface of an admirably thought-out waistcoat for his -eyeglass, which was still in his eye--“with sackcloth and ashes, and -all the appropriate trimmings. Let me retrieve my character in your -eyes by saying, that if it--ahem!--gives you any gratification to -have a live husband at this juncture--I will endeavor to share the -sentiment. But you really have run him as a Dark Horse, now haven’t -you?” - -He lifted his eyebrows in interrogation, and the eyeglass leaped into -the folds of his well-chosen cravat, the kind of subdued yet hopeful -thing in shades a man of taste and brains would put on to propose in. - -“My dear Sir Robert,” Mrs. Magellison said, in well-chosen language and -with an icy little smile, “I am not an adept in the use of sporting -phraseology. Captain Magellison is of studious habits, retiring -nature, and--shall I say?--an indolent disposition. It would not very -well become me if I insisted on his society when he is not disposed -to bestow it upon me, and therefore I generally go out alone. When, -unless I give a formal dinner, upon which an occasion my husband must -necessarily take his place at the other end of the board--when I -entertain intimates----” - -“You put your people at a round table,” said Hawting-Holliday -of Hirlmere. “And a round table is the very deuce--and--all for -obliterating a husband!” He found his eyeglass and screwed it firmly in. - -“I do not altogether blame the table,” said Mrs. Magellison coldly. -“Because, upon nine occasions out of ten my husband prefers a cutlet in -his rooms. Pray do not suppose that I find fault with the preference. -He is not by nature sociable, as I have said, and prefers to follow, at -Edengates and in Scotland and in Paris, as well as here in town, his -own peculiar bent. And what that is you are probably aware?” She turned -her head with a superb movement, and her helmet of pale hair gleamed -in the wintry sunshine that streamed through the lace blinds of the -Chesterfield Crescent drawing-room. - -“I had a general idea,” said the man she addressed, who, hampered in -early life by the fact of being born a Hawting-Holliday of Hirlmere, -had not succeeded in being anything else, “that the late--I beg your -pardon!--the present Captain Magellison was--I should say is--a -Scientific Buffer--of sorts!” - -Mrs. Magellison smiled coldly and rose. - -“The term you employ is slang, of course,” she said, “but it is quite -appropriate and really descriptive. My husband was once a famous man, -he is now a Scientific Buffer--and as you say--of sorts. Would you like -to see him?” - -She moved to the drawing-room door and turned her head with another -fine movement, and Hawting-Holliday’s eclectic taste was charmed with -the sculpturesque pose. He followed her and they crossed a landing, -and Mrs. Magellison knocked at the door of one of a suite of rooms -that had been thrown out over what had been a back-yard. And as nobody -said “Come in,” she entered, followed by the visitor. - - -II - -The room was long, carpeted but uncurtained, and lighted by that most -depressing of all forms of illumination, a skylight. Dwarf bookcases -ran round it, and the walls were covered with frames and glass cases, -primitive weapons, and a multitude of quaint and curious things. -There was a low couch, covered with seal skins and feather rugs, and -a leather writing-chair was set at the table, which had on it a fine -microscope and many scientific instruments, of which the uses were -unknown to the head of the Hawting-Hollidays of Hirlmere. Piles of -dusty papers there were, and a couple of battered ship’s logs, stained -and discolored by sea-water and grease. And in the writing-chair, -with his feet on a magnificent Polar bear-skin and the receiver of -a telephone at his ear, sat the Scientific Buffer of sorts, staring -fixedly before him, apparently over an illimitable waste of frozen -drift-ice covering uncharted Polar seas. - -“Arthur!” said Mrs. Magellison, with a cold kind of impatience, -rattling the handle of the door as if to attract his attention. He came -back with a start and hung up the receiver, and rose. He had a simple, -courteous manner that won upon the suitor who had just proposed to his -wife; and oddly enough, the appearance of a servant with a message that -summoned the lady to an interview with her _modiste_ was not greatly -regretted by Hawting-Holliday. - -“I have seen you before, of course,” said his host, making him free of -a rack of Esquimaux pipes and pushing over a jar of Navy-cut. - -“Have you though?” rose to the visitor’s lips, but the words were -not allowed to