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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/8664.txt b/8664.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f154e84 --- /dev/null +++ b/8664.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10419 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Glory Of The Conquered, by Susan Glaspell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the "legal small print," and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: The Glory Of The Conquered + +Author: Susan Glaspell + +Release Date: August, 2005 [EBook #8664] +[This file was first posted on July 30, 2003] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: US-ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GLORY OF THE CONQUERED *** + + + + +E-text prepared by Suzanne Shell, Mary Meehan, Charles Franks, and the +Online Distributed Proofreading Team + + + +THE GLORY OF THE CONQUERED + +THE STORY OF A GREAT LOVE + +BY + +SUSAN GLASPELL + +1909 + + + + + + +To DR. A. L. HAGEBOECK, + +Who Made This Book Possible + + + + +CONTENTS + + +PART ONE + + I. ERNESTINE + II. THE LETTER + III. KARL + IV. JACK AND "HIGHER TRUTH" + V. THE HOME-COMING + VI. "GLORIA VICTIS" + VII. ERNESTINE IN HER STUDIO + VIII. SCIENCE, ART AND LOVE + IX. As THE SURGEON SAW IT + X. KARL IN HIS LABORATORY + XI. PICTURES IN THE EMBERS + XII. A WARNING AND A PREMONITION + XIII. AN UNCROSSED BRIDGE + XIV. "TO THE GREAT UNWHIMPERING!" + XV. THE VERDICT + XVI. "GOOD LUCK, BEASON!" + XVII. DISTANT STRAINS OF TRIUMPH + XVIII. TELLING ERNESTINE + XIX. INTO THE DARK + +PART TWO + + XX. MARRIAGE AND PAPER BAGS + XXI. FACTORY-MADE OPTIMISM + XXII. A BLIND MAN'S TWILIGHT + XXIII. HER VISION + XXIV. LOVE CHALLENGES FATE + XXV. DR. PARKMAN'S WAY + XXVI. OLD-FASHIONED LOVE + XXVII. LEARNING TO BE KARL'S EYES + XXVIII. WITH BROKEN SWORD + XXIX. UNPAINTED MASTERPIECES + XXX. EYES FOR TWO + XXXI. SCIENCE AND SUPER-SCIENCE + XXXII. THE DOCTOR HAS HIS WAY + XXXIII. LOVE'S OWN HOUR + XXXIV. ALMOST DAWN + XXXV. "OH, HURRY--HURRY!" + XXXVI. WITH THE OUTGOING TIDE + +PART THREE + + XXXVII. BENEATH DEAD LEAVES +XXXVIII. PATCHWORK QUILTS + XXXIX. ASH HEAP AND ROSE JAR + XL. "LET THERE BE LIGHT" + XLI. WHEN THE TIDE CAME IN + XLII. WORK, THE SAVIOUR + XLIII. "AND THERE WAS LIGHT" + + + + +THE GLORY OF THE CONQUERED + + + + +PART ONE + + + + +CHAPTER I + + +ERNESTINE + +She had promised to marry a scientist! It was too overwhelming a thought +to entertain standing there by the window. She sought the room's most +comfortable chair and braced herself to the situation. + +If, one month before, a gossiping daughter of Fate had come to her +with--"Shall I tell you something?--_You_ are going to marry a man of +science!"--she would have smiled serenely at Fate's amusing mistake and +responded--"My good friend, it is quite true that great uncertainty +attends this subject. So much to be expected is the unexpected, that I am +quite willing to admit I _may_ marry the hurdy-gurdy man who plays +beneath my window. I know life well enough to appreciate that I _may_ +marry a pawnbroker or the Sultan of Turkey. I assert but one thing. I +shall _not_ marry a 'man of science.'" + +And now, not only had she promised to marry a man of science, but she had +quite overlooked the fact of his being one! And the thing which stripped +her of the last shred of consistency was that she was to marry, not the +every-day, average "man of science," but one of the foremost scientists +of all the world! The powers in charge of things matrimonial must be +smiling a quiet little smile to-night. + +But ah--here was the vindication! He had not _asked_ her to marry him. He +had simply come and told her she _was_ to marry him. And he was a great, +strong man--far more powerful than she. She had had positively nothing to +do with it! Was it _her_ fault that he chanced to be engaged in +scientific pursuits? And when he took her face so tenderly in his two +hands--looked so far down into her eyes--and told her in a voice she +would follow to the ends of the earth that he _loved_ her--was there any +time then to think of paltry non-essentials like art and science? + +But she thought of them a little now. How could she get away from them +when each year of her past marched slowly in front of her, paused for an +instant that she might get a full view, and then passed grinningly back +to the abyss of things gone, from over the shoulder tossing straight into +her consciousness a jeering, deep sinking "_You too?_" + +Ernestine Stanley--that was the name she read in one of her books open +beside her. Why her very _name_ stood for that quarrel which had rent all +the years! + +Until she was ten years old she had been nameless. She had been You--and +Baby--and Dear--and Mother's Girl--and Father's Girl, but her mother and +father had been unable to agree upon a name for her. Each discussion +served to send them a little farther apart. Finally they spoke of +Ernestine and reached the point of agreement through separate channels. +Her father approved it for what it meant in the dictionary;--her mother +for the music of its sound. That told the whole story; their attitudes +toward her name spoke for the things of themselves bestowed upon her. + +Her father had been a disciple of exact science,--a professor of biology. +He believed only in that which could be reduced to a formula. The +knowable was to him the only real. He viewed life microscopically and +spent his portion of emotion in an aggressive hatred of all those things +which he consigned to the rubbish heap labeled non-scientific. + +And her mother--she never thought of her mother without that sad little +shake of her head--was a dreamer, a lover of things beautiful, a hater of +all she felt to be at war with her gods. Ernestine's loyalty did not +permit the analysis to go further, except to deplore her mother's +unhappiness as unnecessary. Even when a very little girl she wondered +why her father could not have his bottles and things, and her mother have +her poems and the things she liked, and just let each other alone about +it. She wondered that long before she appreciated its significance. + +As she grew a little older she used to wonder if something inside her +would not some day be pulled in two. It seemed the desire of each of her +parents to guide her from what they saw as the rocks surrounding her. +Elementary science was all mixed up with Keats and Heine and Byron. +Another one of her early speculations was as to whether or not poetry and +science really meant to make so much trouble. + +Of course from the very first there had been the blackboard--the +blackboard and all its logical successors. As perversity would have it, +it was her father bought her that blackboard. It was to help turn her in +the way she should go, for upon this blackboard she was to do her sums. +But the sums executed thereon were all performed when some one was +standing at her shoulder, while many were the hours spent in the drawing +of cats and dogs and fish and birds, of lakes and trees and other little +girls and boys. She never had that being-pulled-in-two feeling when she +and the blackboard were alone together. The blackboard seemed the only +thing which made her all one, and she often wished her father and mother +loved their things as she did hers, for if they were only _sure_, as she +was, then what some one else said would not matter at all. + +They lived in a university town, her father being a professor in the +school. In the later years of her college life he forced her into the +scientific courses which she hated. She sighed even now at the memory of +those weary hours in the laboratory, though while hating the detail of +it, she responded, as her father had never done, to the glimpses she +caught of the thing as a whole. It was ironical enough that the only +thing she seemed to get from her scientific studies was an enthusiasm for +the poetry of science. In those days many thoughts beat hard against the +door of Ernestine's loyalty. Why did not her mother see all this--and +make her father see it? Was there not a point at which they could have +met--and did they not fail in meeting because neither of them went far +enough? + +It was when she was in her senior year that her father died. She finished +out her laboratory work with lavish conscientiousness, feeling a new +tenderness of him in the consciousness that his ideas for her had failed. +That hour before his funeral, when she sat beside him alone, stood out as +among the very vivid moments of her life. The tragedy of his life seemed +that he had failed in impressing himself. His keenness of mind had not +made for bigness. Life had left an aggressiveness, a certain sullenness +in the lines of his face. His mind and his soul had never found one +another--was it because his heart had closed the channel between the two? + +And then they went to New York and Ernestine began her study of art. + +A great light seemed turned back over it all tonight. She understood much +now which she had lived through wonderingly. She seemed now really to +know that girl who went to New York with all the dreams of all her years +calling upon her for fulfillment. She knew what that girl had dreamed +when she dreamed she knew not what; knew what she thought when she thought +the undefined. She smiled understandingly, tenderly, at thought of it +all--the bounding joy and the stubborn determination, the fearing and the +demanding and the resolving with which she began her work. She was a +great deal like a child on the long-promised holiday, and much like the +pilgrim at the shrine. Somewhere between those two was Ernestine that +first winter in New York. + +It was after the second year, after that strange mixture of things within +her had unified to fixed purpose, and after it had become quite certain +her dreams had not played her false, that the other big change had come. +Her mother slipped away from the life which had never held her in the big +grip of reality. She had been so long a longing looker-on from the outer +circle that the slipping away was the less hard. Ernestine stopped work +in order to care for her, reproaching herself with never having been able +to give to her mother with the unrestraint and bounteousness she had +given to her work. During those last weeks she often found her mother's +eyes--sombre, brooding eyes--following her about the room like the spirit +of unrest. + +"Try to be happy, Ernestine," she said, when about to leave the house in +which she had ever been a stranger. "Life is so awful if you are not +happy." + +She took her back to the little town and put her away beside the man with +whom her soul had never been at peace. That first night she awakened in +the dark hours and fancied she heard them quarreling. The hideous fancy +would not let her go to sleep, though she told herself over and over that +surely death would bring them the peace life had so long withheld. + +She went back to her work then with a new steadiness; loneliness feeding +the fire of consecration. Often when alone in her room at night she felt +those disappointed eyes following her about, heard again that plaintive: +"Try to be happy, Ernestine. Life is so awful if you are not happy." She +had many times opened the book in which her mother copied the poems +written at intervals during the years, but always would come the feeling +of their holding something at which it would be hard to look. To-night, +with her new understanding, this wondrous new touchstone, she took them +from her trunk with eagerness. She longed now to know the secret of her +mother's life; she would know why happiness had passed her by. + +There was tragedy in those little poems--a soul's long tragedy in their +halting lines, in the faltering breath with which they were sung. Indeed +they were not the songs of a poet at all; they were but the helpless +reaching out of an unsatisfied, unanchored soul. The blackboard had never +given back what it should; the crayon would not write. Was it true there +were countless souls who went away like this--leaving unsaid a word they +had craved to say? + +"For our souls were not in tune"--was a line she found in one of the +verses and which she sat a long time pondering. Was not the secret of it +here? This the rock which held the wreckage of their lives? + +She left her room and went out of doors. The night was very still. +A tender peace brooded over the world. She lifted her eyes to the +stars--her soul to the great Wonder. Enveloping her was Life--drawing her +straight to the heart of things was Love. Doubts and speculations and +ominous memories seemed blown away by the breath of the night. The years +had no lesson to teach save this--One must love! All that was wrong in +the world came through too little loving. All that was great and +beautiful sprang from love which knew not doubts nor fears. What was a +"point of view" when one throbbed with the memory of his good-bye kiss! + +There was a force which moved the world. She was in the grip of that +force to-night. All else was but the tiny whirlpool against the mighty +current. And she was not afraid. Love would deal kindly with her own. +She lifted her soul to the great Mother and Father of the world. "Oh take +me and teach me!"--was her passionate prayer. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +THE LETTER + +What was that story the old Greeks told about love being the union--or +reunion--of the two halves of an originally perfect whole? The envious +gods--who were a very bad lot--cut the original perfect being in two. +Then love is a finding of one's own--also, a getting ahead of the gods. I +have more respect for the old Greeks to-night than I ever had before! But +you cannot know just how it is. You are younger than I, and I do not +believe the fear of life passing you by ever entered and chilled your +heart. You were always sure it was coming some time, weren't you, my +new-found little one? You could not have had that calm, sweet look in +those big eyes of yours had you feared the best of life might be withheld +from you. But can you fancy what it would mean to have felt for many +years that somewhere there was a cool, sweet spring of eternal joy, and +to become fearful your footsteps might never lead you to those blessed +waters? And then can you fancy the profound thankfulness that would fill +one's being, when after long wandering, after several mistakes and +disappointments, the music of those waters was borne to the ear? And +when, almost fearful to believe, and yet very, very sure, one stepped a +little nearer, can you fancy the joy in finding the cooling breeze from +that eternal spring upon one's face, of seeing it there as one had ever +dreamed of it, knowing that beside it one could drink deep--long and very +deep--of those life-giving, soul-satisfying waters? Can you fancy the +all-pervading thankfulness, almost unbelievable joy, in that first hour +of standing beside the long-desired, the half-despaired of water of life? + +"Thank God I was not weak enough to resign the whole for the half! There +was once a voice said to me: 'This is a pretty good spring. There is +not much chance of your finding the other. Why not take this?' But +something--your voice from a far distance?--called me on. + +"A strange enough letter for a man to be writing the girl who has just +promised to marry him! Conventionally, I suppose, I should say to you: +'I never knew anything like this before.' And instead I am saying: 'There +was something once of somewhat similar exterior. But I was mistaken. I +was disappointed.' But doesn't this make you see--dear new love--dear +_real_ love--how happy I am, and why? + +"But you poor little girl--how I've cheated you! Why, liebchen--God bless +the Germans for inventing that name for you--you were entitled to weeks +and weeks of beautiful, delicate courtship. Will you forgive me for +jumping right over those days when I should have sent you roses and nice +pretty notes, and prepared you in proper and approved way for all of +this? But I had been waiting for you so long that when I found you, I +just couldn't wait a minute longer. + +"And it was Georgia--my red-headed, freckled, foolish cousin Georgia +did this! Why, liebchen, I'll take my oath right this minute Georgia +hasn't a freckle! I'm even willing--(oh Lord, _am_ I?--Yes, by the gods I +_am_)--to read every abominable line she writes for that abominable +paper. Am I an ingrate? Didn't Georgia bring me to _you?_--and is +anything too much, even to the reading of her stuff--yes, by Jove, and +_liking_ it? + +"Now prepare yourself to receive the sympathy of every one you know when +you tell them you are going to marry me. Some kind of divine +hallucination is upon you, acting for my good, and you do not see how +profoundly you are to be pitied. But other people will see, and will tell +you about it, only you will think _they_ are under a hallucination, which +is one of the phases of _yours_. The truth is I am a grubbing old +scientist. I prowl around in laboratories and don't know much of anything +else, and more than half the time my hands are stained with unaesthetic +colours you won't like at all. And they tell me I have a foolish way of +sitting and thinking about one thing, and that sometimes I don't do +things I say I am going to--meet my appointments and things like that, +although of course that won't apply to you. And here you might have +married some artist chap, or society fellow who would know all about the +proper thing! + +"But never mind, poor little girl--I'll make it up to you. You may miss +some of the lesser, but you'll have the greater. You'll have the +love that enfolds one's whole being--the love that is eternal. Yes, +dear--eternal. The mariner has his compass, the astronomer his stars, the +Swiss peasant has his Alps--and we have our love. It must mean all those +eternal things to us. Don't you feel that it will? + +"This train is rushing along jostling my hand so I can scarcely write. +But then my heart is rushing on jostling my brain so I can scarcely +think, so perhaps my handwriting matches my thoughts. + +"And we'll work! We'll work to prove how much we love--is there better +reason for working than that? I can work now as I never did before, for +don't I want to prove to this old world that I appreciate its bringing me +to you? And you'll teach me about this art of yours, won't you, my little +girl with the long, serious name? I'm ignorant, sweetheart, I don't know +much about pictures, but don't you think that I can learn? Why, liebchen, +I'm learning already! I never knew what they meant by lights and shadows +until I saw your face. + +"But tell me, how does it happen your hair grows back from your temples +that way? Why, no one else's hair does that. And where did you learn +about tilting your chin forward like that and looking straight out of +your eyes at one? It is so strange--no one else does any of those things. +I've often thought of the many things in science I do not understand and +never will, but they are the very simplest things imaginable in +comparison with that puzzling way you smile, the wonderful way your face +lights up when you are happy. + +"Are you looking up at the stars? I think you are. And in the heavens do +you see one newly discovered, unvanishable star? That is the star of our +love, dear,--the star which has changed heaven and earth. Are you +dreaming about it all?--Oh but I know you are. I will fulfill those +dreams, dear girl. I have waited for you too long, I prize you too +inestimably not to consecrate my life to the fulfilling of those dreams." + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +KARL + +He was one of the men who go before. Out in the great field of +knowledge's unsurveyed territory he worked--a blazer of the trail, a +voice crying from the wilderness: "I have opened up another few feet. +You can come now a little farther." Then they would come in and take +possession, soon to become accustomed to the ground, forgetting that +only a little while before it had been impassable, scarcely thinking of +the little body of men who had opened the way for them, and now were out +farther, where again the way was blocked, trying to beat down a few more +of the barriers, open up a little more of that untrodden territory. And +only the little band itself would ever know how stony that path, how deep +the ditches, how thick and thorny the underbrush. "Why this couldn't have +been so bad," the crowd said, after it had flocked in--"strange it should +have taken so long!" + +Not that the little band sought popular acclaim, or desired it. +"Heavens!" he had once exclaimed to a laboratory assistant, after a +reporter had been vainly trying to persuade him to "tell the whole story +of his work in popular vein,"--"you don't suppose medical research is +going to become a drawing-room lap dog!" + +But he need not have feared. A capricious fancy might rest upon them for +the minute, but the big world which followed along behind would never +come into any complete understanding of such as they. In an age of each +man seeking what he himself can gain, how could there be understanding of +the manner of man who would perhaps work all of his lifetime only to put +up at the end the sign-board: "Do not take this road. I have gone over it +and found it profitless." Failure is not the name they give to that. They +say his wanderings astray brought others that much nearer to the goal. + +In his last year at the medical school one of his professors had put it +to him like this: "You must make your choice. It is certain you can not +do both. You will become a general practitioner, or you will go into the +research work for which you have shown aptitude here. I am confident you +would succeed as a surgeon. In that you would make more money, and, in +all probability, a bigger name. That is certain. In this other, you take +your chances. But if I were you, I would do whichever I cared for more." + +That settled it, for he had long before heard the cry from the unknown: +"Come out and take us! We are here--if only you know how to get us." +There was in his blood that which thrilled to the thought of doing what +had not been done before. With the abandonment of his intense and rugged +nature, he yielded himself to the delights of the untravelled path. + +At the time of his falling in love, Dr. Karl Hubers was thirty-nine years +old. He had worked in European laboratories, notably the Pasteur +Institute of Paris, and among men of his kind was regarded as one to be +reckoned with. Within the profession his name already stood for vital +things, and it was associated now with one of the big problems, the +solving of which it was believed this generation would have to its +credit. The scientific and medical journals were watching him, believing +that when the great victory was won, his would be the name to reach round +the world. + +Three years before, the president of a great university, but newly sprung +up by the side of a great lake, sitting in his high watch tower and with +mammoth spy-glass looking around for men of initiative in the +intellectual domain, had spied Karl Hubers, working away over there in +Europe. This man of the watch tower had a genius for perceiving when a +man stood on the verge of great celebrity, and so he cried out now: "Come +over and do some teaching for us! We will give you just as good a +laboratory as you have there and plenty of time for your own work." Now, +while he would be glad enough to have Dr. Hubers do the teaching, what he +wanted most of all was to possess him, so that in the day of victory that +young giant of a university would rise up with the peon: "See! _We_ have +done it!" And Dr. Hubers, lured by the promise of time and facility for +his own work, liking what he knew of the young university, had come over +and established himself in Chicago. + +In those three years he had not been disappointing. He had contributed +steadily to the sum of the profession's knowledge, for he worked in +little by-paths as well as on his central thing, and he himself felt, +though he said but little, that he was coming nearer and nearer the goal +he had set for himself. + +His place in the university was an enviable one. The enthusiasm of the +students for him quite reached the borderland of reverence. To get some +work in Dr. Hubers' laboratory was regarded, among the scientific +students, as the triumph of a whole university career. And it was those +students who worked as his assistants who came to know the fine fibre of +the man. They could tell best the real story of his work. They it was who +told him when he must go to his classes and when he must go to his meals, +who kept him, in times of complete surrender to his idea, in so much of +touch with the world about him as they felt a necessity. Their hearts +beat with his heart when a little of the way was cleared; their spirits +sank in disappointment as they lived with him through the days of +depression. And as they came day by day to know of the honesty of his +mind, the steadfastness of his purpose, to feel that flame which glowed +within him, they fairly spoke his name in different voice from that used +for other things, and when they told their stories of his eccentricities, +it was with a tenderness in their humour, never as though blurring his +greatness, but rather as if his very little weaknesses and foibles set +him apart from and above every one else. + +Generations before, his ancestors up there in North Europe had swept +things before them with a mighty hand. With defeat and renunciation they +did not reckon. If they loved a woman, they picked her up and took her +away. And civilisation has not quite washed the blood of those men from +the earth. Germany gave to Karl Hubers something more than a scholar's +mind. At any rate, he did a very unapproved and most uncivilised thing. +When he fell in love and decided he wanted to marry Ernestine Stanley, +and that he wanted to take her right over to Europe and show her the +things he loved there, he asked for his year's leave of absence before he +went to find out whether Miss Stanley was kindly disposed to the idea of +marrying him. Now why he did that, it is not possible to state, but the +thing proving him quite hopeless as a civilised product is that it never +struck him there was anything so very peculiar in his order of procedure. + +His assistants had to do a great deal of reminding after he came back +that week, and they never knew until afterwards that his abstraction was +caused by something quite different from germs. They thought--unknowing +assistants--that he was on a new trail, and judged from the expression of +his face that it was going to prove most productive. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +FACTS AND "HIGHER TRUTH" + +"Mr. Beason," said Georgia McCormick, looking across the dinner table at +the new student who had come to live with them--almost every one who +lived around the university had "students"--"if you had a dear cousin who +had married a dear friend, if said dear cousin and dear friend had gone +skipping away to Europe, and for one year and a half had flitted gayly +from country to country, looking into each other's eyes and murmuring +sweet nothings all the while that _you_ had been earning your daily bread +by telling daily untruths for a daily paper, if at the end of said period +said cousin and friend, forced by a steadily diminishing bank account to +return to the stern necessities of life, had written you a nonchalant +little note telling you to 'look up a place for them to lay their +heads'--which being translated in terms of action meant that you were to +walk the streets looking for vacant houses when vacant houses there were +none--if this combination of circumstances befell you, Mr. Beason--just +what would you do?" + +Beason pondered the matter carefully. Mr. Beason applied the scientific +method to everything in life, and was not one to commit himself rashly. +"I think," he announced, weightily, "that I would tell them to go to a +hotel and stay there until they could look up their own house." + +"But Mr. Beason," she rambled on, eyes twinkling--Georgia had decided +this young man needed "waking up"--"suppose you loved them both very +dearly--suppose they were positively the dearest people who ever walked +the earth--and that breaking your neck for them was the greatest pleasure +life could confer upon you--what would you do _then?_" + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Beason, bluntly; "I never loved any one +that dearly." + +"'Tis better to love and break one's neck,"--began Harry Wyman, who +aspired to the position of class poet. + +"If you had ever known Ernestine and Karl,"--a tenderness creeping into +Georgia's voice--"you'd be _almost_ willing to hunt houses for them. +Almost, I say--for I doubt if any affection on earth should be put to the +house-hunting test. Even my cousin Dr. Karl Hubers------" + +"Your--_cousin?_"--Beason broke in. "_Your--?_"--in telling the story +Georgia always spoke of the unflattering emphasis on the final your. But +at the time she could think of nothing save the transformed face of John +Beason. The instantaneousness with which he had waked up was fairly +gruesome. He was looking straight at Georgia; all three were held by his +manner. + +"Now my dear Mr. Beason," she laughed finally, "don't be so hard on +us. My mother and Dr. Hubers' mother were sisters, but please don't +rub it in so unmercifully that poor mother has been altogether +distanced in the matter of offspring. You see mother married an Irish +politician--hence me. While Aunt Katherine--Karl's mother--married a +German scholar--therefore Karl. And the German scholar was the son of a +German professor. In fact, from all I have been led to believe the Hubers +were busily engaged in the professoring business at the time Julius +Caesar stalked up from Italy." + +"Now Georgia," hastened Mrs. McCormick earnestly, "this newspaper work +gives you such a tendency to exaggerate. I never heard it said before +that the family went _that_ far back." + +"Perhaps not. But just because a thing has never been said before, isn't +there all the more reason for saying it now? And I'm just trying to make +Mr. Beason understand"--demurely--"why some people are scholars and +others are not." + +But Season's mind was working straight from the shoulder. + +"Does he ever come here?" he demanded. + +"Yes, indeed; he honours our poor board quite often with the light of his +countenance." + +Beason accepted that as unextravagant statement of fact. + +"Well, do you--know about him?" he asked, bluntly. + +"That he's 'way up? Oh, my, yes. And we're tremendously proud of him." + +"I should think you would be," said Beason, rather grimly. + +"Karl is indeed remarkable," said Mrs. McCormick, blandly expansive, well +pleased with both Karl and her own appreciation of him. "I feel that our +family has much to be proud of, to think both he and Georgia have done so +well with their work." + +The expression of Beason's face was a study. Georgia laughed over it for +weeks afterwards. + +"Now my chief interest," said Wyman, who was at the stage where he put +life in capital letters, and cherished harmless ideas about his own +deep understanding of the human heart, "is in Mrs. Hubers. There, I +fancy,"--it was his capital letter voice--"is a woman who understands." + +"A dandy girl," said Georgia, briskly. + +"She has the artistic temperament?" he pursued. + +"Oh, not disagreeably so," she retorted. + +"You see," turning to Beason, who was plainly impatient at this shifting +to anything so irrelevant as a wife, "I play quite a leading part in Dr. +Hubers' life. I'm his cousin--that's the accident of birth; but I handed +over to him his wife, for which he owes me undying gratitude. I'm looking +for something really splendid from Europe." + +"I wish I hadn't gone home so early that spring," sighed Wyman. "I'd like +to have seen that little affair. It must have been the real thing in +romance." + +"But it was nothing of the sort! It was the most disgraceful thing I ever +had anything to do with." + +"Now Georgia," protested her mother, "you know you are so apt to be +misunderstood." + +"Well I couldn't be misunderstood about this! Oh, it was awful!--the +suddenness of it, you know. You see Miss Stanley was an old college +friend of mine. In fact, I roomed at their house,"--she paused and seemed +to be thinking of other things--serious things. "A year ago last spring," +she went on, "Ernestine stopped here on her way home from New York. Her +parents had died, but an old aunt lived in their house, and she was going +to see her. I had always told her about Karl, but she had never met him, +because when Ernestine and I were together so much, he was in Europe. So +I wanted her to meet him--well, principally because he was a good deal of +a celebrity, and I thought it would be nice. I'll be real honest and +confess it never occurred to me there would be anything exciting doing. +Well, Karl didn't want to come. First he said he would, and then he +telephoned he was busy. So I just went over to the laboratory and _got_ +him. I told him he was expected, and if he didn't come, mother and I +never would forgive him. He washed his hands and came along, grumbling +all the way about how one's relatives interfered with one's life--oh, +Karl and I are tremendously frank, and then when he got here--well, I'll +just leave it to mother." + +"He did seem to be greatly impressed with Georgia's friend." said Mrs. +McCormick, consciously conservative. + +"I never saw him act so stupid! Oh, but I was mad at him! I wanted him to +talk about Europe and be brilliant, but he didn't do anything but sit and +look at Ernestine. Fact of the matter is, Ernestine doesn't look quite +like the rest of us. At least Karl thought she didn't, and evidently he +made up his mind then and there he was going to have her. Ernestine left +Chicago sooner than he thought she was going to, and what does he do but +go after her--and get her! You see, all of Karl's ancestors weren't meek +and gentle scholars and wise professors. Lots of them were soldiers and +bloodthirsty brigands, and those are the ones he brags about most and in +spite of his mind, and all that, those are the ones he is most like. I +suppose it was in the blood to get what he wanted. I'm sure I don't +know how he did it. Lots of men had wanted Ernestine, and she had the +caring-for-her-art notion--she's made good tremendously, you know--but +art took a back seat when Dr. Hubers arrived on the scene. That's all +there is to it. I wouldn't call it a romance. It was more in the line of +a hop, skip and jump." + +She had pushed back her chair a little, but laughed now, reminiscently. + +"Oh it was just too funny! Some of it was too rich to keep. Karl came +here the day after he returned--wanted to hear me talk of Ernestine, you +know. People in love aren't exactly versatile in their conversation. I +did talk about her for two hours, and then I ventured to change the +subject. 