escape. Looking round he saw that there were piles -of receipted accounts, and orderly piles of tradesmen’s books upon -the table with the reams of dusty MSS., and as servants came in for -orders and went away instructed, and messages were telephoned to -various purveyors, Hawting-Holliday arrived at the conclusion that -Mrs. Magellison’s husband was regarded less in that capacity by Mrs. -Magellison and her household than as major-domo, head-bailiff and -house-steward. - - * * * * * - -The two men chatted a little, and presently one spoke while the other -listened. The capacity for hero-worship is quick in every generous -nature, and the extravagant, impoverished, high-bred county gentleman -and man-about-town was conscious that this modest, absent-minded -little ex-naval Commander was of the stuff that went to build great -heroes. Franklin and Nansen were brothers to this man, and that the -justly-honored names of Shackleton and Peary, and the cognomen of -Cook (King of terminological inexactitudinarians), were hot upon the -public’s mouths just then, mattered nothing to Hawting-Holliday, as he -heard how in the year of Our Lord Nineteen Hundred and Six, ten men -sailed from San Francisco for Bering Sea on board a sixty-ton schooner, -to settle the question of the existence of Undiscovered Ranges of -Volcanic Origin in Alaska to the North. And how great storms and awful -blizzards hindered the Coastal Survey Expedition, and sickness crippled -its members, yet they struggled gamely on. - -“Good God!” said Hawting-Holliday, whose pipe had long since gone out. -He heard next how the Expedition suffered the loss of their ship and -all their stores, and how their leader sent his crew home by a passing -whaler and, for the enlargement of his own experience, chose to journey -back to civilization along the Alaskan coast, three thousand miles of -solitary sledge-traveling, aided only by the Esquimaux he chanced on -in his terrible journey. And as he went on narrating in his calm and -even voice, enforcing a point by a modest gesture of the hand that had -lost the top-joints of the first and second fingers, and sometimes -looking through and beyond the face of the listener with those strange, -sorrowful, far-away eyes, what he related the other man saw, and---- - -“Good Lord!” said Hawting-Holliday again, “what an Odyssey the whole -thing is! And so you got back to Ithaca after eighteen months of -tramping it on your lonesome along a frozen coast and sleeping in -holes dug in the snow, and living on blubber and seal-meat or boiled -skin-boots when you couldn’t get anything else; and gathering knowledge -and experience when there wasn’t even reindeer moss to scrape off -the rocks!” He got up and held out his hand. “As a perfectly useless -and idle kind of beggar, I don’t know that my sincere admiration and -respect are worth having, Captain, but if they were!----” - - * * * * * - -He gulped, and went, quite clumsily, away, but came back again, and -so a friendship grew between the “perfectly useless and idle kind of -beggar,” Hawting-Holliday, and the hero of the three-thousand-mile -tramp back to Civilization. Perhaps Hawting-Holliday had really never -been seriously attached to the handsome piece of statuary that bore -Magellison’s name. It is certain that her cold neglect and open -contempt of her husband eventually kindled the wrath of Magellison’s -newly-won champion to boiling-point. Not that the Captain gave any -perceptible sign of suffering under the icy blizzard of his wife’s -scorn. Endurance was the lesson he had learned best of all, and he -agreed with her in regarding himself as a Failure. - -“A beautiful and gifted woman has a right to be ambitious for the man -she marries,” he said once to Hawting-Holliday. “And if he has no power -to keep at high-level, if he makes no more way than a schooner frozen -in the floe, it is natural that she should feel keenly disappointed -and--and manifest the feeling by a--a certain change of attitude as -regards him.” - -“The schooner may be frozen in the floe, Captain,” said -Hawting-Holliday, lounging in the window-seat of the Captain’s big, -bare room at Edengates, that was--only barring the skylight--exactly -like the Captain’s other big bare room at 000, Chesterfield Crescent. -“But the floe is traveling all the time. That’s a bit of scientific -information that I got from you. And I rather pride myself on applying -it neatly.” - -The Captain looked hard at him, and Hawting-Holliday noticed for -the first time that the curly fair hair that topped the deep-lined -pale-bronze face was growing