'Karl,' I said, 'what do you think of the colour they're +painting the new Fifty-seventh Street station?' + +"He had been sitting there in rapt silence and he looked up at me with a +seraphic, far-away smile. 'Colour,' he said, dreamily, 'was there ever +such a colour before?' + +"'There certainly never was,' I replied, meaning of course the brick red +of the aforesaid station. + +"'That divine brown,' he pursued,' that soft, dark, liquid brown of +unfathomable depth!' Now there," nodding laughingly at Beason, "you have +a sample of the great Dr. Hubers' mighty intellect." + +Beason hovered around, hoping for a few more stray words, but as Harry +Wyman and Georgia were talking about some foolish newspaper affairs, he +went to his room and tried to settle down to work. + +A half hour later Wyman, who had also gone in to do a little studying, +came out to where Georgia was looking over the other evening papers. + +"Say," he laughed, "you've got to do something for that fellow in +there--he's crazy as a loon. You've got him all stirred up, and if you +don't go in and get him calmed down he won't sleep a wink to-night, and +neither will I. He says Dr. Hubers is the greatest man in the world. He +says he won't except anybody--no, sir, not a living human soul! He's been +walking up and down the floor talking about it. Gee! you ought to hear +him. He says he came to this university on purpose to get some work with +Dr. Hubers, that his life will be ruined if he doesn't get it, and that +he's going to make all kinds of a ten-strike, if he does. And you can't +laugh at the fellow, for he's just dead down in earnest! He wanted me to +come out here and ask you some questions--I can't remember 'em straight. +How he worked--whether he was approachable. Oh, he fired them at me +thick. Say now, he would appreciate it, if you'd just go in and give him +a little talk about your cousin. Kind of serious talk, you know. Why, +he'd just hang on every word." + +And Georgia, laughing--Georgia was strongly addicted to laughing--said if +there was any man ready to hang upon her every word, that she, being +twenty-seven and prospectless, must not let him get away. + +She told Beason many things--some of them facts and some of them "higher +truth," Georgia holding that things which ought to be true were higher +truth. She told him how Karl had tried to burn down his father's house, +when a very small boy, to see if something somebody had said about fire +was true, how he dissected a strange and wonderful bird which came to the +house on a visitor's hat, how he inspired a whole crew of small boys to +run away from home as explorers, how he whipped a bigger boy most +unmercifully for calling the Germans big fools. Georgia arranged for her +cousin what she called a thoroughly consistent childhood. And then some +less high truth about his working his way through college, getting money +enough to go abroad, his absolute forgetfulness of everything when +immersed in work--facts and higher truth tallied here. + +"Karl's queer," she said. "He's roasted a good deal by the academic +folks--pooh-hoos a lot of their stuff, you know. He seems to have a +strange notion that science, learning, the whole business is for +humanity. Unique conception, isn't it?" + +After she went away, Beason said he had no doubt that when one came to +know Miss McCormick, he would see, in spite of her lightness of manner, +that she had many fine qualities. + +"Qualities!" burst forth the enthusiastic Wyman. "Say--you just +ought to hear the newspaper fellows talk about Georgia McCormick! I +tell you she's a peach, and more than that, she's a brick. She's the +divide-her-last-penny kind--Georgia McCormick is. And I want you to know +that if ever any one had the joy of living stunt down pat, she's it. It's +an honest fact that if she was put in the penitentiary and you went to +see her after she'd been there awhile, she'd tell you so many funny and +interesting things about the pen. that you'd feel sore to think you +weren't in yourself. And _smart?_ And a hustler? Well, her paper's done +some fool things, but it's had sense to hold on to _her_ all right-all +right." + +And Beason replied that of course Dr. Hubers' cousin was bound to be +smart. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +THE HOME-COMING + +"Yes, suh, Chicago only two hours, suh," and the porter smiled broadly. +There was both memory and anticipation in that smile. + +The car was almost empty. Across the aisle a man slept peacefully; a +little farther ahead a young lady read of the joys and sorrows of a +knight and his lady who had lived some several hundred years before, and +still farther on a lady all in black was looking from the window, +evidently lost to sorrows of more recent date. As no one was paying any +attention to the man and woman back there in the rear of the car it was +perfectly safe, when the porter passed on, for her hand to slip over into +his. + +He responded with that quiet, protecting smile which always made it seem +no bad thing could ever come to her. + +"Almost home, dear," he said, and then for a long time neither of them +spoke. Many big forces flowed freely into the silence of that moment. + +She looked up at him at last with a smile which broke from her +seriousness as a ripple breaks from a wave. + +"Suppose we had to say everything in words!" + +"Suppose we had to walk on one leg!" + +"Oh, but that--you know, Karl, it's a little like the rivers and the +ocean. The words are the rivers flowing into the ocean of silence. Rivers +flow into oceans--but do they _make_ them? And then the ocean gives back +to the rivers in the things which it breathes out. There are so many +reasons why it seems like that." + +"Ernestine, where did you get all this? I sometimes think I'm not square +with you at all. Why, I've been in all those places before! I saw the Bay +of Naples long before I ever saw you--and yet I didn't really see it +before at all. Don't you see? Eyes and appreciation and every decent +thing I take from you. Where did you get it all, Ernestine?" + +She pushed back a little curl which was always coming loose,--he loved +that little curl for always coming loose. + +"Perhaps I 'got it' from that way you have of looking at me--the way +you're looking at me now; or maybe I got it from the way you say +'Ernestine'--the way you said it just now. But does it matter much what +comes from which?"--with which bit of lucidity she wrinkled up her nose +at him in a way which always vanquished argument and returned to the +silence which seemed waiting to claim her. + +He watched her then; he loved so to do that--just see how far he could +follow. Ernestine seemed to draw things to her in a way very wonderful to +him. + +"You know, liebchen,"--as he saw that steady light of resolution shine +through the veil of her tenderness--"it seems so queer to me that you +really _do_ anything." + +"Well for a neatly turned compliment--" + +"I mean it seems so queer you should really _amount_ to anything." + +"Now before you overwhelm me with further adulation, what _are_ you +talking about?" + +"I'm talking about your being an artist. I can't get used to your being +anything but _Ernestine_! That day last spring when we went to see your +Salon picture, and when those chaps were talking to you, and I realised +that they just simply accepted you as one of them--that you belonged, and +that that was all there was about it--I, oh I had such a funny feeling +that day. And now, a minute ago, when I saw that look, I had it again." + +"Why, Karl, you don't _mind_, do you?" + +"No, it's just that it seems queer. You see you're such a wonderful +sweetheart, it's hard to think of you as anything else. I'll never forget +that day over there. Something just seemed to leap up within you. I--well +I think I was a little scared--or was I awed? Something that was shining +from your eyes made me feel things in my backbone." + +"But you're glad?" she laughed. + +"Of course I'm glad; and I'm proud. But it's--queer." + +She smiled at him understandingly; the understandingness of her smile +always went beyond her words. It was a beautiful face upon which he +watched the play of lights, saw the changing currents of thought and +dreams and purpose. But the thing most rare in it, that which made one +quite forget accepted standards, was the steadfastness with which a +certain great light shone through the aura of her tenderness. There were +moments in which she transcended both her beauty and her beauty's +weaknesses. + +As the flower to the sun, naturally, quietly, inevitably, she had +expanded under the breath of life. With the fullness of a rich nature she +had responded to the touch of the spirit of living. Love loved her for +what she had been able to take. + +And in the year which had passed, life, with tender rather than defacing +lines, had put upon her face the touch of sorrow. Europe meant more to +her than an Old World civilisation, more than tradition, beauty or art. +It even meant more than the place where she had spent those first dear +months of her love. It meant to her the place where she had hoped with +woman's dearest hope, and where she had given up the child which should +have been hers. Her tenderest, deepest thoughts were not of the wonders +and beauties she had seen; they were of the dreams within, of the holy +happiness of first knowledge, and then the grief in giving up the much +desired, which she had known only in anticipation. The most cherished +memories of their love were memories of those days in which he had +comforted her, of the tenderness with which he had consoled, the strength +with which he had upheld. Those hours had reached far into her soul, +deepening it, giving her, as if in compensation, new channels for love, +new understanding of those innermost things of life. But in those first +days, even while the soul of the woman was deepening, the bruised heart +was as the heart of a child. It was as a child she had been to him in +those days, and he had comforted her as one would comfort an idolised +child, whose hurt one strove to take wholly unto one's self. The memory +of those hours knit them together as no other thing could have done. + +Looking down at her face now he saw that look he had come to know--that +far-away, frightened, wistful look. Very gently he laid his hand upon her +knee. + +"I am going to make you so happy. Life is going to be so beautiful," he +said. + +She smiled at him, but the tears were in it. + +"Yes, Karl--I know. But now that we are coming home--together--alone, +doesn't it seem--" + +He turned away. The man had suffered too. + +"And we are leaving it over there--over there, alone--away from us--the +life that should have been--" + +With that he turned resolutely back to her. + +"Ernestine, isn't there another way to look at it? It came of our love, +and now, dear, it has gone back into our love. It isn't something apart +from us,--something gone. We have taken it back unto ourselves. It is +here with us. The greater love we have--that is it, dear." + +The flame of understanding leaped quickly to her eyes. + +"Oh, I like that Karl," she whispered. "I like that better than anything +you ever said." + +She turned then and looked from the window. Across the fields, over near +the horizon, she could see a little house. The smoke was curling from the +chimney. The autumn twilight had come on and they had lighted the lamp. A +bit of home! The tears came to her eyes--tears of tender anticipation. +She too was to make a home. And was it not good to think that smoke was +coming from many chimneys and many lamps were being lighted? Was it not +good to feel that the dear world was full of homes? + +To the man this coming back to Chicago, returning to his work after the +year and a half he had been away, was charged with a happy significance. +As they drew nearer and nearer, an impatience possessed him to begin at +once; that desire of the worker to start in immediately. He had worked +some over there, had done a few things which were most satisfactory, but +he wanted now to settle down to actual work in his old place, 'with his +own things. He fell to wondering if they had changed the laboratory, +resentful at the possibility. + +"Why look here, Ernestine," he suddenly burst forth, turning to her +eagerly, "to-morrow's a school day, we're late getting home, everything +is in swing--they're waiting for me, and, by Jove, I can just as well as +not begin to-morrow!" + +A woman who never made one feel things in one's backbone might have +resented the quick, eager plunge into work, but Ernestine knew the love +of work herself, and her eyes brightened to his spirit. + +"But dear me, Karl," after a second's hesitation, "it seems you should +take a day or two first." + +"Why?" he demanded. + +"Well,"--vaguely--"to get rested up." + +"Rested up!" He stretched forth his arm and then doubled it back, and +they both laughed. "That's a joke--my getting rested up. Why I feel like +a fighting cock!" + +"And crazy to get to work?" + +"Getting that way. Oh, I tell you, Ernestine, there's nothing like it." + +Again she did not mind; she understood. She looked at his glowing face, +all alight with enthusiasm for the work to which he was going back. She +was never tired of thinking how Karl's face was just what Karl's face +should be--reflective of a clear-cut, far-seeing, deeply comprehending +mind. It seemed all written there--all those things of mind and +character, and something too of those other things--the things which +were for her alone. Ernestine held that one could tell by looking at Karl +that he was doing some great thing. + +"But see here, Dr. Hubers, a nice way you have of shirking your domestic +duties! Who is going to help me settle this famous house Georgia tells +about?" + +"I'll do it at night," he protested eagerly. "I'll work every night until +the house is spick and span." + +Ernestine sighed. "I have a sad feeling that our house never will be +spick and span. But we'll have some fun,"--eagerly--"fixing it up." + +"Of course we'll have fun fixing it up! Georgia's sure to be on hand, and +I'll make old Parkman get busy too--do him good." + +"I don't care about knowing a lot of men--" + +"Well I should _hope_ not" + +"You didn't let me finish. I was going to say that Dr. Parkman is one man +I do want to know." + +"You'll like Parkman; and he'll like you. By Jove, he's got to! You +mustn't mind if he snaps your head off occasionally. His life's made +him savage, but even his life--he's had an awful one, Ernestine--couldn't +make him vicious. He's the gruffest, snarliest, biggest man I ever +knew--meaner than the devil, and the best friend on top of earth. And +Lord, how he works! I don't know any other three men could swing the same +load. And I tell you, Ernestine, he's great. There's not a better surgeon +in all Europe. Parkman's a tremendous help to me. Oh, it's going to be +_great_ to get back!" + +"We have some really nice things for our house," mused Ernestine. "I'm +glad we decided to take that rug for the library. Of course it seemed +pretty high, but a library without a nice rug wouldn't do at all--not for +us." + +"No--that's right--library without a rug--now I wonder if I am to have my +old eight o'clock lecture hour? I _want_ that hour! I want to get all the +school business out of the way in the morning. I must have plenty of +uninterrupted time for myself. I tell you what it is, Ernestine, I'm +going to _get_ it! What I saw over there of the other fellows makes me +all the more sure of myself. And coming back now after being made all +over new--you see there's such a thing as inspiration in my work, just as +there is in yours. Of course it's work--work--work, work your way through +this and that, but there's something or other that leads you on--and I +_know_ I'm going to do something now!" + +"I know it too, Karl," she responded, and the steadfastness shone strong +through the tenderness now. "We all know it." + +"I've got to," he murmured--"got to." And then his whole mind seized upon +it; some suggestion had come to him, some of that inspiration of which he +had spoken. He sat there looking straight ahead, brows drawn, eyes +sometimes half closing, occasionally nodding his head as he saw a point +more clearly. He looked in such moments as though indeed made for +conquest,--indomitable. One could almost feel his mind at work, could +fancy the skillful cutting away of error, the inevitable working ahead to +truth. + +At last he turned to her. "There's no reason for not beginning +to-morrow," he said, with the eagerness of a boy who would try a new gun +or fishing rod. "There are a whole lot of things I want to get right +at now." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +"GLORIA VICTIS" + +"We'll just put our Russian friend back here in the corner, where the +shelf suppresses him," said Georgia, who seemed to have accepted the +self-appointed position of head cataloguer. "Some of the students might +happen to call." + +"This," said Dr. Parkman, who was dusting Gibbon's Rome, "is the sort of +thing that is called the backbone of a library." + +"Consequently," replied Georgia glibly, "we will put it up here on the +top shelf. Nobody wants a library's backbone. It's to be had, not read. +Now the trimmings, like our friend Mr. Shaw here, must be given places of +accessibility." + +The host was picking his way around among the contents of a box which he +had just emptied upon the floor. The hostess was yielding to the +temptation of an interesting bit which had caught her eye in dusting "An +Attic Philosopher in Paris." + +"Now here," said Dr. Hubers, picking up a thick, green book, "is Walt +Whitman and that means trouble. No one is going to know whether he is +prose or poetry." + +"When art weds science," observed Georgia, "the resulting library is +difficult to manage. Mr. Haeckel and Mr. Maeterlinck may not like being +bumped up here together." + +"Then put Haeckel somewhere else," said Ernestine, looking up from her +book. + +"No, fire Maeterlinck," commanded Karl. + +"See," said Georgia--"it's begun. Strife and dissension have set in." + +"I'm neither a literary man nor a librarian," ventured Dr. Parkman, "but +it seems a slight oversight to complete the list of poets and leave +Shakespeare lying out there on the floor." + +"Got my Goethe in?" asked Karl, after Shakespeare had been left immersed +in Georgia's vituperations. + +"I think Browning and Keats are over there under the Encyclopedia +Britannica," said Ernestine, roused to the necessity of securing a +favourable position for her friends. + +"Observe," said Georgia, "how they have begun insisting on their +favourite authors. This is one of the early stages." + +Ernestine, looking over their shoulders, made some critical remark about +the place accorded Balzac's letters to Madam Hanska, which caused +Georgia to retort that perhaps it would be better if people arranged +their own libraries, and then they could put things where they wanted +them. Then after she had given a resting place to what she denounced as +some very disreputable French novels, she leaned against the shelves and +declared it was time to rest. + +"This function," she began, "will make a nice little item for our +society girl. Usually she disdains people who do not live on the Lake +Shore Drive, but she will have to admit there is snap in this 'Dr. and +Mrs. Karl Ludwig Hubers,'"--pounding it out on a copy of Walden as +typewriter--"' but newly returned from foreign shores, entertained last +night at a book dusting party. Those present were Dr. Murray Parkman, +eminent surgeon, and Miss Georgia McCormick, well and unfavourably known +in some parts of the city. Rug beating and other athletic games were +indulged in. The hostess wore a beautifully ruffled apron of white and +kindly presented her guest with a kitchen apron of blue. Beer was served +freely during the evening.'" + +"Is that last as close as your paper comes to the truth?" asked +Ernestine, piling up Emerson that he might not be walked upon. + +"That last, my dear, is a hint--a good, straight-from-the-shoulder hint. +I did it for Dr. Parkman. He looks warm and unhappy." + +Dr. Parkman protested that while a little warm, he was not at all +unhappy, but upon further questioning as to thirst was led into damaging +admissions. So the little party divided, Georgia calling back over her +shoulder that as the host was of Teutonic origin, there need be no fear +about the newly stocked larder. + +Left alone a curious change came over the two men. They had entered with +the heartiness of schoolboys into the raillery of a few minutes before, +but all of that dropped from them now, and as they pulled up the big +chairs and Dr. Parkman's "Well?" brought the light of a great enthusiasm +to the face of his friend, drawing him into the things he had been so +eager to reach, one would not readily have associated them with the +flippant conversation from which they had just turned. + +For here were men who in truth had little time for the lighter, gayer +things of life. They stood well to the front in that proportionally small +army of men who do the world's work. "Tommy-_rot_!" Dr. Parkman had +responded a few days before to a beautiful tribute some one was seeking +to pay "The Doctor"--"A doctor is a man who helps people make the best of +their bad bargains--and damned sick he gets of his job. A man must make a +living some way, so some of us earn our salt by bucking up against the +law of the survival of the fittest, thereby rendering humanity the +beautiful service of encumbering the earth with the weak. If the medical +profession would just quit its damn meddling, nature might manage, in +time, to do something worth while." + +But all the while, by day and by night, at the expense of leisure and +pleasure,--often to the exclusion of sleep and food, he kept steadily at +his "damn meddling,"--proving the most effective enemy nature had in that +part of the country; and sadly enough--for his philosophy--he was even +stripped of the vindication of earning his salt. In the one hour a day +given to his business affairs, Dr. Parkman made more money than in the +ten or twelve devoted to his profession. Men said he had financial +genius, and he admitted that possibly he had, stipulating only that +financial genius was an inflated name for devil's luck. He liked the +money game better than poker, and played it as his pet dissipation, his +one real diversion. But having more salt than he could use during the +remainder of his days, did not tend toward an abatement of this war he +waged against nature's ultimate design. He himself would analyse that as +a species of stubbornness, an egotistic desire to see how good an +interference he could establish, but he gave body and brain and soul to +his meddling with a fire suspiciously like consecration. + +They all knew that Dr. Parkman worked hard. Some few knew that he +overworked, and a very few knew why. Of the personal things of his own +life he never spoke, and though he was but fifty, his lined face and +deep-set eyes made him seem much closer to sixty. + +The two men were an interesting contrast; Dr. Parkman was singularly, +conspicuously dark, while Karl Hubers was a true Teuton in colouring. Dr. +Parkman was a large man, and all of him seemed to count for force. +Something about him made people prefer not to get in his way. It was his +hands spoke for his work--superbly the surgeon's hands, that magical +union of power and skill, hands for the strongest grip and the lightest +touch, lithe, sure, relentless, fairly intuitive. His hands made one +believe in him. + +With Karl it was the eyes told most. They seemed to be looking such a +long way ahead, and yet not missing the smallest thing close at hand. As +he talked now, his face lighted with enthusiasm, it occurred to Dr. +Parkman that Hubers was a curious blending of the two kinds of men there +were behind him. Some of those men had been fighters and some had been +thinkers, but Karl was the thinker who fights. He had drawn from both of +them, and that gave him peculiar fitness for the work he was doing. It +was work for the thinker, the scholar, but work which must have the +fighting blood. Even his appearance bore the mark of the two kinds of +things bequeathed him. He had the well-knit body of the soldier, the face +of the student. He was not a large man, but he gave the sense of large +things. He had the slight stoop of the laboratory, but when interested, +aflame, he straightened up and was then in every line the man who fights. +His eyes, to the understanding observer, told the story of much work +with the microscope. They were curiously, though not unattractively, +unlike. The left he used for observations, the right for making the +accompanying drawings. That gave them a peculiarity only the man of +science would understand. + +The things which the two men radiated were different things. One felt +their different adjustment toward life. Dr. Parkman had turned to hard +work as some men turn to strong drink, to submerge himself, to take him +out of himself, to make life possible; while with Karl Hubers, work and +life and love were all one great force. Dr. Parkman worked in order that +he might not remember; Karl in order that he might fulfill. + +Their friendship had begun ten years before in Vienna, one of those rare +friendships which seem all the more intimate because formed in a +foreign land; a friendship taking root in the rich soil of kindred +interests,--comradeship which drew from the deep springs of +understanding. To come close to Karl's work had been one of the real joys +of Dr. Parkman's very active but very barren life.--He loved Karl; his +own heart was wrapped up in the work his friend was doing. And the doctor +meant much to Karl; had done much for him. The one was the man of +affairs; the other the man of thought; they supplemented and helped each +other. As the practicing physician, Dr. Parkman could see many things +from which the laboratory man would be shut out. He was Karl's channel of +communication with the human side of the work. And Karl gave Parkman his +complete confidence; that was why there was so much to tell now. He must +go over the story of his year's work, touch upon his plans, his new +ideas. And the doctor had something to say of the observations he had +made for Karl; he told of an operation day after to-morrow he must see +and said he had several cases worth watching. + +"You will have to come out to the laboratory," Karl finally urged. "We +can't begin to get at it here." + +"We're forgetting the hungry and thirsty men," said Georgia, after they +had been eagerly chatting across the kitchen table for ten or fifteen +minutes. But Ernestine said it did not matter. She knew what was going on +in the library and how glad they were of their chance. She and Georgia +too had much to discuss: the work done in Europe, Georgia's work here, +how splendid Karl was, what a glorious time they had had, something of +the good times they would all have together here, and then this house +which Georgia had found for them and into which they had gone at once. + +"I knew well enough," she said, buttering a sandwich in order to stay +her conscience, "that you and Karl didn't belong in a flat. There +couldn't be a studio and a laboratory and library and various other +exotic things in a flat. But only old settlers and millionaires live in +detached houses here, so please appreciate my efforts. I thought this +place looked like you--not that you're exactly old-fashioned and +irregular." + +"I liked it at once. Big enough and interestingly queer, and not +savouring of Chicago enterprise." + +"Not that there is anything the matter with Chicago enterprise," insisted +Georgia. + +"You like Chicago, don't you, Georgia?" + +"Love it! I know one doesn't usually associate love with Chicago, but I +love even its abominations. You know I had a tough time here, but I won +out, and most of us are vain enough to be awfully fond of the place where +we've been up against it and come out on top. I haven't forgotten the +days when I edited farm journals and wrote thirty-cent lives of great men +and peddled feature stories from office to office, standing with my hand +on door knobs fighting for nerve to go in, but now that it is all safely +tucked away in the past, I'm not sorry I had to do it. It helps one +understand a few things, and when new girls come to me I don't tell them, +as I was told, that they'd better learn the millinery trade or do honest +work in somebody's kitchen. None of that kind of talk do they get from +me!" + +It was always absorbing to see Georgia very much in earnest. Her alert +face kept pace with her words, and her emphatic little nods seemed to be +clinching her thought. People who had good cause to know, said it was +just as well not to turn the full tide of her emotions to wrath. She was +a little taller than Ernestine, very quick in her movements, and if one +insisted on an adverse criticism it might be admitted she was rather +lacking in repose. The people who liked her, put it the other way. They +said she was so breezy and delightful. But even friendship could not deny +her freckles, nor claim beauty for her bright, quick face. + +They seemed to fall naturally into more serious things when they met over +what Georgia called the evening bite. Although differing so widely, they +were homogeneous in that all were workers; they touched many things, +their talk live with differences. + +"How do you like it?" asked Ernestine, following Dr. Parkman's eyes to +her favourite bronze, a copy of Mercie's Gloria Victis, which she had +unpacked just that day and given a place of honour on the mantel. + +"It's so Christian," he objected laughingly. + +"Oh, but is it?" + +"A defeated man being borne aloft? I call it the very essence of +Christianity. I can see submission and renunciation and other +objectionable virtues in every line of it." + +"Go after it, Parkman," laughed Karl. "Ernestine and I all but came to +blows over it. I wanted her to buy a Napoleon instead. I tell her there +is no glory in defeat." + +"I don't think of it as the glory of defeat," said Ernestine. "I think of +it as the glory of the conquered." + +"But even so, Ernestine," said Georgia, who had been looking it over +carefully, "there's no real glory. When I fall down on an assignment, I +fall down, and that's all there is to it--at least my city editor thinks +so. If Dr. Parkman doesn't win a case, he loses it. His efforts may have +been very worthy--but gloria's surely not the word for them. Or take a +football game," she laughed. "Sometimes the defeated team really does +better work than the winners--but wouldn't we rather our fellows would +win on a fluke than go down to defeat putting up a good, steady fight? +The thing is to _get there!_" + +"In football or in life," laughed Karl. "Defeat furnishes good material +to the poets and the artists, but none of us care to have the glory of +the conquered apply to _us._" + +They were all looking at the bronze and Ernestine looked from one face to +another, trying to understand why it moved none of them as it had her. +Karl's face was very purposeful tonight, reflecting the stimulus of his +talk with his friend. Filled with enthusiasm for this fight he was +making, he had no eye in this hour for the triumph of the vanquished. + +"Why I don't want to submit," he laughed just then. "I want to win!" + +"An idea which has done a great deal of harm," observed Dr. Parkman. +"That 'you'll-get-your-reward-somewhere-else' doctrine is the worst +possible armour for life. The poets, of course, have always coddled the +weak, but I see more poetry in the to-hell-with-defeat spirit myself." + +That too she could understand--a simple matter of the arrogance of the +successful. + +And with Georgia it was that thing of "getting there"--the world's hard +and fast standards of success and failure. + +She too turned to the statue. Were they right, and she wrong? Was it just +the art of it, the effectiveness, which moved her, and was the thought +back of it indeed weakening sentimentality? + +"Defend it, Ernestine," laughed Karl; and then, affectionately, seeing +her seriousness, "Tell us what _you_ see in it." + +Dr. Parkman turned from the statue to her. He never forgot her face as it +was then. + +He had decided during the evening that her great charm was her exquisite +femininity; she seemed to have all those graces of both mind and body +which make for perfect loving. It was the world force of love, splendidly +manifest in gentleness, he had felt in her first. But now something new +flamed up within her. Here was power--power moving in the waves of +passion through the channel of understanding. Her face had grown fairly +stern in its insistence. + +"But don't you _see_ The keynote of it is that stubborn grip on the +broken sword. I should think every fighter would love it for that. And it +is more than the glory of the good fight. It is the glory of the +unconquerable will. Look at the woman's face! The world calls him +beaten. _She_ knows that he has won. I see behind it the world's +battlefields--'way back from the first I see them all, and I see that the +thing which has shaped the world is not the success or failure of +individual battles one-half so much as it is this wresting of victory +from defeat by simply _breathing_ victory even after the sword +has been broken in the hand. What we call victory and defeat are +incidents--things individual and temporal. The thing universal and +eternal is this immortality of the spirit of victory. Why, every time I +look at that grip on the broken sword,"--laughing now, but eyes +shining--"I can feel the world take a bound ahead!" + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +ERNESTINE IN HER STUDIO + +The next morning she went to work. She had never wanted anything with +quite the eagerness that she wanted to work that morning. + +"What I want to know is," Georgia had demanded the night before, "did +either of you do any work? I hear a great deal about quaint little +villages and festive cafes, but what did you actually do?" + +Now if Georgia were only here to repeat the question, she could answer +jubilantly: "What did I do? Why, I got ready for this morning! Wasn't +that a fine year's work?" + +It had seemed queer at first. "Why don't I work," she would ask Karl, +"now that I am here where I always wanted to be?" But Karl would only +laugh, and say that was too obvious to explain. Once he had talked a +little about it. "I wouldn't worry, liebchen. Isn't it possible that the +creative instinct is being all used up? It's your dream time, sweetheart. +It's your time to do nothing but love. After a while you'll turn to the +work, and you'll do things easily then that were hard to do before." + +How had he known? For nothing had ever been more true than that. She knew +this morning that she could do things easily now which had been hard to +do before. + +One of the very best things about this curious, old-fashioned house was +that it had an attic which had all the possibilities of a studio. Just a +little remodeling--and Paris itself could do no better. + +To that attic she turned just as soon as Karl had gone over to the +university. Her things had been carried up; now for a fine morning of +sorting them out! But instead of attacking the unpacking and sorting and +arranging she got no farther than a book of her sketches. Sitting down on +the floor she spread them all around her. + +Despite the fact that she had not at once settled down to serious work, +she made sketches everywhere, just rough, hasty little things--"bubbles +of joy" she called them to Karl. It seemed now that these were counting +for more than she had thought. Everything was counting for more than she +had thought! + +Something of the joy of it carried her back to the days when she was a +little girl and had had such happy times with her blackboard. The thought +came that now, out of her great happiness, she must pay back to the +blackboard all that it had given her in those less happy days. Work was +but the overflow of love! + +During the last five months, when Karl had been working in Paris, she had +studied with Laplace. He had taken her in at once, rejoiced in her and +scolded her. One day in an unguarded moment he said she knew something +about colour. No one remembered his ever having said a thing like that +before. And Ernestine had seen a teardrop on his face when he stood +before her picture of rain in the autumn woods. That teardrop was very +precious to her. It seemed she could work years on just the memory of it. + +So there were many reasons why she felt like working this morning. All +the loving and the living and the dreaming and the thinking and the +working of a lifetime! Karl had understood. Her dream time! She loved +that way of putting it. Beautiful days to be cherished forever! How rich +she was in the things she had known! How unstinted love had been with +her! She wanted now to give with that same largeness, that same +overwhelming richness, with which she had received. Enthusiasm and desire +and joy settled to fixed purpose. She began upon actual work. + +She kept at it until late in the afternoon. She had never had such a day, +and the great thing about it was that it seemed a mere beginning, just an +opening up. A new day had dawned; a day which meant, not the death of the +dream days, but their reincarnation into life. Those hours when she sat +idly beneath blue skies, looking dreamily out upon beautiful vistas it +seemed she should have been painting--how well, after all, they had done +their work! Dreams which she had not understood were making themselves +plain to her now. The love days were translating themselves in terms of +life and work. She wanted to glorify the world until it should be to all +eyes as the eyes of love had made it to her. + +Laplace had said once it was too bad she had married. She thought of that +now, and smiled. She was sorry for any one who thought it too bad she had +married! + +And then Karl telephoned. Would she come over to the university? He had +been wanting to show her around, and this would be a good time. She +dressed hurriedly, humming a little song they had heard often in Paris. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +SCIENCE, ART, AND LOVE + +From his window in the laboratory he saw her as she was coming across the +campus, and waved. She waved back, and then wondered if it were proper to +wave at learned professors who were looking from their windows. In one +sense it was hard to comprehend that it was her Karl who was such an +important man about this great university. Karl was so completely just +her Karl, so human and dear, and a great scientist seemed a remote +abstraction. She must tell that to Karl. He would enjoy himself as a +remote abstraction. + +She was still smiling about Karl's remoteness as she came into the +building. He had come down to meet her. "You see I thought you might get +lost," he explained. + +"I might have," she responded, and then laughed, for when people are very +happy it is not at all difficult to laugh. + +"Do you know what you look like?" he said. "You look like a kind of +spiritualised rainbow--or like the flowers after the rain." + +"I dressed in five minutes," said Ernestine, smoothing down her gown with +the complacency of a woman who knows she has nothing to fear from +scrutiny. + +"As if that had anything to do with it! You dress as the birds and +flowers dress--by just being yourself." + +She let that bit of masculine ignorance pass with a wise little smile. + +They were in the laboratory now. "I came," said Ernestine severely, "to +listen to an elucidation of the mysteries of science." + +"Then you had no business to come looking like this," he responded +promptly. + +She was looking around the room. "And this is where all those great +things are done?" + +"Um--well this is where we make attempts at things." + +He was not quite through, and Ernestine sat down by the window to wait +for him. It seemed surprising, somehow, that it should be such a simple +looking room. Karl was doing something with some tubes, writing something +on a chart-like thing. Something in the expression of his face as he bent +over the work carried her back to other days. + +"Karl," she said abruptly, "why don't you and I have any quarrels about +which is greater--science or art?" + +He looked up at her in such absolute astonishment that she laughed. + +"Liebchen," he said, "don't you think that would be going a long way out +of our road to hunt a quarrel? Now I can think up much better subjects +for a quarrel than that. For instance: Do I love you more than you love +me, or do you love me more than I love you? Your subject makes me think +of our old debating society. We used to get up and argue in thunderous +tones something about which was worse--fire or water!" + +"But Karl--it isn't logical that you and I should love each other this +way!" + +He pushed back his work and turned squarely around to her. He was smiling +in his tenderly humorous way. "Well, sweetheart," he said, "would you +rather be logical, or would you rather be happy?" + +"Oh, I'm not insisting upon the logic. I'm just wondering about it." + +"Isn't love greater than either a test tube or a paint brush?" Karl asked +softly. + +She nodded, smiling at him lovingly. + +He sat there looking a long way ahead. She knew he was thinking something +out. "Ernestine," he began, "do you ever think much about the _oneness_ +of the world?" + +"Why, yes--I do, but I didn't suppose you did." + +"But, liebchen--who would be more apt to think about it than I? Doesn't +my work teach oneness more than it teaches anything else? All the +quarrelling comes through a failure to recognise the oneness. I often +think of the different ways Goethe and Darwin got at evolution. Goethe +had the poetic conception of it all right; Darwin worked it out step by +step. Who's ahead? And which has any business scoffing at the other?" + +He went back to his notes, and her thoughts returned to the battles she +had heard fought in the name of science. She looked about the room, out +at the great buildings all around, and then back to Karl, who seemed soul +of it all. How different all this was! What would her father think to +hear a man like Karl Hubers giving to a poet place in the developing of +the theory of evolution? What _was_ the difference between Karl and her +father? Was it that the school to which they belonged was itself +changing, or was it just a difference in type? Or, perhaps, most of all, +was it not a difference in degree? Her father had only seen a little way, +and that down a narrow path bounded by high walls of bigotry. Karl had +reached the heights from which he could see the oneness! And was it not +love had helped him to those heights? + +A little later, when Karl was seeking to explain what he evidently +regarded as a very simple little thing, and just as a few glimmers of +light were beginning to penetrate her darkness, she looked up and at the +half open door saw a boy whose consternation at sight of her made it +difficult for Ernestine to repress a smile. + +"Come in, Beason," said Karl, who had just noticed him. "I want you to +meet Mrs. Hubers." Ernestine looked at Karl suspiciously--something in +his voice signified he was enjoying something. + +But there was nothing about Mr. Beason which signified any kind of +enjoyment. He advanced to meet her sturdily, as one determined to do his +duty at any cost. The boy was rendered peculiar in appearance by an +abnormally long, heavy jaw, which gave his face a heavy, stolid +appearance which might or might not be characteristic. He had small, +sharp eyes, and Ernestine was quite sure from one look at his face that +he did not laugh often, or see many things to laugh about. + +He was not impenetrable to graciousness, however, for within five minutes +he had told her that he was born in southern Indiana, that he lived in +Minneapolis now, and that he had come to Chicago to get some work with +Dr. Hubers. Upon hearing that Ernestine immediately noticed what a +remarkably intelligent face he had, and felt sure that that heavy jaw +gave him a phlegmatic look which was most misleading. + +Karl laughed as the boy went away. "Funny fellow--Beason. He'll have to +cut away a lot of the trees before he gets a good look at the woods. +Never in his life has one gleam of humour penetrated him. In fact if a +few humour cells were to creep in by mistake, they'd be so alien as to +make a tremendous disturbance." + +"He seems to think a great deal of you," said Ernestine, a little +reproachfully. + +"Oh, yes; and I like him. I like the fellow first rate. He's a splendid +worker--conscientious, absolutely to be depended upon. 'Way ahead of lots +of these fellows around here who think they know it all. But he has those +uncompromising ideas about science; ready to fight for it at the drop of +the hat. Oh, Beason's all right. We need his sort. I'll tell you whom I +do want you to meet, Ernestine, and that's Hastings. You'll like him. +He's such a success as a human being. He's more like the old-time +professor of the small college, has a fatherly, benevolent feeling toward +all the students. You see we're so big here that we haven't many of the +small college characteristics about us. It's each fellow doing his own +work, and not that close comradeship that there is in the small school. +But Hastings is a connecting link. Then, on the other hand, there's Lane. +You must meet him too, for he's a rare specimen: pedantic, academic; I +don't know just why they have him, he doesn't represent the spirit of the +place at all. He's entirely too erudite to be of much use. But I'll let +Parkman tell you about Lane. Oh, but he hates him! They met here in the +laboratory one day and upon my soul I thought Parkman was going to pick +him up and throw him out the window." + +As they were looking through the general laboratory they met Professor +Hastings, and she could see at once what Karl meant. He was apparently a +man of about sixty, and kindness was written large upon him. Ernestine +could fancy his looking after students who were ill, and trying to devise +some way of helping the poverty-stricken boy through another year in +college. + +They left the building and sauntered slowly across the campus. Almost in +the centre of the quadrangle Ernestine stopped and looked all around. She +was beginning to feel what it was for which the University of Chicago +stood. It was not "college life," all those things vital to the +undergraduate heart, which this university suggested. She fancied there +might be things the undergraduate would miss here; she was even a little +glad her own college days had been spent at the smaller school. As she +stood looking about at building upon building she had visions, not of +boys and girls singing their college songs, but of men and women working +their way toward truth. She looked from one red roof to another, and each +building seemed to her a separate channel through which men were working +ahead to the light. It was a place for research, for striving for new +knowledge, for clearing the way. She turned her face for the moment to +the north; there was great Chicago, where men fought for wealth and +power, Chicago, with all the enthusiasm of youth, and the arrogance of +youthful success, with all the strength of youthful muscle, all the power +and possibility of young brain and heart. This seemed far away from the +Board of Trade, from State Street and Michigan Avenue. But was not the +spirit of it all one? This, too, was Chicago, the Chicago which had +fought its way through criticism, indifference and jeers to a place in +the world of scholarship. People who knew what they were talking about +did not laugh at the University of Chicago any more. It had too much to +its credit to be passed over lightly. Men were doing things here; she +felt all about her the ideas here in embryo. How would they develop? +Where would they strike? What things now slumbering here would step, +robust and mighty, into the next generation? + +And greatest of all these was Karl! She turned to him with flushed, +glowing face. He had been watching her, following much of her thought. +"I like this place," she said--her eyes telling all the rest. "I was not +sure I was going to, but I do." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +AS THE SURGEON SAW IT + +"But, Karl, you _must!_" + +"I tell you, my dear, I can't!" + +"Well, I think it's just--" + +"Now, Ernestine,"--in tones maddeningly calm and conciliatory--"you go on +down to Parkman's office and I'll come just as soon as I can. Now be +sensible--there's a good girl." + +"Well, I call it _mean!_"--this after hanging up the receiver. "I don't +care,"--still talking into the telephone, as if there were satisfaction +in having something understand--"it's not _nice_ of Karl." + +They had an engagement with Dr. Parkman for dinner at his club, to meet +some people he wanted her to know, and now Karl had telephoned from the +laboratory at the last minute that he was not ready to leave and for her +to go on down alone. + +"And he'll come late--and not dressed--and they'll think,"--she went over +and sat down by the window to enjoy the mournful luxury of contemplating +just what they would think. + +Couldn't he go over to the laboratory a little earlier in the morning and +finish up this terribly important thing? Was it nice of a man to have +people being _sorry_ for his wife? Was it considerate of Karl to ask her +to put on this pearl-coloured dress and then let her go down in the train +all alone? + +She would telephone Dr. Parkman that they could not come. Then Karl would +be sorry! But no--severely and with dignity--she would show that one +member of the family had some sense of the conventions. Oh, yes--this in +long-suffering vein--she would do _her_ part, and would also do her best +to make up for Karl. No doubt she might as well become accustomed to that +first as last. + +Going down in the train she had a very clear picture of herself as the +poor, neglected wife of the man absorbed in his work. She saw so many +reasons for being unhappy. Was it kind the way Karl had told her in that +first letter about some other woman in his life, and then had never so +much as revealed to her that other woman's name? Where did this woman +live? When had Karl known her? How _well_ had he known her? And all the +while her sense of humour was striving to make attacks upon her and the +consciousness in her inmost heart that all this was absurd and most +unworthy only made her the more persistently forlorn. + +She had never been to Dr. Parkman's office, and she was not very familiar +with Chicago--had it never occurred to Karl she might get lost and have +some unfortunate experience? But fate did not favour her mood, and she +reached the office in safety. Dr. Parkman did not seem at all surprised +at seeing her alone, which flamed the fire anew. + +"He hasn't backed out?" he demanded, laughing a little. + +She explained with considerable dignity that her husband had been +detained at the laboratory, that he regretted it exceedingly, but would +be with them just as soon as circumstances permitted. + +He took her into his private office, and Ernestine was too sincere a +lover of beautiful things to be wholly miserable in a room like that. + +"Why, this doesn't look like an office," she exclaimed. "It's more like a +pet room in a beautiful home." + +He laughed, not mirthfully. + +"I hardly think you could call it that, but this is where I spend a good +deal of my time, so I tried to make it livable." + +He was busy at his desk, and she watched his hands. She was thinking that +she would like to paint a picture and call it "The Surgeon." She would +leave the man's face and figure in shadow, concentrating the light upon +those hands, letting them tell their own story. + +The whole man stood for force. She was sure that he always had his way +about things, that he simply took for granted having his own way. Yet +there was something in which he had not had his way. Karl had told her a +little about that; she must ask him more about it. It seemed suddenly +that there was something pathetic about this beautiful room. Did it not +reflect a man trying to make up to himself for the things he did not +have? It was a room which suggested pleasant hours and fine, quiet +enjoyment. The deep, leather chairs seemed made for long, intimate +conversations. The dark red tapestry, the oak panelling, this richly +toned rug, the few real pictures, the little odds and ends suggestive of +remote corners of the world--it seemed a setting for some beautiful +companionship, some close sympathy, a place where one would like to sit +for hours and be just one's self. But was not Dr. Parkman's life lacking +in the very things of which this bespoke an appreciation? There was a +subtle pathos in a beautiful room which breathed loneliness. She thought +of their own library at home, quick to sense the difference. + +The doctor went into an adjoining room, and her thoughts were broken by +the low murmur of voices. Then the inner door opened; he was showing a +man through to the outer office. The man stumbled over the rug, and at +his exclamation Ernestine looked up. Her own face paled; she half rose +from her chair;--the native impulse to do something. She looked at Dr. +Parkman. His face was entirely masked. The man passed into the outer +room, leaving behind him something which caused Ernestine's heart to beat +fast. + +The doctor walked slowly over to his chair and sat down. He seemed +unconscious of her for a moment, and then he looked at her and saw that +she had seen and that she wanted to know. + +"You'd think a man would get used to it," he said in his short, gruff +way. "You'd think it would become a matter of course, but it doesn't. +That man's wife is dying of cancer. It's not an operable case. I told him +that to-day. He asked for the truth and I gave it. I even gave my +estimate of the time." He swung his chair around and looked out at the +roof of the building below, and then turned sharply back to her. "You +said a while ago that this looked like a home. Well, it's not. It's like +a good many other things--empty show. Where that man lives, it's not much +for looks, but it _is_ a home, and this means--breaking it up. In there a +minute ago, I told him he had to lose the only thing in life he cares +anything about. He--oh, well!" and with one of his abrupt changes, he +turned away. + +But Ernestine was leaning forward in her chair. Her lips were parted. Her +eyes were very dark. + +"Cancer--you say, doctor?"--her voice was so low he could barely catch +it. "Cancer?" + +He nodded, looking at her intently. + +"But that's what Karl's working on! That's what Karl's doing this very +minute!" + +"Yes, and do you ever think of it like that? Do you ever think of the +lives and homes he is going to save; the tragedies and heartbreaks he is +going to avert; the children he is going to keep from being motherless or +fatherless if he does do this thing?--and I believe with all my heart +he will! I tell you, Mrs. Hubers, you want to help him! I'm not sorry +you saw that little thing just now. It will show you the other side of +it--the human side. And there wasn't anything unusual in it. All over the +world, physicians are doing this same thing every day--telling people +it's hopeless, admitting there's nothing to be done. Then think of the +tremendousness of this work Karl Hubers is doing!--where it strikes--the +hearts breaking for it--the thousands praying for it! Is it any wonder +we're watching it? Interested? I tell you _we_ know what it means." + +She was unconscious of the tear on her cheek, of the quivering of her +face. + +"And Karl is doing that? _That_ is what Karl's work means?" + +"Karl's work simply means giving into our hands the power to save more +lives. Now we're doing the best we can with what we have--but God knows +we're short on power! We're groping around in the dark. Karl's work means +letting in the light." + +His voice had grown warm. Something had fallen from him--leaving him +himself. In his eyes was a wealth of unspeakable feeling. + +"Doctor, I want to thank you!"--but it was her face thanked him most +eloquently. + +She was glad when he left her for a minute before they finally went away. +Her heart was very full. This was Karl! This the real meaning of Karl's +work! To think she had looked at it in that small, paltry way--that even +in her thoughts she had put the slightest stumbling block in his path. +This very afternoon had come new inspiration and she had resented it, had +said small, mean things in her heart because he stayed to work out his +precious thoughts. Why, it would have been fairly criminal for Karl to +run away from that call of his work! + +She wanted to tell him all about it; she yearned to "make it up to him," +make him more happy than he had ever been before. She dwelt upon it all +until, when Dr. Parkman came in for her, he was startled at the light +shining from her face. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +KARL IN HIS LABORATORY + +One of their favourite speculations, as the days went on, was as to +whether any one had ever been so happy before. They argued it from all +sides, in a purely unprejudiced and dispassionate manner, and always +arrived at the conclusion that of course no one ever had. "Because," +Ernestine would say, "no one ever had so many reasons for being happy." +"And if they had," he would respond, "they would have said something +about it." + +Ernestine worked that winter as she had never worked before. That first +day had not been a deceptive one. She had done some of the things which +something within her heart assured her that day she could do. The best +thing she had done she sent to Laplace, as he had asked her to. "It's +considered rather superior to disdain the Salon," she said to Karl, the +day they packed the canvas, "but Paris seems the only way of proving to +Americans that good can come out of America." + +She had heard from Laplace that the picture would be hung. His brief +comment had been that America could not be so bad as was sometimes said. +She was eager now to hear more about it. She would surely have a letter +very soon. And she and Karl were so happy! It had been such a glorious, +wholesome, splendidly worth while winter. + +It was one afternoon in early spring that over in the laboratory John +Beason and Professor Hastings were talking of Dr. Hubers. "But that isn't +all of it," said Professor Hastings in the midst of a discussion. "This +fanaticism for veracity Huxley talks about isn't all of it by any means. +Any of us can get together a lot of facts. It takes the big man to know +what the facts mean." + +"Somebody said that truth was the soul of facts," said Beason, in the +uncertain way he talked of anything outside tabulated knowledge. "But I +suppose that's just one of those things people say." + +"Yes--but is it? Isn't it true? Why is Hubers greater than the rest of +us? It isn't that he works harder. We all work. It isn't that he's more +exact. We're all exact. Isn't it that very thing of having a genius +for getting the soul out of his facts? That man looks a long way +ahead--smells truth away off, as it were. I tell you, Mr. Beason, +scientific training kills many men for research work. They're afraid to +move more than inch by inch. They won't take any jumps. Now Dr. Hubers +jumps; I've seen him do it. Of course, after he's made his jump he goes +back and sees that there aren't any ditches in between, but he's not +afraid of a leap in the dark. That's his own peculiar gift. Most of us +are not made for jumping." + +"But that doesn't sound like the scientific method," said Beason, brows +knitted. + +"I'll admit it wouldn't do for general practice," replied the older man, +a twinkle in his eye. "The spirit has to move you, or you wouldn't gain +anything but a broken neck." + +"Yes, but that thing of a spirit moving you," said Beason, more sure of +himself here, "that does not belong in science at all; that is a part of +religion." + +"And to a man like Dr. Hubers"--very quietly and firmly--"science is +religion." + +Beason pondered that a minute. "They're entirely distinct," was his +conclusion. + +"So it seems to you; but I'm a year or two older than you are, Mr. +Beason, and the longer I live the more firmly I believe that there is +such a thing as an intuitive sense of truth. If there isn't, why is Dr. +Hubers a greater man than I am?"--and with that he left him, smiling a +little at how it had never occurred to Beason to say anything polite. + +Beason was in truth much perturbed. It was not pleasing to have the +greatness of his idol explained on unscientific principles. He did not +like that idea of the jumps. Jumping sounded unscientific, and what could +be worse than to say of a man that he was not scientific? Preposterous to +say the greatest things of science were achieved by unscientific methods! + +To-day Dr. Hubers had been all afternoon alone in his laboratory. Some +one had brought him in some luncheon at noon, but since one o'clock the +door had not opened, and now it was almost five. What was going on in +there? Even Beason had the imagination to wonder. + +Could he have seen he would not have been much enlightened. The man was +sitting before a table, his arms reaching out in front of him--some +tubes, his microscope, other things he had been working with within +reach, but unheeded now. For he was not seeing now the detail, the +immediate. This was not one of those moments of advancing step by step. +The light in those eyes of wonderful sight was the light from a farther +distance. A way had opened ahead; far out across dim places he could see +it now. The afternoon had been a momentous one. He had taken a step +leading to a greater height, and with the greater height came a wider +vision. A few of those minutes such as he was living now fires a man for +months--yes, years, of work. Ahead were days when the fires of +inspiration would be in abeyance, when the work would be only a working +of step by step--detail, some would call it drudgery. But it is in these +moments of inspiration man qualifies for the fight. In the hours of +working onward toward the light he may grow very weary, but he can never +forget that one day, for just a moment, the light opened to him. Moments +such as Karl Hubers was living now mark the great man from the small. + +And his glowing moment was more than a promise; it was also a reward. It +was spring now, and all through the winter he had worked hard. He had +come back in the fall determining in the gratitude of his great happiness +to do the best work of his life. He pulled his microscope over in front +of him and looked over it after the manner of one dreaming. How many days +he had come to it eager to note the slightest significance in its +variations of colour, for the staining of the slides made colour count in +his work almost as it did in Ernestine's, only to be met with the +non-essential, more of the husk and no sight of the kernel. He smiled a +little to think what a bulky and stupid volume it would make were he to +write down all he had done. If each hope, each possibility, each +experiment and verification were to be put down, he could quite rival in +bulk a government report. And if added to that should be a report of the +cases he had watched, the operations he had attended, the attempts at +getting living matter and of working with dead, how large and how useless +that volume would be were it to contain it all! He had done days and days +of useless work to get the slightest thing that was significant. + +Only the week before Ernestine had laughingly read him an article one of +the popular magazines printed on cancer research. The whole thing is +becoming a farce--so said the popular magazine. Every once in a while +some man issues a report saying the germ is in sight. Then another man +appears with a still more learned report saying it is not a germ at all. +All doing different things, and all sure they are on the right track! +Meanwhile the disease is on the increase, surgery cannot meet it +satisfactorily, and while laboratories pursue the peaceful tenor of their +way, men and women are dying hard deaths which no one seems able to stay. +Truly, the man behind the microscope is a very slow man the article had +concluded. + +No doubt that seemed true. He could see the writer's point of view well +enough. The things the man behind the microscope did accomplish sounded +so very easy that the on-looker could give only indolence and stupidity +as the reason for not accomplishing a great deal more. + +And even from his own point of view, with his own knowledge of all the +facts in the case, he had no doubt that once done it would sound so easy +that he would stand amazed to think it had not been done before. Let the +unknown become the known, and even the trained worker cannot look upon it +as other than a matter of course. It was so easy now to meet diphtheria. +Strange they had let so many children die of it! It was so very easy now +to give a man an anesthetic. Fearful how they had let a man suffer +through every stroke of the knife, or die for need of it! Should he blame +the man outside for looking at it that way when even to him things +accomplished took on that matter of course aspect? + +He began putting away his things. It was Ernestine's birthday, and he had +promised to be home early, for they were going to the theatre. "It will +be like all the rest," he mused. "Once done, it will seem so easy that we +will wonder why it was not done long before." Again the fire leaped high +within him. To do it! Perhaps after all he did see it too complexly. He +must not let the husk dull his eye to the kernel. A man building a +beautiful tower must erect a scaffold. But the scaffolding should not +make him forget the tower! Some way in this last hour his mind had seemed +to clear. His immense amount of useless work was not hanging about his +neck like a millstone. Something had cut that away. He was free from it +all. He could feel within himself that his approach to his problem was +better than it had been before. Perhaps he had made the mistake of the +others of looking at it as something fearfully complex, something it +would be the hardest thing in all the world for any man to do. It all +looked more simple now. It was as if muscles strained to the point of +tenseness had relaxed, and in an easy and natural way he foresaw victory +as a logical part of his work. + +He was happy to-night, light-hearted. The windows of the laboratory were +open to the soft air of that glorious day of early spring, and his spirit +was open too, open to the soul of the world, taking unto itself the sweet +and simple spirit of the men who have done the greatest things. From his +window he could see one of the tennis courts. Some of the students were +playing. "Good!" he exclaimed enthusiastically to himself, as he watched +a return that had looked impossible. He was glad they were playing +tennis. Why shouldn't they? + +Professor Hastings heard him whistling softly to himself--a German love +song--as he walked through the big laboratory, and catching a glimpse of +the younger man's face, he nodded his head and smiled. It had been a +good afternoon--that was plain. Now let there be more afternoons like +this--and then--to think it should be done right here under his very +eyes! Was not that joy enough for any man? + +On the steps of the building Karl stopped suddenly, put his hand in his +inner pocket and drew out a small box. Yes, it was there all right, and a +girl passing up the steps just then was amazed and much fluttered to +think Dr. Hubers should be smiling so beautifully at her. In fact, +Dr. Hubers did not know that the girl was passing. She had simply been in +the direction of his smile; and he was smiling because it was Ernestine's +birthday, and because he had so beautiful a present for her. He walked +along very fast. He could scarcely wait to see her face when he gave it +to her. Too bad he had kept her waiting so long! + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +PICTURES IN THE EMBERS + +They were back home now. + +"Why, Mary has intuitions," laughed Ernestine, when she saw that a fire +had been lighted in the library, and was in just the proper state for +seeing pictures. "A girl who knew we would want a fire has either been in +love or ought to be. At any rate, she knows we are." + +"This is the kind of a night when a fire serves artistic purposes only. +You don't need it, so you have to enjoy it all the more." + +"Still, these spring evenings are damp," she insisted, defending the +fire. "It doesn't feel at all uncomfortable." + +"And looks immense," he added, turning down the gas and pulling up a seat +just right for sitting before the fire. + +She leaned over, holding her hand so close to the flame that he wondered +at first what she was doing. + +"See!" she cried, "see my ruby in the firelight, Karl! It's just a piece +of it right up here on my hand!" + +"And I suppose,"--seeming to be injured--"that during the remainder of my +life, I may play second fiddle to that ring. Oh, Ernestine--you're a +woman! I was mortified to death at the theatre. You didn't look at the +play at all. You just sat and looked down at that ring. Oh, I saw through +that thing of not being able to fasten your glove!" + +She was twisting her hand about to show off the stone--any woman of any +land who has ever owned a ring knows just how to do it. + +"See, dear!" she laughed exultantly, "it _is_ fire! You can see things in +it just as you can in the coals." + +But he was not looking at the ring. There were things to be seen in her +face and he was looking at them. He loved this child in her. Was it in +all women when they love, he wondered, as many other men have wondered of +other women, or was it just Ernestine? + +"It was a dreadful thing for you to get it," she scolded,--these +affectionate scoldings were a great joy to him. "It's a ridiculous thing +for a poor college professor--that's you--to buy a ruby ring. Why, rubies +exist just to show millionaires how rich they are! And it's a scandalous +thing for a poor man's wife--that's I--to be wearing a real ruby!" Then +her other hand went over the ring, and clasping both to her breast she +laughed gleefully: "But it's mine! They'll not get it now!" + +"Who wants it, foolish child?" he asked, pressing her head to his +shoulder and holding the ring hand in his. + +She moved a little nearer to him. + +"See some pictures for me in the fire," she commanded. "See something +nice." + +"I see a beautiful lady wearing a beautiful ring. See?