white. Then Magellison said, with a queer -smile: - -“You have found me out, I see! And yet I thought I had kept the -secret--or rather, the arrangement, quite closely. But on the whole I’m -rather glad you guessed. For I like you, young man”--Hawting-Holliday -was at least thirty-five--“and I shall give you the parting hand-shake -with sincere regret--with very sincere regret, when the ice breaks -up and the little engine helps the hoisted sails, and the floe-bound -vessel that never really stopped, although her journey was only of -inches in the month--moves on not North but South, along the thawed and -open sea-lanes----” - -He stopped, for Hawting-Holliday dropped his pipe and got off the -window-seat, and caught the maimed right hand and wrung it until its -owner winced. - -“You gave me credit for too much perspicuity, Captain. I hadn’t seen as -much as the cat’s tail until you let her out of the bag. Where are you -going, man, and when do you go?” - -Briefly, Magellison told him. - -“All right, Captain,” said Hawting-Holliday. “You’re going to take -charge of the Steam and Sail Antarctic Geological Research Expedition, -financed by the Swedish Government, sailing from Plymouth for King -Edward Land in April, so as to get the summer months of December, -January, and February for exploration, botanizing, deep-sea-dredging, -and scientific observations. You calculate on being away not quite -three years. Very well, but remember this! If you don’t turn up in -three years’ time and no definite news has reached us as to your -whereabouts, the most useless and idle dog of my acquaintance--and -that’s myself--will take the liberty to come and look for you. I swear -it--by the Great Barrier and the Blue Antarctic Ooze!” - -They shook hands upon it, laughing at the humorous idea of the -Captain’s not coming back, and a little later the news of her husband’s -impending departure was imparted, _per_ the medium of the Press, to the -marmorean lady to whom the explorer had frozen himself some few years -previously. She was radiant with smiles at the revival of newspaper -interest in Magellison, and postponed her spring visit to the Riviera -for the purpose of giving a series of Departure Dinners in honor of -the Captain. All the leading scientific lights of the day twinkled -in turn about the board. And Geraldine wore all her diamonds, and -was exceedingly gracious to her Distinguished Man. She saw him off -from Plymouth, one balmy April day, and shed a few discreet tears -in a minute and filmy pocket handkerchief as the Swedish oak-built, -schooner-rigged steamship-sailer _Selma_ ran up the Swedish colors -and curtsied adieu to English waters at the outset of the long South -Atlantic voyage, and the petrol steam-launch containing the friends and -relatives of the Expedition rocked in her wake, and the red-eyed people -crowding on the oily-smelling little vessel’s decks raised a quavering -farewell cheer. Two men stood together at the _Selma’s_ after-rail: -a short, square man of muscular build, with a slight stoop that told -of scholarly habits, and thick, fair hair, streaked with white, and a -deeply-lined, clean-shaven face, with pale, far-seeing eyes that were -set in a network of fine wrinkles. The other man was Hawting-Holliday, -who had announced his intention, at the last minute, of accompanying -the Expedition as far as Madeira for the sake of the sea-blow. - -“Tell Geraldine I shall mail home from the Cape and Melbourne,” the -leader of the Expedition said, three days later, as the boat that -was to convey Hawting-Holliday ashore bobbed under the _Selma’s_ -side-ladder in a clamoring rout of tradesmen’s luggers and Funchal -market-flats. “Tell her I shall certainly communicate from Lyttelton, -and after that she must trust to luck and homeward-bound whalers for -news of me.” He wrung Hawting-Holliday’s hand, and added, “And in -case--anything should happen to me--not that such a chance is worth -speaking of!