--right under that +top piece of coal. The ring is growing larger and larger and larger. Now +it is so large you can't see the lady at all, just nothing but the ring." + +She laughed. "Now see one that isn't silly. See a beautiful one." + +"Liebchen, I see two people who are growing old. See?--right down here. +One of them must be sixty now, and one about seventy, but they're smiling +just as they did when they were young. And they're whispering that they +love each other a great deal better now than they did in those days of +long ago; that it has grown and grown until it is a bigger thing than the +love of youth ever dreamed of." + +"That _is_ nice," she murmured happily. "That would be a nice picture to +paint." They were silent for a time, perhaps both seeing pictures of +their own. "It's growing late," said Ernestine, a little drowsily, "but +then, I'll never have this birthday again." + +"And it was happy?" he asked tenderly. "Just as happy as you wanted it to +be?" + +"So happy that I hate to see it go. It was--just right." + +"Weren't any of the others happy, dear?"--he was stroking her hair, +thinking that it too had caught little touches of the fire-light. + +"None of the others were perfect. Of course, last year was our first one +together, and"--a shudder ran through her. + +"I know, dear," he hastened; "I know that wasn't a perfect day." + +"Before that," she went on, after a minute of looking a long way into the +fire, "something always happened. My birthday seemed ill-fated. That was +why I wanted a happy one so much--to make up for all the others. This day +began right by the work going so splendidly. Is there anything much more +satisfying than the feeling which comes at the close of a good day's +work? It puts you on such good terms with yourself, convinces you that +you have a perfect right to be alive. Then this afternoon I read some +things which I had read long ago and didn't understand then as I do now. +You see, there was a great deal I didn't know before I loved you, Karl; +and books are just human enough to want to be met half way." + +"Like men," he commented, meeting her then a trifle more than half way. + +"Yes, they have to be petted and fussed over, just like men. Now, Karl, +are you listening or are you not?" + +He assured her that he was listening. + +"Then, this afternoon, Georgia came out and we went for a row on the +lagoon in Jackson Park. Did you happen to look out and see how beautiful +it was this afternoon, Karl? I wish you would do that once in a while. +Germs and cells and things aren't so very aesthetic, you know, and I +don't like to have you miss things. I was thinking about you as we passed +the university. It seemed such a big, wonderful place, and I love to +think of what it is your work really means. I _am_ so proud of you, +Karl!" + +"And was it nice down there?" he asked, just to bring her back to her +story of the day. + +"So beautiful! You and I must go often now that the spring evenings have +come. There is one place where you come out from a bridge, and can see +the German building, left from the World's Fair, across a great sweep of +lights and shadows. People who want to go to Europe and can't, should go +down there and look at that. It's so old-worldish. + +"Then Georgia and I had a fine talk,"--after another warm, happy silence. +"Georgia never was so nice. She was telling me all about a man. I +shouldn't wonder; but I mustn't tell even you--not yet. Then I came home +and here were the beautiful flowers from Dr. Parkman. Karl--you _did_ +tell him! Honest now--you did--and it was awful. Why didn't you put it in +the university paper so that all the students could send me things? That +nice boy, Harry Wyman, wrote a poem about me--'To the Lovely Lady'--now +you needn't laugh! And oh, I don't know, but it all seemed so beautiful +and right when I came home this afternoon. I love our house more and +more. I love those funny knobs on the doors, and this library seems just +_us_! I was so happy I couldn't keep from singing, and you know I can't +sing at all. Then _you_ came home! You had the box out in your hand--I +saw it clear across the street. You were smiling just like a boy. I shall +never forget how you looked as you gave me the ring. I think, after all, +that look was my _real_ birthday gift.--Now, Karl, don't you _know_ you +shouldn't have bought such a ring? But, oh!--I, _am_ so happy, +sweetheart." + +He kissed her. His heart was very full. There was nothing he could say, +so he kissed her again and laid his cheek upon her hair. + +He knew she was growing sleepy. Sleep was coming to her as it does to the +child who has had its long, happy day. But like the child, she would not +give up until the last. It was true, he was sure, that she was loath to +let the day go. + +"The play to-night was very nice," she said, rousing a little, "but so +short-sighted." + +"Short-sighted, liebchen? How?" + +"So many things in literature stop short when the people are married. I +think that's such an immature point of view--just as if that were the end +of the story. And when they write stories about married people they +usually have them terribly unhappy about having to live together, and +wishing they could live with some one else. It seems to me they leave out +the best part." + +"The best part, I suppose, meaning us?" + +"Yes!" + +"But, dear, if you and I were written up, just as we are, we'd be called +two idiots." + +"Would we?"--her head was caressing his coat. + +"Have you ever thought how a stenographic or phonographic report of some +of our conversations would sound?" + +"Beautiful," she murmured. + +"Crazy!" he insisted. + +"Perhaps the world didn't mean people to be so happy as we are,"--her +words stumbled drowsily. + +"The world isn't as good to many people as it is to us. Oh, +sweetheart--why,"--he held her closely but very tenderly, for he knew she +was going to sleep--"why are we so happy?" + +"Because I'm the--lovely--lady,"--it came from just outside the land of +dreams. + +It was sweet to have her go to sleep in his arms like this. He trembled +with the joy of holding her, looking at her face with eyes of tenderest +love, rejoicing in her, worshipping her. He went over the things she had +said, his whole being mellowed, divinely exultant, at thought of her +going to sleep just because she was tired from her day of happiness. Long +ago his mother had taught him to pray, and he prayed now that he might +keep her always as she was to-day, that he might guard her ever as she +had that sense now of being guarded, that her only weariness might come +as this had come, because she was so happy. How beautiful she was as she +slept! The Lovely Lady--that boy had said it right, after all. And she +was his!--his treasure--his joy--his sweetest thing in life! He had heard +a discussion over at the university a few days before about the equality +of man and woman. How foolish that seemed in this divine moment! God in +His great far-sightedness had given to the world a masculine and a +feminine soul. How insane to talk of their being alike, when the highest +happiness in life came through their being so entirely different! And she +was his! Other men could send her flowers--write poems about her +loveliness--but she was his, all his. His to love and cherish and +protect--to work for--live for! + +He kissed her, and her eyes opened. "Poor little girl's so tired; but +she'll have to wake up enough to go to bed." + +She smiled, murmured something that sounded like "Happy day," and went to +sleep again. + +The fire had died low. He sat there a minute longer dreaming before it, +thanking God for a home, for work and love and happiness. Then he picked +Ernestine up in his arms as one would pick up the little child too tired +to walk to bed. "Oh, liebchen," he breathed in tender passion, as she +nestled close to him,--"ich liebe dich!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +A WARNING AND A PREMONITION + +It put him very much out of patience to have his eyes bothering him just +when he was so anxious to work. What in the world was the matter with +them, he wondered, as he directed a couple of students on some work they +were helping him with. It seemed that yesterday afternoon he had taken a +new start; now he was eager to work things out while he felt like this. +This was a very inopportune time for a cold, or whatever it was, to +settle in his eyes. Perhaps the lights at the theatre last night, and +then the wind coming home--but he smiled an intimate little smile with +himself at thought of last night and forgot all about that sandy feeling +in his eyes. + +During the morning it almost passed away. When he thought of it at all, +it was only to be thankful it was not amounting to anything, for he was +anxious to do a good day's work. He would hate it if anything were to +happen to his eyes and he had to wear glasses! He had never had the +slightest trouble with them; in fact they had served him so well that he +never gave them any thought. The idea came now of how impossible it would +be to do anything without them. His work depended entirely on seeing +things right; it was the appearance of things in their different stages +which told the story. + +Dr. Hubers had a queer little trick with his eyes; the students who +worked with him had often noticed it. He had a way of resting his finger +in the corner of his eye when thinking. Sometimes it would rest in one +eye for awhile, and then if he became a little restless, moved under a +new thought, he would slip his finger meditatively over his nose to the +corner of the other eye. It did not signify anything in particular, +merely an unconscious mannerism. Some men pull their hair, others gnaw +their under lip, and with him it was a queer little way of rubbing his +finger in his eye. + +It was Saturday, and that was always a good day for him as he could give +all of his time to the laboratory. He was especially anxious to have +things go well this morning, as he wanted to stop at two o'clock and go +down to one of Dr. Parkman's operations. That end of it was very +important and this was to be an especially good operation. + +He was thinking about Dr. Parkman on the way down;--of the man's splendid +surgery. It was a real joy to see him work. He did big things so very +easily and quietly; not at all as though they were overwhelming him. Poor +Parkman--things should have gone differently with him. If it had been +almost any other man, it would have mattered less, but it seemed a matter +of a lifetime with Parkman. He could understand that better now than he +once had. To have found Ernestine and then--then to have found she was +_not_ Ernestine! But of course in the case of Ernestine that could not +be. Now if Parkman had only found an Ernestine--but then he couldn't very +well, for there was only one! Since the first of time, there had been +only one--and she was his! He fell to dreaming of how she had looked last +night in the fire-light, and almost forgot the station at which he was to +get off. + +He was in very jubilant mood when they went down to Dr. Parkman's office +after the operation. It had verified some of his own conclusions; seemed +fairly to stand as an endorsement of what he held. He had never felt more +sure of himself, had never seen his way more clearly. It was a great +thing to have facts bear one out, to see made real what one had believed +to be true. He went over it all with Parkman, putting his case clearly, +convincingly, his points standing out true and unassailable; throwing +away all the irrelevant, picking out unerringly, the little kernel of +truth;--a big mind this, a mind qualified to cope with big problems. Dr. +Parkman had never seen so clearly as he did to-day how absolutely his +friend possessed those peculiar qualities the work demanded. He had never +felt more sure of Karl's power; and power did not cover it--not quite. + +"Something in your eye?" he asked when, just as Karl was about to leave, +he seemed to be bothered with his eye, and was rubbing it a little. + +"I don't know. It's felt off and on all day as though something was the +matter with them both." + +"Want me to take a look at them?" + +"Oh no--no, it's nothing." + +"By the way, you have a bad trick with your eyes. I've noticed it several +times lately and intended to tell you about it. You have a way of rubbing +them;--not rubbing them exactly, but pressing your finger in them. I'd +quit that if I were you. If you must put your finger somewhere, put it on +your nose. A man dealing with the stuff you do can't be too careful." + +"Why, what do you mean?" + +"Simply what I say. One drop of some of those things you have out there +would be--a drop too much." + +"Now, look here, you don't think I'm any such a bungler as that, do you?" + +"Hum! You ought to know your medical history well enough to know that all +the victims haven't been bunglers, by a long sight." + +Karl's hand was on the knob. "Well, don't worry about me; I'm not built +for a victim. I may be run over by an automobile--anybody is liable to be +run over by yours, the way you run that thing--but I'm not liable to be +killed by my own sword. That's not the way I work." + +"Just the same, you'd better keep your hands out of your eyes!" + +"All right," he agreed laughingly. "It does sound like a fool's trick. +It's new to me;--didn't know that I did it." + +When he was making some calls late that evening, Dr. Parkman passed the +university and for some reason recalled what Karl had said that afternoon +about his eyes bothering him. Why hadn't he examined them; or better +still, one of the best oculists in the city was right there in the +building--why hadn't he made Karl go in to see him? It was criminal for a +man like that to neglect his eyes! He was near the Hubers now; he had an +impulse to run over and make sure that everything was all right. He +slowed up the machine and looked at his watch. No, it was almost eleven; +he would not go now. After all he was silly to be attaching any weight to +such a thing as a man's rubbing his eyes. He smiled a little as he +thought of it that way. Karl wasn't bothering about it; so why should he? + +But he had it on his mind, thinking of it frequently until he went to +bed. And the thing which worried him most was that he was worrying a +great deal more than the facts in the case warranted. He was not given to +taking notions, and that was just what this seemed. One would suppose +that a man like Hubers would be able to look out for himself,--"but for a +fool, give me a great man!" was the thought with which the doctor went to +sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +AN UNCROSSED BRIDGE + +Karl awoke next morning with the sense of something wrong. Something was +making him uncomfortable, but he was not wide enough awake at first to +locate the trouble. He lay there dozing for a few minutes and when he +roused again he knew that his eyes were hurting badly. He awakened +instantly then. His eyes? Why, they had bothered him a little all day +yesterday. Was there something the matter with them? + +He got up, raised the shade and looked in the glass. They looked badly +irritated, both of them. They felt wretchedly; he could scarcely keep +looking into the glass. Then leaning over the dressing table, he looked +more closely. He thought he saw something he did not like. He took a hand +mirror and went to the window. He could see better now, and the better +light verified the other one. It was true that in the corner of one eye +there was a drop of pus. In the other there was a suggestion of the same +thing. + +He began to dress, proceeding slowly, his brows knitted, evidently +thinking about something, and worried. Then he opened a drawer, took out +a handkerchief, got the drop of pus from his eye and arranged the +handkerchief for preserving it. + +He would find out about that, and the sooner the better! He did not like +it. He would see an oculist, too, this morning. It was plain he was going +to have some trouble with his eyes. + +Ernestine noticed them at once. What made them so red?--she wanted to +know. Did they hurt? And wasn't there something he could put in them? He +told her he was going to look after them at once. He could not afford to +lose any time, and of course he could do nothing without his eyes. + +Immediately after breakfast he started over to the laboratory. + +It was Sunday morning and there would be no one there, which was so much +the better. He wanted to get this straightened out. + +He had his head down all the way over to the university, partly because +his eyes bothered him and partly because he was thinking hard. The +trouble had evidently been coming on yesterday. He stopped short. That +trick Parkman told him about! But of course--moving on a little--that +could not have anything to do with this. He had no recollection--he was +very sure--then he walked faster, and the lines of his mouth told that he +was troubled. + +When he reached the laboratory he began immediately upon the microscopic +examination. He hoped he could get at it through that, for the culture +process meant a long wait. But after fifteen minutes of careful work the +"smear" proved negative. There remained then only the longer route of the +culture. + +He did not begin upon that immediately. He sat there trying to think back +to just what it was he had been doing Friday afternoon. The latter part +of the afternoon he had been sitting here by this table. That was the +time he was so buoyed up--getting so fine a light on the thing. It was +the cancer problem then--but in the nature of things nothing could have +happened with that. But there were always other things--all those things +known to the pathological laboratory. + +He turned around toward the culture oven, opened the outer door and +through the inner door of glass looked in at the row of tubes. He was +trying to recall what it was he had been working with the earlier part of +Friday afternoon. + +He knew now; one of the tubes had brought it to him. Yes, he knew now, +and within him there was a pause, and a stillness. Right over there was +where he sat preparing some cultures. There were two things with which he +had been working;--again a pause, and a stillness. One of them could not +make any serious difference; he went that far firmly, and then his heart +seemed to stand quite still, waiting for his thought to go on. But he did +not go on; there was a little convulsive clutching of his consciousness, +and a return, with acclaim, to the fact that _that_ could not make any +serious difference. He clung there; he would not leave that; doggedly, +defiantly, insistently, all-embracingly he affirmed that _that_ could not +make any serious difference. It was without opening his thought to +anything further that he got out his things and began preparing the +culture. + +He was so accustomed to this that it went very mechanically and quickly. +He took one of the test tubes arranged for the process in the culture +oven and with the small wire instrument he had there, lifted the drop of +pus on the handkerchief into the bullion of the tube. He did it all very +carefully, very exactly, just as he always did. Then he put the tuft of +cotton over the top and placed the tube in that strange-looking box +commonly called a culture oven. In twenty-four hours he would know the +truth. He adjusted the gas with a firm hand, arranging with his usual +precision this thing which outwardly was like any of his experiments and +which in reality--but he would not go into that. + +Now for an oculist. His eyes were hurting badly; it was time to do +whatever there was to be done. After all he was rather jumping at +conclusions. There was a big chance that this was just something +characteristic to eyes and had no relation to the things of his work. He +seized upon that, ridiculing himself for having looked right over the +most simple and natural explanation of all. Did not a great many people +have trouble with their eyes? + +That nerved him up all the way down town. He was almost ready to think it +a great joke, the way he had hurried over to the laboratory and had gone +at it in that life-and-death fashion. + +He knew that the oculist in Dr. Parkman's building was a good one, and so +he went there. It was a little disconcerting when he stepped into the +elevator to meet Dr. Parkman himself. He had not thought of trying +especially to avoid the doctor, but he had wanted to see the oculist +first and get the thing straightened out. He was counting a great deal +now on the oculist. + +"Hello!" said the doctor, seeming startled at first, and then after one +sharp glance: "Going up to see me?" + +"Well, yes, after a little. Fact of the matter is I thought I'd run in +and let this eye fellow take a look at me." + +"Eyes bothering you?" + +"Somewhat." He said it shortly, almost curtly. + +When they reached the fifth floor, Dr. Parkman stepped out with him, +although he himself belonged farther up. + +"I know him pretty well," he explained, "I'll go with you." + +He could not very well say: "I would rather you would not," although for +some reason he felt that way. + +It was soon clear to their initiated minds that the oculist did not know +the exact nature of the trouble. He admitted that the case perplexed him. +He, too, must make an examination of the pus. He treated Karl's eyes, and +advised that they begin upon an immediate and aggressive course of +treatment. Dr. Parkman, observing Karl's growing irritability, said that +he would look after all that, see that the right thing was done. + +As he walked out of that office Karl was a little dizzy. His avenue of +hope had grown narrower. It was not, then, some affection characteristic +of eyes. It was, after all, something from without. It was, in all +probability, one of two things,--it was either--but again he did not go +beyond the first, telling himself with nervous buoyancy that _that_ would +not make any serious difference. + +They stepped into an elevator and went up. He knew Parkman would ask him +questions now, but it seemed he could not get away from the doctor if he +tried. He felt just at present as though he had not strength to resist +any one. That oculist, he admitted to himself, had taken a good deal of +starch out of him. + +When they reached the office, Dr. Parkman offered him a drink; that +irritated him considerably. + +"Why no," he said, fretfully, "No--I don't want a drink. Why should I +take a drink? Did you think I was all shot to pieces about something?" + +The doctor was looking over his mail, fingering it a great deal, but not +seeming to accomplish much of anything with it. At last he wheeled around +toward him. + +"What's the matter with your eyes?" he asked with disconcerting +directness. + +"How should I know?" retorted Karl, heatedly, almost angrily. "What do I +know about it? If an oculist can't tell--you say he is a good one--why +should you expect me to?" And then he added with a touch of eagerness, as +if seizing upon a possibility: "I don't believe that fellow amounts to +much. I think I'll go out now and hunt up somebody who knows something." + +"The man's all right," said Dr. Parkman shortly. His own foot was tapping +the floor nervously. "You ought to have some idea," he added, with what +he felt to be brutal insistence, "as to whether or not you got anything +in your eyes." + +"Well, I haven't! I don't know anything about it." + +But he was breathing hard. His whole manner told of fears and +possibilities he was not willing to state. He would tell what he thought +now in just a minute; the doctor knew that. + +He began with insisting, elaborately, that he never got things on his +hands--that was not his way; and even if he did get something on his +hands, he wouldn't get it in his eyes; even if he did rub his eyes +sometimes--he didn't admit it--but even if he did, would he be such a +fool as to rub them when he had something on his hands? But if, in spite +of all those impossibilities, just admitting for the sake of argument, +and because Parkman insisted on being ominous, that it was something like +that, there were two things it might be. It might be--he named the first +with emphasis, and Dr. Parkman, after a minute's thought, heaved a big +sigh of unmistakable relief. + +"Now you see that couldn't make any vital difference," Karl added, with a +debonair manner, a thin veneer of aggressiveness. + +The doctor was leaning forward in his chair. He was beginning to grow +fearful of the emphasis put upon this thing which could make no vital +difference. + +Karl stopped as though he had reached the end of his story. But the +silence was wearing on him. His eyes had a hunted look. + +"Why, you can see for yourself," he said--and this was the note of +appeal--"that that could not make any vital difference." + +Dr. Parkman was looking at him narrowly. His own breath was coming hard. +He saw at last that he would have to ask. + +"The--other?" he said, succeeding fairly well in gaining a tone of +indifference. + +"Heavens--how you fellows nag for details! How you drag at a man! Well, +the other--if you're so anxious to know"--the doctor's heart sank before +the defiance of that--"the other is"--he looked all about him as one +hunted, desperate, and then snapped it out and turned away, and instantly +the room grew frightfully still. + +It struck Dr. Parkman like a blow from which one must have time to +recover. Steeled though he was to the hearing of tragic facts, he was +helpless for the minute before this. And then, refusing to let it close +in upon him, it was he who turned recklessly assertive, defiantly +insistent. + +"Any fool would know it's not that," he said, his gruff voice touched +with bravado. + +There was one of those strange changes then. Karl turned and faced him. + +"How do you know?" he asked, with a calm not to be thrust aside. "How do +you know it's not that? You can't be sure," he pursued, and there was +fairly cunning in forcing his friend upon it, cutting off all escape, +"but there are just fifty chances out of a hundred that it _is_ that. And +if it is," with a cold, impersonal sort of smile--"would you give very +much for my chances of sight?" + +"You're talking like a fool!"--but beads of perspiration were on the +doctor's forehead. And then, the professional man getting himself in +hand: "You're overworked, Karl. You're nervous. Why I can fix this up for +you. I'll just--" but before that steady, understanding gaze he could not +go on. + +"Not on me, Parkman--," slowly and very quietly--"not on me. I know the +ropes. Don't try those little tricks on me. I don't need professional +coddling, and I don't need professional lies. You see I happen to know +just a little about the action of germs. We'll do the usual things, of +course--that's mere scientific decency, but if this thing has really +gotten in its work--oh I've studied these things a little too long, old +man, I've watched them too many times, to be able to fool myself now." + +"Well you will at least admit," said Parkman--brusque because he was +afraid to let himself be anything else--"that there are fifty chances +out of a hundred in your favour?" + +Karl nodded; he had leaned back in his chair; he seemed terribly tired. + +"Come now, old chap--it isn't like you to surrender before the battle. +We'll prepare to meet the foe--though I give you my word of honour I +don't expect the enemy to show up. This isn't in the cards. I _know_ it." + +Karl roused a little. There was a bracing note in that vehemence. "Well, +don't ask me to do any crossing of a bridge before I come to it. I think +our friend down stairs is thinking of hospitals and nurses and all kinds +of quirks that would drive me crazy. Tell him I know what I'm about. Tell +him to let me alone!" + +"All right," laughed the doctor, knowing Karl too well to press the +matter further just then, "though, of course, common-sense demands quiet +and a dark room." + +"Ernestine will darken our rooms at home," said Karl stubbornly. + +It was strange how quickly they could turn to the refuge of everyday +phrases, could hide their innermost selves within their average selves as +the only shelter which opened to them. There was something Dr. Parkman +wanted to do for him, and they went into the treatment room. In there +they spoke about meeting for dinner,--Ernestine had asked the doctor to +come out. Georgia and her mother were coming too, Karl told him, and the +interview closed with some light word about not being late for dinner. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +"TO THE GREAT UNWHIMPERING!" + +"Tell me some good stories about doctors," said Georgia; "I want to use +them in something I'm going to write." + +"Isn't it dreadful?" said Mrs. McCormick, turning to Dr. Parkman, "she +even interviews people while they eat!" Mrs. McCormick had that manner of +some mothers of seeming to be constantly disapproving, while not in the +least concealing her unqualified admiration. + +"I'm not interviewing them, Mother. Skillful interviewers never +interview. They just get people to talk." + +"But what is it you're going to write," asked the doctor, "a eulogy or +denunciation?" + +"Both; something characteristic." + +"Meaning that something characteristic about doctors would include both +good and bad?" + +"Well, they're pretty human, aren't they?" laughed Georgia. + +"And think how grateful we should be," ventured Karl, "for the inference +of something good." + +Dr. Parkman looked over at him with a hearty: "That's right," relieved +that his friend could enter into things at all. + +In the library before they came in, things had gone badly. Mrs. McCormick +held persistently to the topic of Karl's eyes, putting forth all sorts of +"home remedies" which would cure them in a night. He had grown nervous +and irritable under it, and Mrs. Hubers several times had come to the +rescue with her graciousness. She was worried herself; the doctor could +see that in the way she looked from her husband to him, scenting +something not on the surface. He was just beginning to fear the dinner +was going to be miserable for them all, when Miss McCormick broke the +tension by asking for stories. + +"Tell us what you're going to write, Georgia," said Ernestine, she too +seizing at it gratefully, "and then our doctors will have a better idea +of what you want." + +"Well, I was talking to Judge Lee the other day, and he told me some good +stories about lawyers--characteristic stories, you know. So I thought I +would work up a little series--lawyers, doctors, ministers and so on, +and see how nearly I could reach the characteristics of the professions +through the stories I tell of them; not much of an idea, perhaps--but I +know a man who will buy the stuff." + +Ernestine was smiling in a knowing little way. "Do you want to begin with +something really characteristic?" she asked. + +"That's it. Something to strike the nail on the head, first blow." + +"Then lead off with the story of Pasteur's forgetting to go to his own +wedding. There's the most characteristic doctor story I know of." + +"That's a direct insult," laughed Karl. + +"Why, not at all, Karl," protested Mrs. McCormick, "every one knows you +were on hand for _your_ wedding." + +"Yes, and a good thing he was," declared Ernestine. "I don't think I +should have been as meek and gentle about it as the bride of Pasteur. I +fancy I would have said: 'Oh, really now--if it's so much trouble, we'll +just let it go.'" + +"No, Ernestine," said Mrs. McCormick, seriously, after the laugh, "I +don't believe you would have said that,"--and then they laughed again. + +"Well, it's a good story," she insisted; "and characteristic. I believe +after all that Pasteur was a chemist and not a doctor, but the doctors +have appropriated him, so the story will be all right." + +"If you want to tell some stories about Pasteur," said Karl, "tell about +his refusing the royal decoration. He told the Emperor that the honour +and pleasure of doing such work as his was its own reward, and that no +decoration was needed. That story made a great hit in the scientific +world." + +"But is it characteristic?" asked Georgia, slyly. + +"Well," he laughed, "it ought to be." + +"Another one of the independent kind," said Parkman, "is on Bilroth. He +was summoned to appear at a certain hour before the Emperor of Austria. +Bilroth was with a very sick patient until the eleventh hour and arrived +a little late in business clothes. The scandalised chamberlain protested, +telling him he could not go in like that. Whereupon Bilroth blustered +out: 'I have no time to spare. Tell His Majesty if he wishes to see me, +I am here. If he wants my dress suit, I will have a boy bring it +around.'" + +"Did he get in?" asked Mrs. McCormick, anxiously. + +"I think he did, although undoubtedly Miss McCormick will be too modern +to say so." + +"There was a story I always liked about a Vienna doctor," he continued; +he was anxious to guide the stories, for Karl had seemed suddenly to sink +within himself. He understood why--he might have foreseen where this +would lead. For there were other stories of medical men, stories which +fitted a little too closely just now; he was especially sorry he had +mentioned Bilroth. "This shows another side of the doctor," he went on, +after a minute, "and as you are going to give good as well as bad, this +may help out on the good side--there's where you will be short. A woman +came to see this doctor regarding her consumptive son. He told her there +was nothing he could do for him, adding: 'If you want him to live, you +must take him to Italy.' The woman broke down and told him she could not +do that, that she had no money. The doctor sat there thinking a moment, +and then sent over to the bank and got her a letter of credit covering +the amount involved. Another doctor, who happened to be near, asked why +he did that. 'You can't possibly support all your needy patients,' he +said; 'why did you choose this particular case? Of course,' he added, 'it +was very good of you.' 'No,' said the doctor, 'it was not good of me. +There was nothing good about it. But I was guilty of proposing to her +something I knew she could not do. After opening up that possibility it +was my obligation to see that she could fulfill it. I suggested what I +knew to be the impossible; after I suggested it, it was my business to +make it possible.' Don't you think that a pretty good sense of justice?" +he asked of Ernestine. + +"What might be called an inner squareness," said Georgia, as Ernestine +responded only with the fine lights the story had brought to her eyes. + +Karl did not seem to have heard the story. Ernestine looked toward him +anxiously. + +"Now I'm going to tell a story," she said, with a gaiety thrown out for +rousing him, "a very fine story;--every one must listen." He looked over +at her and smiled at that, listening for her story. + +"This man's name can't be printed, because he lives in Chicago and it +might embarrass him,"--Karl and Dr. Parkman exchanged glances with a +smile. "This is a characteristic story, as it shows a doctor's tyranny. +There was a boy taken ill at a little town near Chicago. The country +doctor telephoned up to the boy's father, and the father telephoned the +family physician who, from the meagre facts, scented appendicitis. I +don't know how he knew it was bad, but I believe a good doctor is a +pretty good guesser. At any rate he suspected this was serious, and told +the father they would have to go down there at once. The father said +there was no Sunday train. 'Then get a special,' said the doctor. 'We'll +probably have to bring him up to the hospital to operate, and can't do it +in the automobile.' The father protested against the special, saying it +would be very expensive and that he did not think it necessary. The +doctor said he did think it necessary or he would not have suggested it. +The father demurred still more and the doctor rang off. Then you called +up the railroad office, yourself--wasn't that it?" turning to Dr. +Parkman, who grew red and looked genuinely embarrassed. "Oh dear,"--in +mock dismay--"now I've mixed it up, haven't I? Well, this doctor--I'm not +saying anything about who he is--called up the railroad office and calmly +ordered the special. I must not forget to say that the man who did not +want to spend the money had an abundance of money to spend. Then he +called the boy's father and said, 'Be at the station in twenty minutes. +The special will be waiting. You will have nothing to do but sign the +check.'" + +"Well," said Mrs. McCormick, when Ernestine stopped as though through, +"would the father pay for it, and did the boy have to have an operation, +and did he get well?" + +"Mother doesn't like this new way of telling a story," said Georgia; "she +likes to hear the got-married-and-lived-happily-ever-after part." + +"I'm sure no one said anything about getting married in this," said Mrs. +McCormick, serenely. + +"But don't you think that a fine doctor story?" Ernestine asked smilingly +of Dr. Parkman. + +"A very bad story to tell. Miss McCormick's general reader will +say--: 'Oh yes, of course, he was just bound to have an operation.'" + +"Georgia,"--this was from the man at the head of the table, and there was +something in his voice to arrest them all--"if you are in earnest about +wanting stories of doctors, why don't you tell some of the big ones? Some +of the stories medical men have a right to be proud of?" + +"What are they?" she asked, promptly. "Tell me some of them." + +Dr. Parkman's eyes were on his plate. He was handling his fork a little +nervously. + +"If I were going to tell any stories about medical men," Karl went on, +and in his quiet voice there was still that compelling note, "it seems to +me I should want to say something about the doctors who died game--just a +little something about the men who took their medicine and said nothing; +men with the nerve to face even their own understanding--cut off, you +see, from the refuge of fooling themselves. Ask Dr. Parkman about the +surgeons who lost their hands or their lives through infection. Those are +the stories he knows that are worth while. He's only giving you the +surface of it, Georgia. Tell him you'd like a little of the real thing. +Ask him about the men who died slow deaths, looking a fatal future in the +face from a long way off. He mentioned Bilroth just now, telling a funny +story about him. There's a better story than that to tell about Bilroth. +You know he was the man who knew so much about the heart; he probably +understood the heart better than any other man. And by one of those +leering tricks of fate, he had heart disease himself. He watched his own +case and made notes on it, that his profession might profit by his +destruction. There you have something worth writing about! In his last +letter home, he said he had ten days to live--and he missed it by just +one; he lived eleven. If you're going to tell any stories about Bilroth, +tell that one, Georgia. And then a story or two showing that while many +men take chances, it's the doctor who takes them most understandingly. +Why medical science is full of an almost grotesque courage! Don't you +begin to see how the doctor's been trifling with you, Georgia?" + +He paused, but no one felt the impulse to speak. His eyes were hidden by +the dark glasses he was wearing because of that cold, or whatever it was, +in his eyes, but his face told the story of an alert mind, a heart +responsive to the things of which he spoke. Then he went on and talked a +little, quietly enough, but with a passionateness, a high note of +understanding, of the men who had had the nerve--eyes open--to face the +things fate handed them. It was as if he were looking back over the whole +sweep of the world and picking from many times and many places the men +whose souls had not flinched to the death. And at the last he said, +smiling--the kind of smile one meets with a tear--"Let's have a little +toast." He raised his glass of claret and for a minute looked at it in +silence. And then he said slowly, his very quiet voice and that little +smile tempering the words: + +"Here's to all those fellows who went down without the banners or +the trumpets!--To the boys who took the starch out of their own +tragedies!--To those first class sports who made no fuss about their own +funerals! Here's to the Great Unwhimpering!" + +Dr. Parkman choked a little over his wine, the tightening in Ernestine's +throat made it hard for her with hers, Georgia's cheeks were burning with +enthusiasm for the story she saw now she could write, and even Mrs. +McCormick had no questions as to just what men had died that way. Then it +was Karl himself who abruptly turned the conversation to the more shallow +channels of dinner talk. + +After that he was not unlike a man who had had a little too much +champagne. He startled them with the nimbleness of his wit, the light +play of his fancy. It was as though he had a new vocabulary, a lighter +one than was commonly his. There was a sort of delicate frolicsomeness in +his thought. + +For a reason unknown to her, it troubled Ernestine. She looked from Karl +to Dr. Parkman, but the doctor had that impenetrable look of his. What +was the matter with him? He had talked so freely during the early part of +the dinner, and now he seemed to have dropped out of it entirely. She +caught him looking at Karl once; the keen, narrow gaze of physician to +patient. Then she saw, distinctly, that his face darkened, and after +that, when he smiled at the things which were being tossed back and forth +between Karl and Georgia, it was what she called to herself a "made-up +smile"; and once or twice when Karl said something especially funny, she +was quite sure she saw Dr. Parkman wince. + +A lump rose in Ernestine's throat; Karl seemed to have slipped away from +her. This was a mood to which she could not respond and it seemed he did +not expect her to. Almost all of his talk was directed to Georgia, who, +with her quick wit and inherent high spirits, was enjoying the pace he +set her. It seemed to resolve itself into a duel of quick, easy play of +thought and words between those two. But the things they said did not +make Ernestine laugh. She smiled, as Dr. Parkman did, a "made-up" smile. + +She had always enjoyed Karl's humour immensely, but now, though she had +never seen him as brilliant, something about him pulled at her heart. She +could not restrain a resentfulness at Georgia for encouraging him. For +she could not get away from the feeling that all of this was not grounded +on the thing which was Karl himself. It was like nothing in the world so +much as the breeziness of a mind which had let itself go. She was glad +when at last she could rise from the table. + +In the library it was as though he were holding on to Georgia, determined +not to let her out of the mood into which he had brought her. The things +of which he talked were things having no bearing whatever upon himself. +If she had not been there, had simply heard of the things said, she +would not have recognised Karl at all. For the first time since they had +known one another, Ernestine felt left out,--alone. + +Mrs. McCormick said that they must go, but Karl protested. "We're having +such a good time," he said, "don't think of going." + +But Georgia had an engagement. She insisted at last that they must go. +Dr. Parkman had remained too, although Ernestine was satisfied he was not +enjoying things. + +"Why, what in the world have you done to Karl?" laughed Georgia, pinning +on her hat. "I haven't had such good fun for months. I had no idea he was +such a gem of a dinner man." + +"I do not think Karl is very well," said Ernestine, a little coolly. + +"_Well_? Why, bless you, I never saw him in such exuberant mood." + +"Didn't they make the words fly?" laughed Mrs. McCormick. "My dear, you +and the doctor and I were quite left behind." + +"It seemed that way," said Ernestine, trying to keep her chin from +quivering. + +When she returned to the library, Dr. Parkman and Karl were evidently +just closing a discussion for Karl was saying, heatedly: "Now just let me +manage things in my own way!" + +The doctor seemed reluctant to leave. Ernestine was alone with him for a +minute in the hall, and she was sure he started to say something once and +then changed it to something else. But when he did leave, it was with +merely the conventional goodbye. + +She walked slowly back to the library. Karl was sitting in the Morris +chair, his elbow upon one arm of it, his hand to his forehead. His whole +bearing had changed; it was as though he had let down. Again it seemed as +though in the last hour he had been intoxicated, and this the depression +to follow that kind of exuberance. But he looked up as he heard her, and +smiled a little, a wan, tired smile. She was beside him in an instant. + +"You seemed so happy this afternoon, dear," she said, stroking his hair, +"and now you seem so tired. Aren't you well, Karl?" she asked, a little +timidly. + +His face then mirrored a dissatisfaction, a sort of resentment. + +"I talked like a fool this afternoon!" he said gruffly. + +"Why, no, dear, only--not quite like yourself." + +"Well, the fact of the matter is"--this after a minute's thought--"I have +a frightful headache. I suppose it comes from this trouble with my eyes. +I thought I wasn't going to be able to keep up, and in my efforts to do +it, I"--he paused and then laughed rather harshly--"overdid it." + +He seemed anxious for her reply to that. + +"I knew it was something like that," she said simply. Then, after a +minute: "Is there anything I can do for the head?" + +He told her no, but that he believed he would turn the chair around with +his back to the light. + +"And I won't talk, dear," he said gently; "I'll just rest a little." + +She helped him with the chair and for a minute sat there on a low seat +beside him. + +"You know, sweetheart," resting her cheek upon his hand, "I don't like +those dark glasses at all. I'll be so glad when you don't have to wear +them." + +"Why?" he asked, his voice a little muffled. + +"Because they shut me out. I always seem closer to you when I can look +into your eyes.--Oh--does it pain so?" as he drew sharply away. + +"That did hurt," he admitted, his voice low. "I--I'd better not talk for +a little, dear." + +So she said if there was nothing she could do for his head, she would +leave him while she wrote a couple of letters. + +For a long time he sat there without moving. It was the exhaustion which +follows intoxication, for he had indeed intoxicated himself that +afternoon, and with an idea. It had come about so strangely. After they +sat down to dinner, he had been on the point a half a dozen times, of +excusing himself on the plea of a bad headache. Then when they began to +talk about doctors, those other things had come to him, and it was as +though the spirit of all those men who had gone down that way entered +into him, came so close, possessed him so completely, that he could not +hold back those words about them. A spirit quite beyond his control had +moved him to that little toast. After that, something--perhaps a spark +from the nerve of those men of whom he had spoken--brought his mind +firmly into possession of the feeling that everything was all right. It +was not that he argued himself out of his fears, but rather that +something brought the assurance of its being all right, and after that +there came a number of arguments sustaining the conviction. Just before +dinner he had gone over to the laboratory and looked at the culture. It +had not shown anything at all. At the time he accepted that as a matter +of course--it was not time for it to show anything. But looking back on +it after this conviction came to him, he took the very fact of its not +showing anything as proof that there was nothing there to show. His mind +only grasped one side of it--that it showed nothing at all. Brightening +under that he began to talk lightly, to joke with Georgia, and talking +that way seemed to enable him to keep hold of the conviction that +everything was all right. The more he talked, the more sure he was of it, +the gayer he felt, the more disposed to let his mind run wild. He was a +little afraid if he stopped talking, this beautiful conviction of its +being all right would leave him. So he made Georgia keep at it, Georgia +was the one could play that sort of game. + +As he talked, new arguments came to him. The oculist! At first he had +thought it a bad thing that the oculist could not tell what was the +matter. Now he seized upon that as proving there was nothing the matter +at all. And Dr. Parkman had said, at the last, that it did not amount to +anything. At the time that had been a mere conventional phrase, but now, +in his exhilaration, he seized upon it as indisputable truth. But always +there was the feeling that he must keep on feeling this way, or the +conviction, and all that it meant, would go. That was why he clung to +Georgia. Finally he reached the point where he could distinctly remember +getting the other stuff--the stuff which did not make any difference--on +his hands. He could fairly see it on his hands, could remember distinctly +getting it in his eye. And then Georgia had said something about going, +and he had begged her not to go. But she insisted, and he began to feel +then that the exhilaration was wearing off, that he was coming back to +face things; to the doubt, the uncertainty, the suffering. And now that +he had come back to things as they were, he felt inexpressibly tired. + +He went over it again and again, trying to gain something now, not from +any form of excitement, but from things as they were. Suddenly his face +brightened. He sat there in deep thought, and then at last he smiled a +little. Whatever happened must have occurred Friday afternoon. But he had +never in all his life felt as happy about his work as he did before he +left the laboratory Friday afternoon. Could a man feel like that, would +it be in the heart of things to let a man feel that way, if he had +already entered upon the road of his destruction? It had been more than a +happiness of the mind; it was a happiness of the soul, and would not a +man's soul send out some note of warning? And then that same evening when +he and Ernestine sat before the fire! If already this grim fate had +entered into their lives, would not their love, would not _her_ love, all +intuition, deep-seeing, feeling that which it could not understand, have +felt in that moment of supreme happiness, some token of what was ahead? +It could not be that the world jeered at men like that. Their love would +have told them something was wrong. + +Ernestine came in just then and he called her to him. + +"Liebchen," he said, "I've been thinking about that evening of your +birthday, about how beautiful it was. Weren't you happy, dear, as we sat +there before the fire?" + +"So happy, Karl," she murmured, warmly glad to have her own Karl again. +"Everything seemed so beautiful; everything seemed so perfectly right." + +He drew her to him with a passion she did not understand. His Ernestine! +His wife! She who communed with love, whose harmony with the great soul +of things was perfect--they could not have deceived her like that! +Ernestine and love dwelt too closely together. She would have received +some sign. + +For a time that calmed and sustained him; he believed in it; it was his +weapon to use against the doubts and terrors which preyed upon him. But +the gloom of his soul seemed to thicken with the deepening of the night. +His heart grew cold with the coming of the shadows. The passing of day +inspired in him fears not to be reasoned away. + +He grew very nervous during the evening and finally said he must go over +to the laboratory and arrange some things for morning. Ernestine +protested against it--and if he must go would he not let her go with him? +But he told her he believed it would be better for his head if he walked +alone for just a little while. He did not have a headache more than once +in five years, he assured her, laughing a little, and when he did, it was +apt to upset him. + +When he came back at last--it seemed to her a very long time--she saw, +watching from the window, that he was walking very slowly, almost as if +exhausted She could not hold back her alarm at his white, worn face. +Something in it gripped at her heart. + +"Is it worse, dear?" she asked anxiously. + +"It's a little bad--just now. I'll go to bed. It will be better then." He +spoke slowly, as though very tired. + +"Won't you take something for it, Karl?" she persisted. "Won't you?" + +"I do not know of anything to take that would do any good, +Ernestine,"--and he could not quite keep the quiver out of those words. + +"But other people take things. There _are_ things. Let me go out and get +you something." + +He shook his head. + +"Doctors don't take much stock in medicine," he said, with a touch of his +usual humour. + +She wanted to stay with him until he went to sleep. She wanted to put +cold cloths on his head. It was hard to avoid Ernestine's tenderness. + +"It did not show anything," he assured himself, pleadingly, when alone. +"It only showed that it was going to show in the morning. I knew that. I +knew all the time I was going to know in the morning. I'll not go to +pieces. I'll not be a fool about it," he kept repeating. + +But a little later Ernestine was sure she heard him groan. She could not +keep away from that. + +"Oh, sweetheart," she murmured, kneeling by his bed, "I can't bear it not +to help you. Let me do just some little thing," she pleaded. + +He put his hand over in hers. "Hold it, dear; if you aren't too tired. I +don't want to talk,--but hold on to my hand." + +His grip grew very tight after a minute. She was sure his head must be +paining terribly. If only he would take something for it! + +In a little while he grew very quiet. Soon she was sure that he was +asleep. But after she had at last stolen away he turned and buried his +face in his arms. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +THE VERDICT + +It was Monday morning now. The hours of that night had been hours of +torture. Sleep had come once or twice, but sleep meant only the surrender +of his mind to the horrors which preyed upon it. He could, in some +measure, exert a mastery when awake, but no man is master of his dreams. +His dreams put before him all those things his thoughts fought away. In +his dreams, there was a fearful thing pursuing him, reaching out for him, +gaining upon him with each step. Or sometimes, it stalked beside him, not +retreating, not advancing, but waiting, standing there beside him with +grim, inexorable smile. It was after waking from such dreams that he +breathed his prayer that this night pass. No matter what be ahead, he +asked that this night pass away. + +After he was up he found himself able to go on in much the usual way. +When Ernestine came in and asked about his head, he told her it was +better; when she wanted to know about his eyes, he said they were not any +better yet, but that that was something which would simply have to run +its course. She begged him not to go over to the university, but he told +her it was especially important to go this morning. He added that he +might not be there very long. + +He ate his usual breakfast. A truth that would shake the foundations of +his life might be waiting for him just ahead, and yet he could make his +usual laughing plea for a second cup of coffee. Undoubtedly it was so +with many men; beneath a mail of conventions and pleasantries they lived +through their fears and sorrows alone. + +Something clutched at his heart as he kissed Ernestine good-bye and there +was a momentary temptation. Could he face it alone, if he had to face it? +To have her with him! But he put that aside; not alone for her sake, but +because he felt that after all there were things through which one must +pass alone. But after he had reached the door, he came back and kissed +her again. What if he were to go down into a place too deep for his voice +to reach her? + +There was some solace, assurance, in the naturalness of things about him. +Everything else was just the same; it did not seem that it could be part +of natural law then for his own life to be entirely overturned. + +And the world was so beautiful! It was a buoyant spring morning. There +was assurance in the song of the birds, in the perfume of flowers and +trees. The air upon his face was soft and reassuring. This seemed far +away from the hideous phantoms of the night. Why the world did not _feel_ +like tragedy this morning! + +He had a lecture at eight o'clock, and he made up his mind he would give +it. In the night he had thought of going first of all to the laboratory. +The truth would be waiting for him there. But it was his business to give +the lecture and he could not be sure of giving it if he went to the +laboratory first. A man had no right to let his own affairs interfere +with his work. Oh yes--by all means, he would give the lecture. In spite +of his prayer that the uncertainty should end, he reached out for another +hour of holding it off. + +He knew as the hour advanced that he had never done better work in the +lecture room. He pinned his mind to it with a rigidity which prompted him +to put the subject as though it were the most vital thing in all the +world. He threw the whole force of his will to filling his mind with the +things of which he spoke that he might not yield so much as an inch to +the things which waited just outside. + +He talked until the last minute; in fact, he went so much over his time +that another class was waiting at the door. He clung to those last +moments with the desperation of the drowning man to the splintered piece +of board. After it was over, just as he was yielding the desk to the man +who followed him, one of his students approached him with a question and +the thankfulness, the appeal, almost, in the smile with which he received +him, mystified the student until he stammered out his question +bewilderedly. + +He could wait no longer now. That room belonged to others. The next +period was his usual hour in the laboratory. It was an hour which on +Monday morning he could, if he wished, spend alone. + +His temples were beating, thundering. His hands were so cold that they +seemed things apart from him. But his mouth--how parched it was!--was set +very hard, and his steps, though slow, was firm. + +In the outer laboratory, Professor Hastings stopped him, remonstrating +against his working when he was having trouble with his eyes. He assured +him, elaborately, that he was taking care of them, that probably he would +not be in there long. + +He opened the door of his laboratory and passed in. He closed it behind +him, and stood there leaning against it. He was all alone now. There was +nothing in the room but himself and the truth which was waiting for him. + +He put his book down upon the table. He walked over and sat down before +the culture oven. He must get this over with! He was getting sick. He +could not stand much more. + +With firm, quick hand he wrenched open the doors. He put his hand upon +what he knew to be the tube. He pulled it out, turned around to the light +and held it up between him and the window. For one moment he looked +away;--how parched his mouth was! And then, a mighty will turning his +eyes upon it, in one long gaze he read the plain, unmistakable, +unalterable truth. He had never seen a better culture. Science would +perhaps commit itself no further than to say his eyes had become +inoculated with the most virulent germ known to pathology. But out beyond +the efforts which would be made to save him, he read--written large--the +truth. + +He was going blind. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +"GOOD LUCK, BEASON!" + +Minutes passed and nothing happened. There was no sound of splintering +glass. The tube did not fall from his hands. Not so much as gasp or groan +broke the stillness of the laboratory. He did not seem to have moved even +the muscle of a finger. + +He faced it. He understood it. He faced it and understood it as he had no +other truth in all his life. No merciful, mitigating force caused his +mind to totter. With fairly cosmic regularity, cosmic inevitability, +comprehension struck blow after blow. + +He was going blind. He had spent his life studying the action of such +forces as this. _He knew them!_ A man who knew less would have hoped +more. Some idle dreamer might attempt to push one star closer to another. +An astronomer would not do that. + +He was going blind. He could no more do his work without his eyes than +the daylight could come without the sun. Fate jeered at him: "Your eyes +are gone, but your life will remain." It was like saying to the sun: "You +are not to give any more light, but you are to go on shining just the +same." + +He was going blind. The world which had just opened to him--the world of +sunsets and forests and mountains and seas gulped to black nothingness! + +Blind! Swept under by a trick he would not have believed possible from +his most careless student! Mastered by the things he had believed he +controlled! Meeting his life's destruction from the things which were to +bring his life's triumph! In that moment of understanding's throwing wide +her gates to torture, fate stood out as the master dramatist. Making him +do it himself! Working it out of a mere fool's trick! + +Blind?--_Blind?_ But his eyes fitted his brain so perfectly it was +through them all knowledge came to him. They were the world's great +channel to his mind. It was through his eyes he knew his fellow beings. +The lifting of an eyebrow, a queer twist to a smile--those things always +told him more than words. And--but here he staggered. The mind could get +this, as it had all else, but on this the heart broke. _Ernestine!_--that +smile--the love lights in her eyes--the glints of her dear, dear +hair--The tube fell from his hand. His head sank to the table. He was +buried now under an agony beyond all power to lift. + +Whether it was minutes or hours which passed then, he never knew in the +days which followed. Time is not measured by common reckoning on the hill +of Calvary. + +The thing which brought him from under the blow at last was a blinding +rage. He wanted to take a revolver and blow his brains out, then and +there. He--a man supposed to have a mind! _He_--counted a master of those +very things! And now, what? Manhood, power, _himself_ gone. Stumbling +through his days! Useless!--a curse to himself and everyone else. Groping +about in the dark--a thing to be pitied and treated well for pity's sake! +Cared for--looked after--_helped!