--I know that I can rely upon you to act towards my--my -dear girl as a friend!” The Captain’s voice shook a little, and a mist -was over those clear, wide-pupilled, far-away-gazing gray eyes. - -“I promise you that, faithfully,” said Hawting-Holliday, and gripped -the maimed right hand of the man he loved as a brother, and went down -over the side of the _Selma_ with a sore heart. - -That was in April, 1910, and news of the loss of the _Selma_, in the -ice of the Antarctic Circle was cabled from Honolulu at the beginning -of last month. An American Antarctic Expedition, having concluded a -mission of exploration in the summer season of 1910, finding upon -the coast of King Edward Land the few survivors of the Swedish -Steam and Sail Antarctic Research Expedition making preparations to -winter in a wooden hut built out of the wreckage of their teak-built -sailing-steamer--rescued and carried them on their homeward route. The -saved men, later interviewed at San Francisco, were unable to give -news of their leader, save that the Captain, taking a dog-sledge and a -little stock of provisions and instruments, and a hearty leave of all -of them, turned that lined bronze face of his and those eyes with the -far-away look in their wide pupils, to the dim, mysterious, uncharted -regions lying South, in the lap of the mysterious Unknown, and with a -wave of a fur-gloved hand, was lost in them. - - * * * * * - -“He is dead, Arthur is dead!” moaned Geraldine Magellison, in the -depths of conjugal anguish and a lace-covered sofa-cushion, when the -Press and Hawting-Holliday broke the news between them. “Dead!--and I -loved him so--I loved him so!” - -“It is a pity, under the circumstances,” said Hawting-Holliday, -carrying out his promise of being a friend to Magellison’s wife by -telling that wife the truth, “that you were so economical in your -expressions of affection. For I do not think that when the Captain left -you he had any remaining illusions as to the nature of your regard for -him.” - -“How cruel you are--how cruel!” gasped Geraldine, as her maid bore in a -salver piled with the regrets of Learned Societies and the sympathy of -distinguished Personages and private friends. - -“Let me for once use the trite and hackneyed saying that I am cruel -only to be kind!” said Hawting-Holliday, emphatically, “and that I -speak solely in the interests of--a friend whom I love.” - -Mrs. Magellison flushed to the roots of her superb golden hair, and -consciously drooped her scarcely-reddened eyelids as she held up a -protesting hand. - -“No, no, Sir Robert!” she pleaded. “If I--as you infer--have gravely -erred in lack of warmth toward poor, poor, dearest Arthur! let me at -least be ungrudging in respect of his great memory. Forget what you -have said, carried away by a feeling which in honor you subdued after -the rude awakening of many months ago, and do not revert to--the -subject for--for _at least_ a year to come!” - -At that Hawting-Holliday got upon his legs, and thrusting his hands -deep into his trouser-pockets, made the one and only harangue of his -existence. - -“Mrs. Magellison, when you suggest that in the very hour when the -intelligence of grave disaster to your husband’s vessel has reached us, -I am capable of addressing you in what the poetic faculty term--Heaven -knows how idiotically and falsely!--the language of love, _you_ gravely -err. The friend in whose interests I spoke just now, was--your husband. -_Is_ your husband--for I do not accept by any means the theory that -because he has been lost sight of, he is dead. I believe him to be -living. I shall go on believing this until I see his body, or meet with -some relics of him that supply me--his friend!--with the evidence that -you, his wife, are so uncommonly ready to dispense with.” - -His eyes burned her with their contempt. She gasped: - -“You--you mean that you are going South to try and find him?” - -“You comprehend my meaning perfectly,” said Hawting-Holliday, and bowed -to Mrs. Magellison with ironical deference and left her. - -He was, though not a wealthy man, far from being a poor one. He -chartered a stout vessel that was lying in Liverpool Docks, the -Iceland Coast Survey Company’s steam-and-sail schooner _Snowbird_, and -equipped and provisioned and manned her with a speed and thoroughness -that are seldom found in combination. The _Snowbird’s_ own skipper -goes in charge of his ship, but Hawting-Holliday is the Leader of the -Expedition. - -And yesterday the _Snowbird_ sailed, in search of that man who has -been swallowed up by the great Conjecture. And of this I am sure, that -whether Hawting-Holliday succeeds or fails, lives or dies, he will -grasp the hand of his friend again Somewhere. Either upon this side of -the Great Gray Veil that hangs in the doorway of the Smoky House, or -upon the other.... - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - -Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - -Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - -Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - -Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE COST OF WINGS *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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