_ That beat down the bounds of control. +He did things then which he never remembered and would not have believed. + +It all rushed upon him--the birthday night--the crafty, insidious mockery +through every bit of it, until everything to which he had held tottered +about him, and goaded beyond all power to bear there came a slow, +comprehending, soul-deep curse on the world and all that the world had +done. And then, out of the darkness, through the blackened, dizzying, +tottering mass--a voice, a face, a smile, a touch, a kiss, and the curses +gave way to a sob and things steadied a little. No, not the world and +everything it had done, for it was a world which held Ernestine, a world +which had given Ernestine to him for his. + +He fought for it then: for his faith in the world, his belief in the +things of love. It was the fight of his life, the fight for his own soul. +Come what might in the future, it was this hour which held the decisive +battle. For if he could not master those things which were surging upon +him, then the things which made him himself were gone for all time. And +when sense of the underlying cunning of the blow brought the surrendering +laugh close to his parched lips it was held back, held under, by that +ever recurring memory of a touch, a voice, a face. It was Ernestine, +their love, fighting against the powers of damnation for the rescue of +his soul. + +Even in the battle's heat, he had full grasp of the battle's +significance, knew that all the future hung upon making it right this +hour with his own soul. His face grew grey and old, he concentrated days +of force into minutes, but little by little, through a strength greater +than that strength with which men conquer worlds, a force greater than +the force with which the mind's big battles are won, by a force not given +many since the first of time, he held away, beat back, the black tides +ready to carry him over into that sea of bitterness from which lost souls +send out their curses and their jeers and their unmeetable silences. + +He tried to see a way. He tried to reach out to something which should +help him. Standing there amid the wreck of his life, he tried to think, +even while the ruins were still falling about him, of some plan of +reconstruction. It was like rebuilding a great city destroyed by fire; +the brave heart begins before the smoke has cleared away. But that task +is a simple one. The city destroyed by fire may be rebuilded as before. +But with him the master builder was gone. Out of those poor, scarred, +ungeneraled forces which remained, could he hope to bring anything to +which the world would care to give place? + +He could see no way yet. All was chaos. And just then there came a knock +at the door. + +He paid no heed at first. What right had the world to come knocking at +his door? What could he do for any one now? + +The knock was repeated. But he would not go. If it were some student, +what could he do for him? He could only say: "I can do nothing for you. +Go to some one else." And should it be one of his fellow professors, come +to counsel with him, he could only say to him: "I have dropped out. Go on +without me. I wish you good luck." + +That message he had thought to give!--and now-- + +Again the knock, timidly this time, fearing a too great persistency, but +reluctant to go away. He would go in just a minute now. There would not +come another knock. Well, let him go. When all the powers of fate had +gathered round to mock and jeer was it too much to ask that there be no +other spectators? Was not a man entitled to one hour alone among the +ruins of his life? + +He who would gain entrance was starting, very slowly, to walk away. He +listened to him take a few steps, and then suddenly rose and hurried to +the door. He was not used to turning away his students unanswered. + +It was Beason who turned eagerly around at sound of the opening door. +Beason--of all people--that boy who never in the world would understand! + +He was accustomed to reading faces quickly and even through his dark +glasses his worried eyes read that Beason was in trouble, moved by +something from the path in which he was wont to go. + +"I'm sorry to interrupt you," stammered the boy, as he motioned him to a +chair. + +"Oh--that's all right; I wasn't doing anything, very important. +Just--finishing up something," he added, glad, when he heard his own +voice, that it was only Beason. + +"I'm in trouble," blurted out Beason, "and I--I wanted to see you." + +The man was sitting close to a table, and he rested his elbow upon it, +and shaded his eyes with his hand. + +"Trouble?" his voice was kind, though a little unsteady. "Why, what's the +trouble?" + +"I've got to stop school! I've got to give up my work for a whole year!" + +The hand still shaded his darkened eyes. His mouth was twitching a +little. + +"A year, Beason?" he said--any one else would have been struck with the +note in it--"You say--a year?" + +"Yes," said Beason, "a whole year. My father has had some hard luck and +can't keep me here. I'd try to get work in Chicago, and stay on, but I +not only have to make my own way, but I must help my mother and sister. +Next year another deal my father's in will probably straighten things +out, and then I suppose I can come back." + +The man very slowly nodded his head. "I see," he said, his voice coming +from 'way off somewhere, "I see." + +"It's tough!" exclaimed Beason bitterly--"pretty tough!" + +Dr. Hubers had turned his chair away from Beason, and with closed eyes +was facing the light from without. There was a long pause. Beason waited +patiently, supposing the man to be thinking what to say about so great a +difficulty. + +"As I understand it," he said, turning around at last, "it's like this. +You are to give up your work at the university for a year--just one short +little year--and do something else; something not so much in your line, +perhaps, but something which will be helping those you care for--making +it easier for some one else. It's to be your privilege, as I understand +it, to fill a man's place. That's about it, isn't it?" + +"But that's not the point! I thought,"--in an injured, almost tearful +voice--"that you would understand." + +"Oh, I do. I see the other point. You hate to stop work for,"--he cleared +his throat--"for a year." + +"A year," said Beason dismally, "is such a long time to lose." + +The man had nothing to say to that. His head sank a little. He seemed to +be thinking. + +Finally he came out of his reverie; seemed to come from a long way off. +"And where are you going, my boy?" he asked kindly. "What are you going +to do?" + +"I'm going clear out West," said Beason gloomily. "Father has something +for me with a company in the Northwest." + +"Out there!"--an eager voice rang out, a voice which rested on a +smothered sob. "Great heavens, man, you're going out there? Out there to +the mountains and the forests? Out there where you can see the sun come +up and go down, can see--can see--" but his voice trailed off to a +strange silence. + +"I never cared much for scenery," said Beason bluntly, "and I care a lot +for--all this I'm leaving." + +"We don't really leave a thing," said the man--his voice was low and +tired--"when we're coming back to it. The only real leave-takings are the +final ones." + +Beason shifted in his chair. Some of these things were not just what he +had expected. + +"Beason,"--something in his voice now made the boy move a little +nearer--"I'm sorry for your disappointment, but I wish I could make you +see how much you have to live for. Get in the habit of looking at the +sunsets, Beason. Take a good many long looks at the mountains and the +rivers. It's not unscientific. You know,"--with a little whimsical toss +of his head--"we only have so many looks to take in this world, and when +we're about through we'd hate to think they'd all been into microscopes +and culture ovens. And don't worry too much, Beason, about things running +into your plans and knocking them over. You know what that wise old Omar +had to say about it all." He paused, and then quoted, very slowly, each +word seeming to stand for many things: + + + And fear not lest Existence closing your + Account, and mine, shall know the like no more; + The Eternal Saki from that Bowl has pour'd + Millions of Bubbles like us, and will pour. + + +"And--will--pour,"--he repeated the three words. And then his head +drooped, his hands fell laxly at his sides. It seemed it was not of +Beason he had been thinking as he looked Fate in the face with that taunt +of the old Persian poet. + +But he looked at him after a moment, came back to him. He saw that the +boy was disappointed. The gloom with which he had come had not lifted +from his face. That would not do. He was not going to fail his student +like that. + +"Why, look here, Beason," he said in a new tone, all enthusiasm now, +"maybe you'll shoot a bear. I have a presentiment, Beason, that you will, +and when you're eighty-five and have your great grandchild on your knee, +you'll think a great deal more about that bear than you will about the +year you missed here at school. Now brace up! Hard knocks wake a fellow +up. You'll come back here and do better work for your year of roughing +it--take my word for it, you will." + +Beason had brightened. "And you think,"--he grew a little red--"that when +I come back I can have my old place here with you?" + +The man drew in his breath, drew it in rather hard; something had taken +the enthusiasm away. + +"I'll do my little part, Beason," he said, exceedingly quietly, "to see +that you are not overlooked when you come back." + +The boy rose to go. "I do feel better," he said clumsily, but with +heartiness. + +He looked around the room. "I hate to leave it. I've had some good times +here, and I'm--fond of it." The man was leaning against the wall. He did +not say anything at all. + +Then Beason held out his hand. "Good-bye," he said, "and--thank you." + +For a minute there was no reply, nothing save the very cold hand given in +response to Beason's. But that was only for the instant. And then the man +in him, those things which made him more than a great scientist, things +more than mind, not even to be comprehended under soul, those fundamental +things which made him a man, rose up and conquered. He straightened up, +smiled a little, and then heartily, quite sunnily, came the words: "Take +a brace, Beason--take a good brace. And good luck to you, boy--good +luck." + +The door had closed. At last he was alone again. Dizzy with the strain he +staggered to a chair. For a long time he sat there, many emotions +struggling in his face. He could not see it yet--not quite. It was all +very new, and uncertain. But 'way out there in the darkness it seemed +there was perhaps something waiting for him to grasp. He would never give +that other message, but it might be, if he worked hard enough, and never +faltered, he could learn to say to the world which had given him this, +say heartily, quite sunnily: "Good luck to you. Good luck." + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +DISTANT STRAINS OF TRIUMPH + +It worried Ernestine when she saw Dr. Parkman's motor car stopping before +the house early Tuesday morning. He had been there the afternoon before, +and then again late in the evening, bringing another doctor with him. He +said that they simply came to help keep Karl amused; but surely he would +not be coming again this morning if there were not something more serious +than she knew. Karl had come home from the university about noon the day +before, saying that his head was bad and he was going to consider himself +"all in" for the day. Something about him had frightened her, but he +insisted that it only showed what a headache could do to a fellow who was +not accustomed to it. He had remained in his darkened room all day, not +even turning his face from the wall when she came in to do things for +him. That worried her, and even the doctor's assurance that he was not +going to be ill had not sufficed. In fact, she thought Dr. Parkman +was acting strangely himself. + +"I was out in this part of town and thought I'd drop in," he told her, as +she opened the door for him. + +"You're not worried about Karl?" she demanded. + +He was hanging up his cap. "You see, I don't want him to get up and go +over to the university," he said, after a minute's pause, in which she +thought he had not heard her question. "That wouldn't be good for his +eyes." + +"Well, doctor, what is it about his eyes? Is it just--something that must +run its course?" + +"Oh, yes," he answered, and she was a little hurt by the short way he +said it. Was it not the most natural thing in the world she should want +to know? Really, doctors might be a little more satisfactory, she +thought, as she told him he would find Karl in his room. + +She herself went into the library. Down in the next block she saw the +postman, and thought she would wait for him. She felt all unnerved this +morning. Things were happening which she did not understand, and then +she felt so "left out of things." She wanted to do things for Karl; she +would love to hover over him while he was not well, but he seemed to +prefer being let alone; and as for Dr. Parkman, there was no sense in his +adopting so short and professional a manner with her. + +But as she stood there by the window, the bright morning sunlight fell +upon her ruby, and she smiled. She loved her ring so! It was so dear of +Karl to get it for her. The warm, deep lights in it seemed to symbolise +their love, and it would always be associated with that first night she +had worn it, that beautiful hour when they sat together before the fire. +That had been its baptism in love. + +The postman was at the door now, and she hurried to meet him. She was +much interested in the mail these days, for surely she would hear any +time now regarding her picture in Paris. + +It had come! The topmost letter had a foreign stamp, and she recognised +the writing of Laplace. + +Heart beating very fast, she started up to her studio. She wanted to be +up there, all by herself, when she read this letter. As she passed Karl's +door she heard Dr. Parkman telling about having punctured a tire on his +machine the night before. Of course then everything really was all right, +or he would not have talked about trivial things like that. + +Her fingers fumbled so that she could scarcely open the envelope. And +then she tried to laugh herself out of that, prepare for disappointment. +Why, what in the world did she expect? + +As she read the letter her face went very white, her fingers trembled +more and more. Then she had to go back and read it sentence by sentence. +It was too much to take in all at once. + +It was not so much that it had been awarded a medal; not so much that a +great London collector--Laplace said he was the most discriminating +collector he knew--wanted to buy it. The overwhelming thing was that the +critics of Paris treated it as something entitled to their very best +consideration. The medal and the sale might have come by chance, but +something about these clippings he had enclosed seemed to stand for +achievement. They said that "The Hidden Waterfall," by a young American +artist, was one of the most live and individual things of the exhibition. +They mentioned things in her work which were poor--but not one of them +passed her over lightly! + +She grew very quiet as she sat there thinking about it. The +consciousness of it surged through and through her, but she sat quite +motionless. It seemed too big a thing for mere rejoicing. For what it +meant Was that the years had not played her false. It meant the +justification--exaltation--of something her inmost self. + +And it meant that the future was hers to take! She leaned forward as if +looking into the coming years, eyes shining with aspiration, cheeks +flushed with triumph. She quivered with desire--the desire to express +what she knew was within her. + +It was while lost to her joy and her dreaming that she heard a step upon +the stairs. She started up--instantly broken from the magic of the +moment. Perhaps Karl needed her. And then before she reached the door she +knew that it was Karl himself. How very strange! + +"Oh, Karl!"--not able to contain it a minute--"I want to tell you--" and +then, startled as he stumbled a little, and going down a few steps to +meet him--"but isn't there too much light up here? Shouldn't you stay +down in the dark?" + +"I don't want to stay down in the dark!"--he said it with a low intensity +which startled her, and then she laughed. + +"I've always heard there was nothing so perverse as a sick man. I'll tell +you what's the matter with you. You're lonesome. You're tired of getting +along without me--now aren't you? But we'll go down to the library, and +down there I'll tell you--oh, _what_ I'll tell you! I thought Dr. Parkman +was going to stay with you a while,"--as he did not speak--"or I +shouldn't have come away." + +He had seated himself, and was rubbing his head, as though it pained him. +His eyes were hidden, but his face, in this bright light, made her want +to cry, it told so plainly of his suffering. He reached out his hand for +hers. "I didn't want him any longer, liebchen,"--he said it much like a +little child--"I want--you." + +"Of course you do,"--tenderly--"and I'm the one for you to have. But not +up here. The light is too bright up here." + +She pulled at his hand as if to induce him to rise. But he made no +movement to do so, and he did not seem to have heard what she said. +"Ernestine," he said, in a low voice--there was something not just +natural in Karl's voice, a tiredness, a something gone from it--"will you +do something for me?" + +She sat down on the arm of his chair, her arm about him with her warm +impulsiveness. "Why Karl, dear"--a light kiss upon his hair--"you know I +would do anything in the world for you." + +"I want you to show me your pictures,"--he said it abruptly, shortly. "I +want to look at them this morning;--all of them." + +"But--but Karl," she gasped, rising in her astonishment--"not _now_!" + +"Yes--now. You promised. You said you'd do anything in the world for me." + +"But not something that will hurt you!" + +"It won't hurt me,"--still abruptly, shortly. + +"But I know better than that! Why any one knows that eyes in bad +condition mustn't be used. And looking at pictures--up here in this +bright light--so needless--so crazy,"--she laughed, though she was +puzzled and worried. + +He was silent, and something in his bearing went to her heart. His head, +his shoulders, his whole being seemed bowed. It was so far from Karl's +real self. "Any other time, dear," she said, very gently. "You know I +would love to do it, but some time when you are better able to look at +them." + +"I'm just as able to look at them now as I will ever be," he said, +slowly. "Ernestine--please." + +"But Karl,"--her voice quivering--"I just can't bear to do a thing that +will do you harm." + +"It won't do me harm. I give you my word of honour it won't make any +serious difference." + +"But Dr. Parkman said--" + +"I give you my word of honour," he repeated, a little sharply. + +"All right, then," she relented, reluctantly, and darkened the room a +little. + +"Dear,"--sitting on a stool beside him--"you're perfectly sure this +trouble with your eyes isn't any more serious than you think?" + +"Yes," he answered, firmly enough, but something in his voice sounded +queer, "I'm perfectly sure of that." + +"Show me your pictures, Ernestine," laying his hand upon her hair; "I've +taken a particular notion that I want to see them." + +"But first"--carried back to it--"I want to tell you something." She +laughed, excitedly. "I was coming down to tell you as soon as the doctor +left. Oh Karl--my picture in Paris--I heard from it this morning, and its +success has been--tremendous!" She laughed happily over the word and did +not think why it was Karl's hand gripped her shoulder in that quick, +tight way. "Shall I read you all about it, dear? And then will you +promise to cheer right up?" + +Still that tight grip upon her shoulder! It hurt a little, but she did +not mind--it just showed how much Karl cared. The hand was still there +as she read the letter, and then the clippings which told of the +rare quality of her work, predicted the great things she was sure to +do,--sometimes it tightened a little, and sometimes it relaxed, and once, +with a quick movement he stooped down and turned her ring around, turning +the stone to the inside of her hand. + +When she had finished he was quite still for a long minute. He was +breathing hard;--Karl was excited about it too! And then he stooped over +and kissed her forehead, and it startled her to feel that his lips were +very cold. + +"Liebchen," he said, his voice trembling a bit--Karl did care so +much!--"I am glad." For a minute he was very still again, and then he +added, seeming to mean a different thing by it--"I am very glad." + +"It's gone to my head a little, Karl! Oh I'm perfectly willing to admit +it has. I don't think I should appreciate the Gloria Victis very much +myself this morning," she laughed, happily. + +She was too absorbed to notice the quick little drawing in of his breath, +or his silence. "After all, it would be a sorry thing if I didn't +succeed," she pursued, gayly, "for you stand so for success that we +couldn't be so close together--could we, dear--if I were a dismal +failure?" + +"You think not?" he asked--and she wondered if he had taken a little +cold; his voice sounded that way. + +"Oh I don't mean that too literally. But I like the idea of our going +through the same experiences--both succeeding. It seems to me I can +understand you better this morning than I ever did before. I read a +little poem last night, and at the time I liked it so much. It is about +success, or rather about not succeeding. But I'm afraid it wouldn't +appeal to me very much just now,"--again she laughed, happily, and it was +well for the happiness that she was not looking at him then. + +"What was it?" he asked, as he saw she was going to turn around to him. +"Say it." + +"Part of it was like this": + + + 'Not one of all the purple host + Who took the flag to-day + Can tell the definition + So clear, of victory, + + As he, defeated, dying, + On whose forbidden ear + The distant strains of triumph + Break agonized and clear.' + + +"Say that last verse again," he said, his voice thick and low;--Karl was +so different when he was sick! + + + "As he, defeated, dying, + On whose forbidden ear + The distant strains of triumph + Break agonized and clear." + + +"It is beautiful, isn't it?" she said, as he did not speak. + +"Beautiful? I don't know. I suppose it is. I was thinking that quite +likely it is true." + +"But I didn't suppose you would care about it, Karl. I supposed you would +feel about it as you did about the statue." + +"I wonder," he began, slowly, not seeming sure of what he wanted to +say--"how much the comprehension, the understanding of things, that the +loss would bring, would make up for the success taken away? I wonder just +what the defeated fellow could work out of that?" + +"But dearie, _is_ it true? Why can failure comprehend success any more +than success can comprehend failure?" + +"It's different," he said, shortly. + +"How do you know?" she asked banteringly. "What do you know about it? You +don't even know how to spell the word failure!" + +He started to say something, but stopped, and then he stooped over and +rested his head for a minute upon her hair. "Tell me about your picture, +Ernestine," he said, quietly, after that. "Tell me just what it is." + +"The Hidden Waterfall? Why you know it, Karl." + +"Yes, but I want to hear you talk about it. I want to hear you tell just +what it means." + +"Well, you remember it is a child standing in a beautiful part of the +woods. It is spring-time, as it seems best it should be when you are +painting a child in the woods. I tried to make the picture breathe +spring, and you know one of the writers said that the delicious thing +about it was the way you got the smell of the woods;--that pleased me. +Behind the child, visible in the picture, but invisible to the child, is +a waterfall. The most vital thing in the universe to me was to have that +waterfall make a sound. I think it does, or the picture wouldn't mean +anything at all. And then of course the heart of the picture is in the +child's face--the puzzled surprise, the glad wonder, and then deeper than +that the response to something which cannot be understood. It might +have been called 'Wondering,' or even 'Mystery,' but I liked the simpler +title better. And I like that idea of painting, not just nature, but +what nature means to man. I want to get at the response--the thing +awakened--the things given back. Don't you see how that translates the +spirit there is between nature and man--stands for the oneness?" + +He nodded, seeming to be thinking. "I see," he said at last. "I wonder if +you know all that means?" + +"Why, yes, I think I do. My next picture will get at it in a--um--a more +mature way." + +"Tell me about it." + +"I don't know that I can, very well. It's hard to put pictures into +words. I fear it will sound very conventional as I tell it, but of course +it is what one puts into it that makes for individuality. It is in the +woods, too. You know, Karl, how I love the woods. And I _know_ them! It +is not spring now, but middle summer; no suggestion of fall, but mature +summer. A girl--just about such a girl as I was before you came that day +and changed everything--had gone into the woods with a couple of books. +She had been sitting under a tree, reading. But in the picture she is +standing up very straight, leaning against the tree, the books overturned +and forgotten at her feet--drawn into the bigger book--see? It is not +that she has consciously yielded herself. It is not that she is +consciously doing anything. She is listening--oh how she listens and +longs! For what, none of us know--she least of all. Perhaps to the far +off call of life and love speaking through the tender spirit of the +woods. Oh how I love that girl!--and believe in her--and hope for her. In +her eyes are the dreams of centuries. And don't you see that it is the +same idea--the oneness--the openness of nature to the soul open to it?" + +"And you are going to make the woods very beautiful?" he asked, after a +little thought. "More than just the beauty of trees and grass and +colour?" + +"Yes, the beauty that calls to one. + +"Then," he said this a little timidly--"might it not be striking to +have your girl, not really seeing it with the eyes at all? Have her +eyes--closed, perhaps, but she feeling it, knowing it, in the higher +sense really seeing it, just the same?" + +She thought about that a minute. "N--o, Karl; I think not. It seems to me +she must be open to it in every way to make it stand for life, in the +sense I want it to." + +"Perhaps," he said, his voice drooping a little. And then, abruptly: +"Have you done any of that?" + +"Oh, just some little sketches." + +"Show me the little sketches," he begged. "I want to see them all." + +"Oh, but Karl, they wouldn't convey the idea at all. Wait until it is +farther along." + +"No, please show them this morning,"--softly, persuasively. + +She was puzzled, and reluctant, but she got them out, and with them other +things to show him. He asked many questions. In the sketches she was +going to develop he would know just how she was going to elaborate them. +He asked her to tell just how they would look when worked out. "I'm a +sick boy home from school," he said, "and I must be amused." And then he +looked at her finished pictures; she protested against the intentness +with which he looked at some of them, insisting they were not worth the +strain she could see it was on his eyes. "It's queer about finished +pictures," she laughed; "they're not half so great and satisfying as the +pictures you are going to do next." It went through her with a sharp pain +to see Karl hurting his eyes as she knew he was hurting them. She could +not understand his insistence; it was not like him to be so unreasonable. +And he looked so terribly--so worn and ill; if only he would go to bed +and let her take care of him! But he seemed intent on knowing all there +was to know about the pictures. A strange whim for him to cling to this +way! As he looked he wanted her to talk about them--tell just what this +and that meant, insisting upon getting the full significance of it all. + +He had never before appreciated her firm grasp. Her work in these +different stages of evolution gave him a clearer idea of how much she had +worked and studied, how seriously and intelligently she had set out for +the mastery of her craft. He had always known that the poetic impulses +were there, the desire to express, the ideas, the delight in colour, but +he saw now the other things; this was letting him into the workman's side +of her work. + +He spoke of that, and she laughed. "Yes, this is what they don't see. +This is what they never know. Poetic impulses don't paint pictures, Karl. +That's the incentive; the thing that keeps one at it, but you can't do it +without these tricks of the trade which mean just downright work. I've +never worked on a picture yet in which I wasn't almost fatally +handicapped by this thing of not knowing enough. The bigger your idea, +the more skill, cunning, fairly, you must have to force it into life." + +She told him at last that they were through. They had even looked at rude +little sketches she had made of places they had cared for in Europe. +Indeed he looked very long at some of those little sketches of places +they had loved. + +"One thing more," he said; "you told me once you had some water colour +daubs you did when a little girl. Let me look at them. I just want to +see," he laughed, "how they compare." + +And so she got them out, and they looked them over, laughing at them. +"You've gone a long way," he said, pushing them aside, as if suddenly +tired. + +He leaned back in his chair, his hand above his eyes, as she began +gathering up the things. "And so here I am," she said, waving her hand to +include the things about her, "surrounded by the things I've done. Not a +vast array, and some of it not amounting to much, but it's I, dear. It +reflects me all through these years." + +"I know," he said--"that's just it,"--and at the way he said it she +looked up quickly. "You're tired, Karl. It's been too much. We'll go down +stairs now, and rest." + +He watched her as she gathered the things together. It seemed he had +never really known this Ernestine before. Here was indeed the atmosphere +of work, the joy of working, all the earnestness and enthusiasm of the +real worker. And then, with masterful effort, he roused himself. He had +not yet touched what he had come to know. + +"I have been thinking," he began, "a little about the psychology of all +this. You'll think I'm developing a wonderful interest in art, but you +see I'm laid up and can't do my own work, so I'm entitled to some +thoughts about art. Now these things you paint grow out of a mental +image--don't they, dear? The things you paint the mind sees first, so +that the mental image is the true one, and then you--approximate. I +should think then that it might help you to _tell_ about pictures. For +instance, if in painting a picture you had to tell about it to some one +who did not look at it, wouldn't that make your own mental image more +clear, and so help make it more real to you?' + +"Why, Karl, I never thought of it, but,"--meditatively--"yes, I believe +it would." + +He turned away that she might not see the gladness in his face. "And it +would be interesting--wouldn't it--to see just how good a conception you +could give of the picture through words?" + +"Yes," she said, interested now--"it would be a way of feeling one's own +grip on it." + +"Of course," he continued, "that couldn't be done except in a case, like +yours and mine, where people were close together." + +"Yes," she assented, "and that in itself would show that they were close +together." + +At that he laid a quick hand upon her hair, caressing it. + +"Oh, after all, dear,"--gathering up the last of the sketches--"the +greatest thing in the world is to do one's work--isn't it?" + +"Yes," he said, and his voice was low and tired, "unless the greatest +thing in the world is to submit to the inevitable." + +She looked up quickly. "That doesn't sound like you." + +"Doesn't it? Oh, well,"--with a little laugh--"you know a scientist is +supposed to be capable of a good deal of change in the point of view." + +He had risen, and was at the door. "It's been good of you to do all this, +Ernestine." + +"Why it has been a delight to me, dear; if only it hasn't hurt you. But +it is time now to go down where it is dark." + +"Yes," he assented wearily; "it is time now to go down where it is dark." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +TELLING ERNESTINE + +He had thought to tell her on Tuesday, but after their talk, when he took +his last look at her pictures--it had tortured both eyes and heart to do +that, but he knew in the days ahead that he would be unsatisfied with +having passed it by--he could not bring himself then to do it. He could +not keep it from her long now, but she was so happy that day in her +triumph about the picture. He was going to darken all of her days to +come; he would leave her this one more unclouded. But it was hard for him +to go through with it. He longed for her so! He must have her help. He +had asked for the pictures before telling her just because he knew it +would be unbearable for them both, if she did know. It would need to be +done in that casual way or not at all. It was strange how he felt he must +see them. It was his longing to keep close to her. He could not bear the +thought that his blindness might make him to her as something apart from +life, even though the dearest thing of all. He must enter into every +channel of her life. + +It was Wednesday now, and he had told her. All the night before he had +lain awake trying to think of words which would hurt her the least. He +would put it very tenderly to his poor Ernestine. He would even pretend +he saw some way ahead, something to do. Ernestine could not bear it +unless he did that. It was the one thing which remained for him now--to +make it easy for her. + +This was firmly fixed in his mind when he told her that morning he wanted +to talk to her about something and asked her to come into the library. He +was sure he had himself well in hand; the words were upon his lips. +And then when he said: "I want to tell you something, dear--something +that will hurt you very much. I never wanted to hurt you; I can not help +it now,"--when he had said that, and she, with quick response to the +sorrow in his voice, had knelt beside him, her arms about his neck, +something,--the feel of her arms, the knowing there was some one now to +help him--swept away the words and his broken-hearted cry had been: "Oh, +sweetheart--help me! I'm going blind!" + +Those first moments took from her something of youth and gladness she +would never regain. First frozen with horror, then clinging to him +wildly, sobbing that it could not be so--that Dr. Parkman, some one, +would do something about it; protesting in a fierce outburst of the love +which rose within her that it did not matter, that she would make it all +up to him--their love make it right--in one moment stricken dumb as +comprehension of it grew upon her, in another wildly defying fate, but +always clinging to him, holding him so close, trying, though frightened +and broken, to stand between him and the awful thing as the mother would +stand between the child and its destroyer, Ernestine left with that +hour things never to be claimed again. And when at last she began to +sob--sobbing as he had never heard any one sob before--all his heart was +roused for her, and he patted her head, kissed her hair, whispering: +"Little one, little one, don't. We'll bear it together--some way." + +During that hour she never loosened her arms about his neck. Deep in his +despairing heart there glowed one warm spark. Ernestine would cling to +him as she had never done before. God had not gone out of the world then. +He had let fate strike a fearful blow, but He had left to the wounded +heart such love as this. + +"Dear," she said at last, her cheek against his, her dear, quivering +voice trying so hard to be brave, "if you feel like telling me +everything, I would like to know. I will be quiet. I will be good. But I +want to bear every bit of it with you. Every bit of it, darling--now, and +always. That is all I ask--that you let me bear it with you." + +The love, the understanding, the longing to help, which were in her voice +opened that innermost chamber of his heart to her. If she had not won +this victory now, she could never have done so in the days ahead. This +hour made possible the other hours of pouring out his heart to her, +taking her into it all. He told her the story of how it happened, the +long, hard story which only covered days, but seemed to extend through +years. He told of those hours of the day and night on the rack of +uncertainty, of trying with the force of mind and soul to banish that +thing which had not claimed him then, but stood there beside him, not +retreating,--waiting. He told her of that lecture hour Monday morning +when he literally divided himself into two parts, one part of him giving +the lecture, giving it just as well as he had ever done, the other part +battling with the phantom which he would vanquish or surrender to within +an hour. And her only cry was: "You should have told me! You should have +told me from the first!" And once he answered: "No, dear--no; before I +knew I did not want to frighten you, and after--oh, Ernestine, believe +me, sweetheart, I would have shielded you forever, no matter at what cost +to myself--if only I could have done it!" + +At last he had finished the story. He had told it all; of sitting there +afraid to look, of looking and seeing and comprehending. Oh how he had +comprehended! It was as if his mind too, his mind trained to grasp +things, had turned against him, was stabbing him with its relentless +clearness of vision. He told her of the merciless comprehension with +which he saw the giving up of his work, the changing of his life, the +giving up--the eternal giving up. He told her of how it had seemed to +mean the making over of his soul. For his soul had always cried for +conquest, for victory, for doing things. How would he turn it now to +submission, to surrender, to relinquishment? Everything had been tumbling +about him, he said, when that knock came at the door as the call from +life, the intrusion of those everyday things which would not let him +alone, even in an hour like that. And then of the boy with his paltry +trouble which seemed great--the hurts--the final rising up of the +instinct to help, despite it all. Then of sitting there alone and seeing +a faint light in the distance, wondering if, in all new and different +ways, he could not keep his place in the world. + +"Oh help me to do that, sweetheart! Help me to keep right! Don't let me +lose out with those other things of life!" + +Her arms about his neck! He would never forget how she clung to him. +There was a long silence when their souls reached one another as they +had never done before. The quivering of her body, her breath upon his +cheek--they told him all. But after that, the words did come to her; +broken words struggling to tell of what her love would do to make it +right; how she would be with him, so close, so unfailing, that the +darkness would never find him alone. + +His arms about her tightened. Thank God--oh yes, a million times thank +God for Ernestine! + +Then he felt her start; there came a sound as though she would say +something, but choked it back. + +"Yes, dear?" he said gently. + +"Oh, Karl, I shouldn't ask it. It will hurt you. I shouldn't ask." + +"I would rather you did, dear. Ask anything. We are holding nothing from +one another now." + +"I just happened to think--I wanted to know--oh Karl, it wasn't in your +eye on my birthday, was it? It hadn't happened--wasn't happening--when we +sat there by the fire, happier than we had ever been before?" + +His impulse was to hold that back. Why should he put that upon her, too, +to hurt her as it had him, shake her faith as it had tried to shake his? + +But his moment of silence could not be redeemed. "Karl,"--her voice was +strangely quiet--"it wasn't, was it?" + +He groaned, and she had her answer. + +She sprang away from him, standing straight. "Then," she cried--he would +never have dreamed Ernestine's voice could have sounded like that--"I +hate the world! I despise it! I will not have anything to do with it! It +fooled us--cheated us--_made fun of us_! I'll despise it--fight it"--the +words became incoherent, the sobs grew very wild, she sank to the floor, +crouching there, her hands clenched, sobbing: "I hate it! Oh how I want +to pay it back!" + +He was long in quieting her, but at last she would listen to him. + +"Ernestine," he said, his voice almost stern, "if you start out like that +you cannot help me. It is to you I look. If you love me, Ernestine, help +me not to hate the world. If we hate the world, we have given up. +Sweetheart,"--the voice changed on that word--"even yet--even yet in a +different way, I want to win. I cannot do it alone. I cannot do it at +all, if you hate the world. You are to be my eyes, Ernestine. You are to +see the beautiful things for me. You are to make me love them more than I +ever did before. You are to be the light--don't you see, sweetheart? And +you cannot do it, don't you see you cannot, if your own heart is not +right with the world?" + +She did not answer, but she came back to his arms. Her quick breath told +him how hard she was trying. + + "See your statue up there, liebchen? Remember how you always liked it? +What you said about it that night? Oh, Ernestine"--crushing her to +him--"help me to grip tight to my broken sword!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +INTO THE DARK + +She was with him as he went then into the dark. She did not fail him in +anything: the hand in his, the little strokes of genius in holding his +mind, and when they went into the deeps where words were not fitted for +utterance she did not fail him in those other things. He knew that as she +clung to him with loving arms, so her spirit reached out to him in the +demand that it be permitted to sustain. + +Through the day and through the night she was with him now. There was no +time when he could not reach out to find her, no bad dream from which he +could not awaken to put his hand upon her and know that she was there. +And when, time after time, bitterness rose up to submerge his soul, he +could always finally shake it off by thanking God for Ernestine. + +For a time the pain in his eyes served as a kindly antidote. The light +was going out with so intense a suffering as to mitigate the suffering in +the consciousness of its going. It was the pain in his temples helped him +hold off the pain of giving up his work. It was not a thing conquered; he +knew that the deeper pain was waiting for him out there in the darkness +when the pain of transition should have ceased, leaving only a blank, a +darkness, no other thing to engage for him any part of his mind. There +was blessedness in the temporary alleviation brought by the pain that was +physical. There were many things for him to meet out there. They were +willing to wait. Now his fighting powers were so well engaged as to take +something from the reality of a future battlefield. + +In many ways it was not as he would have imagined it had he known of such +a thing. He would have thought of it as one long mood of despair, +inflamed at times by the passion of rebellion. There were, in truth, many +moods. In hours when he was quiet they spoke of the things they had seen +and loved, of Italy and the Alps they spoke often, struggling for the +words to paint a picture. Sometimes she read a little to him--there would +be much of that now. Through it all, they seized upon anything which +would sustain each other. Once when he saw her faltering he told her +that he thought after awhile he would write a book. He did not call it a +text-book; did not speak of it as the kind of work to which a man +sometimes turns when his creative work is done. He had always thought +that when he was sixty or seventy he might write a few books. He would +write them now at forty. + +And when there came times of its being utterly unbearable, they were +either silent or trivial. + +Bitter questionings filled Ernestine's heart in those days. How was she +going to watch him suffer and not hate a universe permitting his +sufferings? How care for a world of beauty he could not see? How watch +his heart break for the work taken from him and keep her belief in an +order of things under which that was enacted? How love a world that had +turned upon him like that? That was what he asked her to do. It seemed to +her, now, impossible. + +With him, as the bearing of the physical pain grew mechanical and the +other things grew nearer, the worst of it was wondering what he should do +with the days that were ahead. His spirit would not go with his sight. +His desire to do was not to be crushed with his ability for doing. What +then of the empty days to come? How smother the passion for his work? And +if he did smother it, what remained? While he lived, how deafen himself +to the call of life? Through what channel could he hope to work out the +things that were in him? And how remain himself if constantly denying to +himself the things which were his? It was that tormented him more than +the relinquishing of the specific thing he had believed would crown the +work of his life. His fight now would be a fight for clinging to that in +him which was fundamental. But with what weapon should he fight? + +Many times he failed to bear it in conformity with his ideal of bearing +it. There were hours of not bearing it at all; hours of cursing his fate +and damning the world. Then it was her touch upon his hand, her tear upon +his cheek, her broken word which could bring him again into the sphere of +what he desired to be. His desire to help her in bearing it, his +thankfulness in having her,--those the factors in his control. + +There were two weeks of that: weeks in which two frightened, baffled +souls fought for strength to accept and power to readjust. Their +failures, the doubts, the rage, they sought to keep from each other; +their hard won victories, their fought for courage they gave to the +uttermost. A failure of one was a failure for one; but a victory of one +was a victory for two. It was through that method courage succeeded in +some measure in holding its own against bitter abandonment to despair. + +His last looks were at her face. It was that he would take with him into +the darkness. As a man setting sail for a far country seeks to the last +the face upon the shore, so his last seeing gaze rested yearningly upon +the dear face that was to pass forever from his vision. And when the end +had come, when hungering eyes turned to the face they could not see, and +he knew with the certainty of encountered reality that he would never +again see the love lights in her eyes, that others would respond to the +smile that was gone from him forever, others read in her face the things +from which he was shut out, when he knew he would never again watch the +laughter creep into her eyes and the firelight play upon her hair, it +came upon him as immeasurably beyond all power to endure, and in that +hour he broke down and in the refuge of her arms gave way to the utter +anguish of his heart. And she, all of her soul roused in the passion to +comfort him, whispered hotly, the fierce tenderness of the defending +mother in her voice: + +"You shall not suffer! You shall not! I will make it up to you! I will +make it right!" + + + + +PART TWO + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +MARRIAGE AND PAPER BAGS + +It was evident that peace did not sit enthroned in Georgia's soul. Her +movements were not calm and self-contained as one by one she removed the +paper bags from her typewriter. "So _silly!_"--she sputtered to herself. +What were the men in this office, anyway? College freshmen? Hanging paper +bags all over her things every time she stepped out of the office--and +just because one of her friends happened to be in the paper bag business! +She'd like to know--as she pounded out her opening sentence with +vindictiveness--if it wasn't just as good a business as newspaper +reporting? + +It was not a good day for teasing Georgia. She did not like the story she +had been working on that morning. "Go out to the university," the city +editor had said, "and get a good first-day-of-school story. Make the +feature of it the reorganisation of Dr. Hubers' department, and use some +human interest stuff about his old laboratory--the more of that the +better." + +She hated it! Were they never going to let Karl alone? Was it decent to +put his own cousin on the story? Georgia's chin quivered as she wrote +that part about Karl's laboratory. "If my own mother were killed in the +street," she told herself, trying to blink back the tears, "I suppose +they'd make _me_ handle it because I know more about her than any one +else in the office!" + +Resentment grew with the turning of each sentence. They knew that Karl +was her cousin, and almost as close to her as her own brother. She was +sure they had seen the tear stains on some of that maudlin copy she had +handed in about him. When she turned in her story she was unable to +contain herself longer. + +"Mr. Lewis," she said, voice quivering, "here is another one of those +outrageous stories about my cousin, Dr. Hubers. When you ask me to write +the next one, you may consider it an invitation for my resignation." And +then, cheeks very red, she went back to her desk and began getting up +some stuff for her column "Just Dogs," which they had been running on the +editorial page. + +When the city editor was passing her desk about half an hour later he +stopped and asked, very respectfully and meekly--Georgia was far too +good to lose: "Miss McCormick, will you see Dr. Parkman some time before +to-morrow, and ask him about this hospital story? You know, Miss +McCormick, you're the only reporter in town he'll see." + +"Very well," said Georgia, with dignity. + +All summer long the papers had been printing stories about Karl. It made +her loathe newspaper work every time she thought about it. To think of +their hacking at him like that--and he so quiet and dignified and brave! +A picture printed the Sunday before, of Karl fumbling his way around, had +made her more furious than she had ever been in all her life. + +She turned just in time to see a grinning reporter writing on the +bulletin board: "Miss G. McCormick--Human interest story about the inner +life of a paper bag." + +Sometimes it might have brought a smile, usually it would have fired her +to the desired rage, but to-day it contributed to her tearfulness. "Oh +they needn't worry," she murmured, bending her head over a drawer, and +tossing things about furiously, "there's no getting married for me! This +office has settled that!" + +The city editor seemed to take special delight in sending her out on +every story which would "give married life a black eye." When the father +left the little children destitute, when the mother ran away with the +other man, or the jealous wife shot the other woman, Georgia was always +right on the spot because they said she was so clever at that sort of +thing. "Oh it makes one just _crazy_ to get married," she had said, +witheringly, to Joe one night. + +Why did he want to marry her, anyway? When she _told_ him she didn't want +to--wasn't that enough? Was it respectful to treat her refusal as though +it were a subtle kind of joke? Various nice boys had wanted at various +times to marry her, and she had always explained to them that it was +impossible, and sent them, more or less cheerfully, on their various +ways. But this man who made paper bags, this jolly, good-natured, +seemingly easy-going fellow, who held that the most important thing in +the world was for her, Georgia, to have a good time, only seemed much +amused at the idea of her not having time to marry him, and when she told +him, with just as much conviction as she had ever told any of the others, +that he had better begin looking around for some one else, he would +reply, "All right--sure," and would straightway ask where she wished to +go for dinner that night or whether she preferred an automobile ride to a +spin in his new motor boat. Now what was one to do with a man like that? +A man who laughed at refusals and mellowed with each passing snub! + +"Telephone, Miss McCormick,"--the boy sang out from the booth. The +opening "Hello" was very short, but the voice changed oddly on the "Oh, +Ernestine." Her whole face softened. It was another Georgia now. "Why +certainly--I'll get them for you; you know I love to do things for you +down town, but my dear--what in the world do you want with flower seeds +this time of year?"--"Oh--I see; planted in the fall--but the flowers +that bloom in the spring--tra la." + +They chatted for a little while and after Georgia had hung up the +receiver she sat there looking straight into the phone--her face as +dreamy as Georgia's freckled face well could be. "By Jinks,"--she was +saying to herself--"it _can_ be like that!" It was a most opportune time +for the paper bag man to telephone. He wondered why her voice was so +soft, and why there was not the usual plea about being too busy when he +asked her to meet him at the little Japanese place for a cup of tea. "And +it's positively heroic of Joe to drink that tea," she smiled to herself, +as she wrestled with her shirt waist sleeves and her jacket. + +But out on the street she grew stern with herself. "Now don't go and do +any fool thing," she admonished. "Don't jump at conclusions. You aren't +Ernestine, and he isn't Karl. He's Joseph Tank--of all abominable names! +And he makes paper bags--of all ridiculous things! Tank's Paper Bags!" +she guessed _not!_ Suppose in some rash moment she did marry him. People +would say: "What business is your husband in?" And she would choke down +her rage and reply--"Why--why he makes paper bags!" + +He was sitting there waiting for her, smiling. He was awfully good about +waiting for her, and about smiling. It was nice to sit down in this cool, +restful place and be looked after. He had a book which she had spoken +about the week before, and he had a little pin, a dear little thing with +a dog's head on it which he had seen in a window and thought should +belong to her. And he was on track of the finest collie in the United +States. After all, he thought it would be better for her to have a collie +than a bulldog. She was losing ground! She was being very nice to him, +and she had firmly intended telling him once for all that she could never +marry a man whose name was Tank, and who contributed to the atrocities of +fate by making paper bags. And then she had a beautiful thought. Perhaps +he would be willing to go away somewhere and live it down. He might go to +Boston and go into the book publishing business. Surely publishing books +in Boston would go a long way toward removing the stigma of having made +paper bags in Chicago. And meanwhile, sighing contentedly, and fastening +on her new pin, as long as she was here she might as well forget about +things and enjoy herself. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +FACTORY-MADE OPTIMISM + +The usual congested conditions existed in Dr. Parkman's waiting room when +Georgia arrived a little after five. An attendant who knew her, and who +had great respect for any girl Dr. Parkman would see on non-professional +business, took her into the inner of inners, where, comfortably +installed, sat Professor Hastings. + +"Glad to have you join me," he said; "I feel like an imposter, getting in +ahead of these people." + +"Oh, I'm used to side doors," laughed Georgia. + +They chatted about how it had begun to rain, how easy it was for it to +rain in Chicago, and in a few minutes the doctor came in. + +He nodded to them, almost staggered to a chair, sank into it, and leaning +back, said nothing at all. + +"Why, doctor," gasped Georgia, after a minute, "can't you _take_ +something? Why you're simply all in!" + +He roused up then. "I am--a--little fagged. Fearful day!" + +"Well, for heaven's sake get up and take off that wet coat! +Here,"--rising to help him--"I've always heard that doctors had +absolutely no sense. Sitting around in a wet coat!" + +"I wonder," he said, after another minute of resting, "why any man ever +takes it into his head he wants to be a doctor?" + +"And all day long," she laughed, "I've been wondering why any girl ever +takes it into her head she wants to be a newspaper reporter." + +"Speaking of the pleasant features of my business," she went on, "I may +as well spring this first as last. Here am I, a more or less sensible +young woman, come to ask you, a man whose time is worth--well, let's say +a thousand dollars a second--what you intend doing about those hospital +interns getting drunk last night!" + +"My dear Miss Georgia,"--brushing out his hand in a characteristic way +which seemed to be sweeping things aside--"go back to your paper and say +that for all I care every intern in Chicago may get drunk every night in +the week." + +"_Bully_ story!" + +"And furthermore, every paper in Chicago may go to the devil, and every +hospital may go trailing along for company. Oh Lord--I'm tired." + +He looked it. It seemed to Georgia she had never understood what +tiredness meant before. + +"Such a hard day?" Professor Hastings asked. + +"Oh--just one of the days when everything goes wrong. Rotten +business--anyway. Eternally patching things up. I'd like to be a--well, a +bridge builder for awhile, and see how it felt to get good stuff to start +with." + +"And now, to round out your day pleasantly," laughed Professor Hastings, +"I've come to tell you about a boy out there at the university who is in +very bad need of patching up." + +"What about him?" and it was interesting to see that some of the +tiredness seemed to fall from him as he straightened up to listen. + +Georgia rose to go, but he told her to stay, he might feel more in the +mood for drunken interns by and by. + +He arranged with Professor Hastings about the student; and it was when +the older man was about to leave that he asked, a little hesitatingly, +about Dr. Hubers. "I have been away all summer," he told the doctor, "and +have not seen him yet." + +Georgia was watching Dr. Parkman. His face just then told many things. + +"You will find him--quite natural," he answered, in a constrained voice. + +"One hardly sees how that can be possible," said the professor sadly. + +"Oh, his pleasantness and naturalness will not deceive you much. Your +eyes can take in a few things, and then his voice--gives him away a +little. But he won't have anything to say about--the change." + +He shook his head. "I'm afraid that's so much the worse." + +"Perhaps, but--" + +"Karl never was one to get much satisfaction out of telling his +troubles," Georgia finished for him. + +"Hastings," said the doctor, jerkily, and he seemed almost like one +speaking against his will--"what do you make out of it? Don't you think +it--pretty wasteful?" + +"Yes--wasteful!" he went on, in response to the inquiring look. "I mean +just that. There are a lot of people," he spoke passionately now, "who +seem to think there is some sort of great design in the world. What in +heaven's name would they say about this? Do you see anything high and +fine and harmonious about it?" + +That last with a sneer, and he stopped with an ugly laugh. "They make me +tired--those people who have so much to say about the world being so +right and lovely. They might travel with me on my rounds for a day or +two. One day would finish a good deal of this factory-made optimism." + +"Does Dr. Hubers feel--as you do?" Hastings asked, not quite concealing +the anxiety in the question. + +"How in God's name could he feel any other way?--though it's hard making +him out,"--turning to Georgia, who nodded understandingly. "Just when +he's ready to let himself go he'll pull himself together and say it's so +nice to have plenty of time for reading, that Ernestine has been reading +a lot of great things to him this summer, and he believes now he is +really going to begin to get an education. But does _that_ make you feel +any better about it? God!--I was out there the other day, and when I saw +the grey hairs in his head, the lines this summer has put in his face, +when I saw he was digging his finger nails down into his hands to keep +himself together while he talked to me about turning his cancer work over +to some other man--I tell you it went just a little beyond my power to +endure, and I turned in then and there and expressed my opinion of a God +who would permit such things to happen! And then what did he do? Got a +little white around the lips for a minute, looked for just a second as +though he were going to turn in with me, and then he smiled a little and +said in a quiet, rather humorous way that made me feel about ten years +old: 'Oh, leave God out of it, Parkman. I don't think he had much of a +hand in this piece of work. If you must damn something, damn my own +carelessness.'" + +"He said that? He can see it like that?"--there was no mistaking the +approval in Professor Hastings' eager voice. + +"Huh!"--the doctor was feeling too deeply to be conscious of the rudeness +in the scoff. "So you figure it out like that--do you? And you get +some satisfaction out of that way of looking at it? The scheme of things +is very fine, but he must pay the penalty of his own oversight, +weakness--carelessness--whatever you choose to call it. Well, I don't +think I care much about a system that fixes its penalties in that +particular way. When I see men every day who violate every natural law +and don't pay any heavier penalty than an inconvenience, when I see +useless pieces of flesh and bone slapping nature in the face and not +getting more than a mild little slap in return, and then when I see the +biggest, most useful man I have ever known paying as a penalty his life's +work--oh Lord--that's rot! I have some hymn singing ancestors myself, and +they left me a tendency to want to believe in something or other, so I +had fine notions about the economy of nature--poetry of science. But this +makes rather a joke of that, too--don't you think?" He paused, and +Georgia could see the hot beating in his temples and his throat. And then +he added, with a quiet more unanswerable than the passion had been: "So +the beautiful thing about having no gods at all is that you're so fixed +you have no gods to lose." + +The telephone rang then, and there was a sharp fire of questions ending +with, "Yes--I'll see her before nine to-night." He hung up the receiver +and sat there a minute in deep thought, seeming to concentrate his whole +being upon this patient now commanding him. And then he turned to +Hastings with something about the boy out at the university, telling him +at the last not to worry about the financial end of it, that he liked to +do things for students who amounted to something. + +Professor Hastings was smiling a little as he walked down the corridor. +He wondered why Dr. Parkman cared anything about slaving for so senseless +and unsatisfying a world. + +He loved the doctor for his inconsistencies. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +A BLIND MAN'S TWILIGHT + +"Ready?" + +"All ready." + +"Then, one--two--three--we're off!" A laugh and a scamper and one grand +rush down to the back fence. "You go too fast," she laughed, gasping for +breath. + +"And you're not steady. You jerk." + +"But this was a fine straight row. I can steer it just right when you +don't push too hard. Now--back." + +They always had a great deal of fun cutting the grass. Ernestine used to +wish the grass had to be cut every day. + +But Karl did not seem to be enjoying it as much as usual to-day. "I'm +going to desert you," he said, after a little while. + +"Lazy man!" + +"Yes--lazy good for nothing man--leaves all the work for his wife." + +She looked at him sharply. His voice sounded very tired. "I'll be in in +just a few minutes, dear," she said. + +She did not go with him. She knew Karl liked to find his own way just as +much as he could. She understood far too well to do any unnecessary +"helping." + +But she stood there and looked after him--watched him with deep pain in +her eyes. He stooped a little, and of course he walked slowly, and +uncertainly. All that happy spring and assurance had gone from his walk. + +She walked down to the rear of the yard, stood there leaning against the +back fence. She had dropped more than one tear over that back fence. + +She too had lost something during the summer. Struggle had sapped up some +of the wine of youth. Her face was thinner, but that was not the vital +difference. The real change lay in the determination with which she had +learned to set her jaw, the defiance with which she held her head, and +the wistfulness, the pleading, with which her eyes seemed to be looking +out into the future. The combination of things about her was a strange +one. + +She looked to the west; the sun was low, the clouds very beautiful. For +the minute she seemed to relax:--beauty always rested her. And then, with +a sharp closing of her eyes, a bitter little shake of her head, she +turned away. She could not look at beautiful things now without the +consciousness that Karl could not see them. + +They always sat together in the library that hour before dinner--"our +hour" they had come to call it. She wondered, with a hot rush of tears, +if they did not care for it because it marked the close of another day. +She turned to the house, kicking the newly cut grass with her foot, +walking slowly. She was waiting for something--fighting for it. Karl +needed her to-night, needed courage and cheer. + +She came so quietly, or else he was so deep in thought, that he did not +hear her. For a minute she stood there in the library door. + +He was sitting in his Morris chair, his hands upon the arms of it, his +head leaning back. His eyes were closed, one could not tell in that +moment that he was blind, but it was more than the dimness, the blankness +in his eyes, more than scarred eyeballs, made for the change in Karl's +face. He and life did not dwell together as they had once; a freedom and +a gladness and a sureness had gone. The loss of those things meant +the loss of something fundamentally Karl. And the sadness--and the +longing--and the marks of struggle which the light of courage could not +hide! + +She choked a little, and he heard her, and held out his hand, with a +smile. It was the smile which came closest to bridging the change. He was +very close to being Karl when he smiled at her like that. + +She sat down on the low seat beside him, as was their fashion. "Lazy +man,"--brushing his hand tenderly with her lips--"wouldn't help his wife +cut the grass!" + +She wondered, as they sat there in silence, how many lovers had loved +that hour. It seemed mellowed with the dreams it had held from the first +of time. Ever since the world was very young, children of love had crept +into the twilight hour and claimed it as their own. Perhaps the lovers of +to-day love it because unto it has been committed the soul of all love's +yesterdays. + +She and Karl had loved it from the very first: in those days when they +were upon the sea, those supreme days of uncomprehended happiness. They +sat in the twilight then and watched day withdraw and night spread itself +over the waters. They loved the mystery of it, for it was one with the +mystery of their love; they loved it for reasons to be told only in great +silences, knowing unreasoningly, that they were most close together then. + +And after that they came to love the twilight for the things it +bequeathed them. "Don't you remember," he would say, "we left it just as +the sun was setting. Aren't you glad we can remember it so?" It was as if +their love could take unto itself most readily that which came to it in +the mystic hour of closing day. + +And when they returned, during that first year of joy in their work, they +loved the hour of transition as an hour of rest. Their day's work was +done; in the evening they would study or read or in some way occupy +themselves, but because they had worked all through the day they could +rest for a short time in the twilight. And they would tell of what they +had done; of what they hoped to do; if there had been discouragements +they would tell of them, and with the telling they would draw away. In +the light of closing day the future's picture was unblurred. They loved +their hour then as true workers love it; it was good to sink with the day +to the half lights of rest and peace. + +Now it was all different, but they clung to their love for it still. +Through the heart of the day, during those hours which from his early +boyhood had been to him working hours, this removal from life brought to +the man a poignancy of realisation which beat with undiminishing force +against the wall of his endurance. It was when he finished his breakfast +and the day's work would naturally begin that it came home to him the +hardest. They would go into the library, and Ernestine would read to +him--how she delved into the whole storehouse of literature for things to +hold him best--and how great her joy when she found something to make the +day pass a little less hard than was the day's wont! He would listen to +her, loving her voice, and trying to bring his mind to what she read, but +all the while his thoughts reaching out to what he would be doing if his +life as worker were not blotted out. The call of his work tormented him +all through the day, and the twilight was the time most bearable because +it was an hour which had never been filled with the things of his work. +In that short hour he sometimes, in slight measure found, if not peace, +cessation from struggle. "This is what I would be doing now," he told +himself, and with that, when the day had not drawn too heavily upon him, +he could rest a little, perhaps, in some rare moments, almost forget. + +But to-night the spell of the hour was passing him by. Ernestine saw that +in the restless way his hand moved away from hers, the nervous little +cough, the fretted shaking of the head. She understood why it was; the +fall quarter at the university opened that day. It would have marked the +beginning of his new year's work. Very quietly she wiped the tears from +her cheek. She tried never to let Karl know that they were there. + +His head had fallen to his hand, and she moved closer to him and laid her +face against the sleeve of his coat. She did not say anything, she did +not touch him, or wind her arm, as she loved to do, about his neck. She +had come to understand so well, and perhaps the greatest triumph of her +love was in knowing when to say nothing at all. + +At last he raised his head. His voice, like his face, was tensely drawn. +"Ernestine, don't bother to stay. Probably you want to be seeing about +dinner, and I--I don't feel like talking." + +That too she understood. She only laid her hand for the moment upon his +hair. Then: "Call me, dear, if you want me," and she slipped away, and in +a little nook under the stairs sat looking out into their strange future +with wondering, beseeching eyes--seeking passionately better resources, a +more sustaining strength. + +Left alone the man sat very still, his hands holding tight the arm of the +chair. The tide of despair was coming in, was washing over the sands of +resignation, beating against the rocks of courage. Many times before it +had come in, but there was something overwhelming in its volume to-night. +It beat hard against the rocks. Was it within its power to loosen and +carry them away? Carry them out with itself to be gone for all time? + +He rose and felt his way to the window. He pressed his hot forehead +against the pane. Outside was the dying light of day, but the glare of +noonday, the quiet light of evening, the black of the night, were all one +to him now. Was it going to be so with his mind, his spirit? Would all +that other light, light of the mind and soul, be gulped into this black +monotone, this nothingness? + +He had heard of the beautiful spirit of the blind, of the mastery of fate +achieved, the things they were able, in spite of it all, to gain from +life. Ernestine had read him some of that; he had been glad to hear it, +but it had not moved him much. Most of those people had been blind for a +long time. He too, in the course of ten or twenty years, when the best of +his life was gone, would become accustomed to groping his way about, +reading from those books, and having other people tell him how things +looked. But so long as he remained himself at all how accustom himself to +doing without his work? In the records and stories of the blind, it +seemed if they had a work it was something which they could continue. But +with him, the work which made his life was gone. + +Over there was the university. It had been a busy day at the +university--old faces and new faces, all the exuberance of a new start, +the enthusiasm for a clean slate--students anxious to make some +particular class--how well he knew it all! Who was in his laboratory? Who +working with his old things? To whom was coming the joy he had thought +would be his? What man of all the world's men would achieve the things he +had believed would crown his own life? + +Some day Ernestine would read it to him. He had made her promise to do +that, if it came. He would see it all--just how it had been worked out, +and the momentary joy of the revelation would sweep him back into it and +he would forget how completely it was a thing apart from him. And then +Ernestine would ask him if he wanted his chair a little higher or lower, +or whether she should shut the window; and he would pick up one of his +embossed books and try to read something, and he would know, as he had +never known before, how the great world which did things was going right +on without him. + +There were a few little petitions he sent out every once in a while. "I +want to remain a man! I want to keep my nerve. I don't want to whine. I +don't want to get sorry for myself. For God's sake help me to be a good +fellow--a half way decent sort of chap!" + +And he had not tried in vain. His success, as to exteriors, had been +good. Mrs. McCormick said it was indeed surprising how well one could get +along without one's sight. + +But within himself he had not gone far. Ernestine knew something of +that--though he had tried his best with Ernestine, and Parkman knew, for +Parkman had a way of knowing everything. + +And yet they did not know it all. The waking up in the night and knowing +it would not be any more light in the morning! Hearing the clock strike +four or five, and thinking that in a little while he would be getting up +and going to work, only to remember he would never be going to work in +that old way again! The waking in the morning feeling like his old self, +strength within him, his mind beseeching him to start in! No man had ever +suffered with the craving for strong drink as he suffered for the work +taken from him. + +He had, by what grit he could summon, gone along for five months. But +ahead were five years, ten years, thirty years, perhaps, and what of +them? Each day was a struggle; the living of each day a triumph. Through +thousands of days should it be the same? + +It was the future which took hold of him then--smothered him. He went +down before the vision of those unlived days, the grim vision of those +relentless, inevitable days, standing there waiting to be lived. It was +desolation. The surrender of a strong man who had tried to the uttermost. + +Whether it was because he upset a chair, whether she heard him groan, or +whether she just knew in that way of hers that it was time for her to be +there, he did not know. But he felt her at the door, and held out +beseeching arms. + +He crushed her to him very close. He wanted to bring her more close than +she had ever come before. For he needed her as he had not needed her +until this hour. "Ernestine! Ernestine!"--the sob in his voice was not to +be denied--"What am I going to do?" + +"Karl,"--after her moment of passionate silence--"tell me this. Doesn't +it get any better? One bit easier?" + +"No!"--that would have no denying; and then: "Oh but I'm the brute to +talk to you like this, after you've been"--again he swept her into his +arms--"what you have been to me this summer." + +She guided him to a chair and knelt beside him. She held his hand for a +minute as the mother holds the hand of the child in pain. And then she +began, her voice tender, but quietly determined: "Karl dear--let's be +honest. Let's not do so much pretending with each other. For just this +once let's look it right in the face. I want to understand--oh how I want +to! What's the very worst of it, dear? Is it--the work?" + +"Yes!"--the word leaped out as though let loose from a long bondage. +"Ernestine--no one but a man can quite see that. What _is_ a man without +a man's work? What is there for him to do but sit around in namby-pamby +fashion and be fussed over and coddled and cheered up! Lord"--he threw +away her hands and turned his face from her--"I'd rather be dead!" + +Her utter silence recalled him to a sense of how she must be hurt. Could +he have looked into her eyes just then he would never have ceased to +regret those words. + +There was contrition in his face as he turned back. He reached out for +her hands--those faithful, loving hands he had thrust away. For just a +minute she did not give them, but that was only for the minute--so quick +was she to forgive, so eager to understand. + +"Forget that, sweetheart--quick. I didn't know what I was saying. Why, +liebchen--it's only you makes it bearable at all. If I did not have you I +should--choose the other way." + +"Karl!"--in an instant clinging to him wildly--"you hadn't thought--you +couldn't think--" + +"Oh, sweetheart--you've misunderstood. Now, dearie--don't--don't make me +feel I've made you cry. All I meant, Ernestine, was that without you it +would be so utterly unbearable." + +He stroked her hair until she was quiet. "Why, liebchen--do you think +anything under heaven could be so bad that I should want to leave you?" + +"I should hope I had not failed--quite that completely," she whispered +brokenly. + +"Failed?--_You?_ Come up here a little closer and I'll try to tell you +just how far you've come from having failed." + +At first he could tell her best in the passionate kiss, the gentle +stroking of her face, the tenderness with which his hands rested upon her +eyes. And then words added a little. "Everything, liebchen; everything of +joy and comfort and beauty and light--light, sweetheart--everything of +light and hope and consolation that comes to me now is through you. +You've done more than I would have believed in human power. You have +actually made me forget, and can you fancy how supreme a thing it is to +make a man forget that he is blind? You've put the beautiful things +before me in their most beautiful way. Do you suppose that alone, or with +any one else, I could see any beauty in anything? You've made me laugh! +How did you ever do that--you wonderful little Ernestine? And, +sweetheart, you've helped me with my self-respect. You've saved me in a +thousand little ways from the humiliations of being blind. Why you +actually must have some idea of what it is like yourself!" + +"I have, Karl. I have imagined and thought about it and tried to--well, +just trained myself, until I believe I do know something of what it is +like." + +"You love me!" he murmured, carried with that from despair to exultation. + +"But if you could only know how _much._" + +"I do know. I do know, dear. I wish that all the world--I'd hate to have +them know, for it's just ours--but for the sake of faltering faith they +ought to know what you've been to me this summer." + +"Then, Karl,"--this after one of their precious silences--"I want to ask +you something. It is hard to say it just right, but I'll try. You know +that I love you--that we have one of those supreme loves which come at +rare times--perhaps for the sake of what you call faltering faith. But, +Karl--this will sound hard--but after all, doesn't it fail? Fail of being +supreme? Doesn't it fail if it is not--satisfying? I don't mean that it +should make up to one for such a thing as being blind, but if in spite of +love like ours life seems unbearable to you without your work--why then, +dear, doesn't it fail?" + +He was long in answering, and then he only said, slowly: "I see. I see +how you have reasoned it out. I wonder if I can make you understand?" + +"Ernestine,"--the old enthusiasm had kindled in his face with the +summoning of the thoughts--"no painter or sculptor ever loved his work +more than I loved mine. And I had that same kind of joy in it; that +delight in it as a beautiful thing to achieve. That may seem strange to +you. But the working out of something I was able to do brought me the +same delight the working out of a picture brings to you. Dear, it was my +very soul. And so, instead of there being two forces in my life after I +had you, it was just the one big thing. You made me bigger and because I +was bigger I wanted to do bigger things. Don't you see that?" + +She held his hand a little more closely in response. He knew that she +understood. + +"Don't think I have given up--why of course I haven't. I will adjust +myself in a little time--do what there is for me to do. I am going to see +immediately about a secretary, a stenographer--no, Ernestine, I don't +want you to do that. It's merely routine work, and I want you to do your +own work. One of us must do the work it was intended we should. I could +have gone on with some lecture work at the university, but I--this year I +couldn't quite do that. I'll be more used to handling myself by next +year, have myself better in hand in every way. I couldn't quite stand the +smell from the laboratory just now. This year I shall work on those +books I've told you about; just class-room books--I never could write +anything that would be literature--I'm not built for that; but these +things will be useful, I've felt the need of something of the sort in my +own classes. I'll always make a living, Ernestine--don't you ever worry +about that! And the world won't know--why should we let it know we're not +satisfied? But I can't hide from you that it is the other, the creative +work--the--oh, I tell you, Ernestine, the fellows up there in the far +north don't have all the fun! It may be great to push one's way through +icebergs--but I know something that is greater than that! They say there +is a joy in standing where no man ever stood before, and I can see that, +for I too have stood where no man ever stood before! But I'm ahead of +them--mine's the greater joy--for I knew that my territory was worth +something--that the world would follow where I had led!"--The old force, +fire, joyous enthusiasm had bounded into his voice. But it died away, and +it was with a settling to sadness he said, "You see, little girl, if +there was a wonderful picture you had conceived--your masterpiece, +something you had reason to feel would stand as one of the world's great +pictures, if you had begun on it, were in the heat of it, and then had to +give it up, it would not quite satisfy you, would it, dear, to settle +down and write some textbooks on art?" + +"Karl--it's I who have been blind! I tried so hard to understand--but +I--oh, Karl--can't we do something? Can't we _do_ something about it?" + +"I was selfish to tell you--but it is good to have you understand." + +But she had not let go that idea of something being done. "Karl, +_couldn't_ you go on with it? Isn't there some way? Can't we _find_ a +way?" + +He shook his head. "I have thought of it by the hour--gone over every +side of it. But work like that takes a man's whole being. It takes more +than mere eyes and hands--more than just mind. You must have the spirit +right for it--all things must work together. It's not the sort of work to +do under a handicap. God knows I'd start in if I could see my way--but +neither the world nor myself would have anything to gain. Some one would +have to be eyes for me--and so much more than eyes. It's all in how +things look, dear--their appearance tells the story. An assistant could +tell me what _he_ saw--but he could not bring to me what would be +conveyed if I saw it myself. All that was individual in my work would be +gone. Minds do not work together like that. I should be too much in the +dark," he concluded, sadly. + +For a long time her head was on his shoulder. She was giving him of that +silent sympathy which came with an eternal freshness from her heart. + +"We'll manage pretty well," he went on, in a lighter tone which did not +quite deceive her. "Our life is not going to be one long spell of moping. +It's time now for the year's work to begin. You must get at your +pictures, and I'll get at the books. Oh, I'll get interested in them, +all right--and oh, liebchen"--with a tenderness which swept all else +aside--"I have _you!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +HER VISION + +Some of the university people came over that night to see Karl. Ernestine +was glad of that, for she had been dreading the evening. Their talk of +the afternoon had made it more clear and more hard than it had ever been +before. + +Her mothering instinct had been supreme that summer. It had dominated her +so completely as to blur slightly the clearness of her intellectual +vision. To be doing things for him, making him as comfortable as +possible, to find occupation for him as one does for the convalescent, to +hover about him, showering him with manifestations of her love and +woman's protectiveness--it had stirred the mother in her, and in the +depths of her sorrow there had been a sublime joy. + +Now she could not see her way ahead. It was her constant doing things to +"make it up to him" had made the summer bearable at all. With the +clearing of her vision her sustaining power seemed taken from her. + +"And how has it gone with you this summer?" Professor Hastings asked, +holding both of her hands for a minute in fatherly fashion as she met him +in the hall. + +He scarcely heard her reply, for the thought came to him: "If he could +only see her now!" + +It was her pride and her wistfulness, her courage and her appeal, the +union of defiance and tenderness which held one strangely in the face of +Ernestine. She was as the figure of love standing there wounded but +unvanquished before the blows of fate. + +"Professor Hastings has come to see you, Karl," she said, as they entered +the library; and as he rose she laid her hand very gently upon his arm, a +touch which seemed more like an unconscious little movement of affection +than an assistance. + +"Good for Hastings!" said Karl, with genuine heartiness. + +"And have a good many thought waves from me come to you this summer?" he +asked, shaking Karl's hand with a warmth which conveyed the things he +left unsaid. + +"Yes, they've come," Karl replied. "Oh, we knew our friends were with +us,"--a little hastily. "But we've had a pretty good summer--haven't we, +Ernestine?" turning his face to her. + +"In many ways it has been a delightful summer,"--her voice now had that +blending of defiance and appeal, and as she looked at her husband and +smiled it flashed through Professor Hastings' mind--"He knew she did +that!" + +"You see,"--after they were seated--"I was really very uneducated. Isn't +it surprising, Hastings, how much some of us don't know? Now what do you +know about the history of art? Could you pass a sophomore examination in +it? Well, I couldn't until Ernestine began coaching me up this summer. +Now I'm quite fit to appear before women's clubs as a lecturer on art. +Literature, too, I'm getting on with; I'm getting acquainted with all the +Swedes and the Irishmen and the Poles who ever put pen to paper." + +"Karl," she protested--"Swedes and Irishmen and Poles!" + +"Isn't that what they are?" he demanded, innocently. + +"Well they're not exactly a lot of immigrants." + +"Yes they are; immigrants into the domain of my--shall I say +intellectuality?" + +They laughed a little, and there was a moment's pause. "Tell me about +school," he said, abruptly, his voice all changed. + +Professor Hastings felt the censorship of Ernestine's eyes upon him as he +talked; they travelled with a frightened eagerness from the face of the +man who spoke to him who listened. He could see them deepen as they +touched dangerous ground, and he wondered how she could go on living with +that intensity of feeling. + +"Beason is back," he said, in telling of the returnings and the changes. + +"Beason!"--Dr. Hubers' voice rang out charged with a significance the +older man could not understand. "You say Beason is back?"--the voice then +was as if something had broken. + +"Yes, it was unexpected. He had thought he would be West this year, but +things turned out better than he had expected." + +"Yes, he told me--in April, that he would be West this year." As he sank +back, his face in repose, Professor Hastings saw something of what the +summer had done. + +Ernestine's eyes were upon him, a little reproachful, and beseeching. But +before he could think of anything redeeming to say two other university +men had been admitted. + +It was hard at first. Dr. Hubers did not rouse himself to more than the +merest conventionality, and all the rest of it was left to his wife, who, +however, rose to the situation with a superb graciousness. Finally they +touched a topic which roused Karl. His mind reached out to it with his +old eagerness and virility, and they were soon in the heat of one of +those discussions which wage when men of active mind and kindred interest +are brought together. + +Ernestine sat for a little time listening to them, grateful for the +relaxation of the tension, more grateful still for this touch of Karl's +old-time self. But following upon that the very consciousness that they +saw the real Karl so seldom now brought added pain. What would the future +hold? What could it hold? Must he not go farther and farther from this +real self as he adjusted himself more and more fully to the new order of +things? + +Watching him then, as he talked and listened, she could appreciate anew +what Karl's eyes had meant to his personality. It almost broke her heart +to see him lean forward and look in that half-eager, half-fretted way +toward the man who was speaking, as though his blindness were a barrier +between their minds, a barrier he instinctively tried to beat down. + +She wanted to get away, and she felt they would get along better now +without her. So she left them, laughingly, to their cigars and their +discussion. + +She wandered about the house listlessly, mechanically doing a few things +here and there. And then, still aimlessly, she went up to her studio. She +sat down on the floor, leaning her head against the couch. Just then she +looked like a very tired, disappointed child. + +And it was with something of a child's simplicity she saw things +then. Was it right to treat Karl that way--Karl who was so great and +good--could do such big things? Was it fair or right that Karl should be +unhappy--Karl who did so much for other people, and who had all this +sweetness and tenderness with the greatness? + +What could she do for Karl? She loved him enough to lay down her life for +him. Then was there not some way she could use her life to make things +better for him? + +And so she sat there, her thoughts brooding over him, too tired for +anything but very simple thinking, too worn for passion, but filled with +the sadness of a grieving child. It was after she had been looking +straight at it for a long time that she realised she Was looking at a +picture on her easel. + +Dimly, uncaringly, she knew what the picture was. But she was thinking +only of Karl. It was a long time before her mind really followed her eyes +to the picture. + +It was a sketch of a woman's face. She remembered what a splendid model +she had had for it. And then suddenly her mind went full upon it; her +whole bearing changed; she leaned forward with a passionate intentness. + +Unsatisfied longing, disappointed motherhood, deep, deep things stirred +only to be denied! Yes, the model had been a good one, but it was from +her own soul the life things in that face had come. + +It brought them all back now--all those things she had put into it. A +great wave of passion and yearning swept through her;--new questionings, +sorrow touched with resentment, longing mingled with defiance. Why could +not this have gone right with them? What it would have meant to Karl in +these days!--sustained, comforted, kept strong. + +The pain of those first days was translated by the deeper understanding +of these. Her eyes were very deep, about her mouth an infinite yearning +as she asked some of those questions for which God had no answer. + +But there was something about the picture she did not like. She looked at +it with a growing dissatisfaction. And then she saw what it was. The +woman was sinking to melancholy. She bowed under the hand of fate. She +did not know why, this night of all others, she should resent that. What +did she want? What could she expect? + +She stirred restlessly under the dissatisfaction. It seemed too much +fate's triumph to leave it like this. Not this surrender, but a little of +the Spartan, a touch of sternness, a little defiance in the hunger, an +understanding--that was it!--a submission in which there was the dignity +of understanding. Ah--here it was!--a knowing that thousands had endured +and must endure, but as an echo from the Stoics--"Well?" + +The idea fascinated her--swept through her with a strange, wild +passion. She scarcely knew what she was doing, when, after a long +time of looking at the picture, she began getting out her things. Her +face had wholly changed. She too had now the understanding, stern, +all-comprehending--"Well?"--for fate. + +She could work! That was the thing remained. She would not bow down under +it and submit. She would work! She would erect something to stand for +their love--something so great, so universal and eternal that it would +make up for all taken away. She would crystallise their lives into +something so big and supreme that Karl himself, feeling, understanding +that which he could not see, would come at the end into all the +satisfaction of the victor! Could she do greater things for him than +that? + +She glowed under the idea. It filled, thrilled, intoxicated her. And she +could do it! As she saw that a few master strokes were visualising her +idea she came into greater consciousness of her power than she had ever +had before. + +It all flowed into big new impetus for her work. A year before she had +wanted to work because she was so happy, now with a fierce passion she +turned to her work as the thing to make it right for their lives. Out of +all this she would rise to so great an understanding, so supreme a power +that they too could hurl their defiant--"Well?"--at the fate which had +believed them conquered. In the glow and the passion and the exaltation +of it she felt that nothing in the world, no trick of fate, no onslaught +of God or man, could keep her from the work that was hers. She had a +vision of hosts of men, all powers of fate, marching against her, and +she, unfaltering, serene, confident, just doing her work! It was one of +the perfect moments of the divine intoxication. + +It was in the very glow of it that the strange thing happened. The lights +from her ruby, caught in a shaft of light, blurred her vision for an +instant, and in that same instant, as if borne with the lights of the +stone, there penetrated her glowing, exuberant mood--quick, piercing, +like an arrow shot in with strong, true hand--"He loves his work just +like this. You know now. You understand." + +Her mood fell away like a pricked bubble. The divine glow, that +passionate throbbing of conscious power, made way for the comprehension +of that thing shot in upon her like a shaft.--"He loves his work just +like this. You know now. You understand." + +She had been standing, and she sank to a chair. Like all great changes it +sapped up strength. The blood had cooled too suddenly, and she was weak +and trembling--but, oh, how she understood! He himself did not understand +it as she understood it now. + +Pushing upon him--dominating him--clamouring--crowding for outlet when +outlet had been closed--gathering, growing, and unable to find its valve +of escape--why it would crowd upon him--kill him! Beat it down? But it +was the deathless in him. With human strength put out a fire that was +divine? + +She covered her face with her hands to shut it out. But she could not +shut it out; it was there--a thing to be faced, not evaded--a thing which +would grow, not draw away. And she loved him so! In this moment of +perfect understanding, this divine camaraderie of the soul--knowing that +they were touched with the same touch--drew from a common fount--she felt +within her a love for him, an understanding, which all of the centuries +behind her, the eternity out of which she had come--had gone to make. + +And then, grim, stern, she put her intellect upon it. She went over +everything he had said that afternoon. Each thought of it opened up new +channels, and she followed them all to their uttermost. And in that +getting of it in hand there was more than insight, knowledge, conviction. +There was a complete sensing of the truth, a comprehending of things just +without the pale of reason. + +Her face pale, her eyes looking into that far distance, she sat there for +more than an hour, oblivious for the first time since his blindness to +the thought that Karl might be needing her, lost to all conventional +instincts as hostess. Hard and fast the thoughts beat upon her, and then +at last in the wake of those thoughts, out beyond, there was born a great +light. It staggered her at first; it seemed a light too great for human +mind to bear. But time passed, and the light burned on, steady, fixed, +not to pass away. And in that momentous hour which words are quite +powerless to record, something was buried, and something born. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +LOVE CHALLENGES FATE + +The doctor hung up the receiver slowly and with meditation. And when he +turned from the telephone his thoughts did not leave the channel to which +it had directed them. What was it Mrs. Hubers wanted? Why was she coming +to the office at four that afternoon? Something in her voice made him +wonder. + +He had offered to go out, but she preferred coming to the office. +Evidently then she wished to see him alone; and she had specified that +she come when he could give her the most time. Then there was something +to talk over. He had asked for Karl, and she answered, cheerfully, that +he was well. "And you?" he pursued, and she had laughed with that--an +underlying significance in that laugh perplexed him as he recalled it, +and had answered buoyantly: "I? Oh, splendid!" + +It did not leave his mind all day; he thought about it a great deal as he +drove his car from place to place. It even came to him in the operating +room, and it was not usual for anything to intrude there. + +He reached the office a few minutes ahead of the hour, but she was +waiting for him. She rose as she saw him at the door and took an eager +step forward. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes very bright, and her +smile, as she held out her hand, had that same quality as her voice of +the morning. + +She was so far removed from usual things that she resorted to no +conventional pleasantries after they had entered the doctor's inner +office, and she waited for him to attend to a few little things before +giving her his attention. He knew by the way her eyes followed him about +that she was eager to begin, and while there was a little timidity about +her it seemed just a timidity of manner, of things exterior, while back +of that he felt the force of her poise. + +He had never seen her so beautiful. She was wearing a brown velvet suit, +a golden brown like some of the glints in her hair and some of the lights +in her eyes. Her eyes, too, held that something which puzzled him. It was +a windy day, and her hair was a little disarranged, which made her look +very young, and her veil was thrown back from her face just right to make +a frame for it. Why could not all women manage those big veils the way +some women did, he wondered. + +He sat down in the chair before his desk, and swung it around facing her. +Then he waited for her to speak. + +That little timidity was upon her for the second, but she broke through +it, seeming to shake it off with a little shake of her head. "Dr. +Parkman," she said--her voice was low and well controlled--"I have come +to you because I want you to help me." + +He liked that. Very few people came out with the truth at the start that +way. + +"I wonder if you know," she went on, looking at him with a very sweet +seriousness, "that Karl is very unhappy?" + +His face showed that that was unexpected. "Why, yes," he assented, "I +know that his heart has not been as philosophical as some of his words; +but"--gently--"what can you expect?" + +She did not answer that, but pondered something a minute. "Dr. Parkman," +she began abruptly, "just why do you think it is Karl cannot go on with +his work? I do not mean his lectures, but his own work in the laboratory, +the research?" + +Again he showed that she was surprising him. "Why surely you understand +that. It is self-evident, is it not? He cannot do his laboratory work +because he has lost his eyes." + +"Eyes--yes. But the eye is only an instrument; he has not lost his +brain." The flush in her cheeks deepened. Her eyes met his in challenge. +Her voice on that had been very firm. + +He was quick to read beyond the words. "You are asking, intending to ask, +why he could not go on, working through some assistant?" + +"I want to know just what is your idea of why he cannot. All the things +of mind and temperament--things which make him Karl--are there as before. +Are we not letting a very little thing hold us back?"--there was much +repression now, as though she must hold herself in check, and wait. + +"I've thought about it too!" he exclaimed. "Heaven knows I've tried to +see it that way. But my conclusion has always been like Karl's: the +handicap would be too great." + +"Why?" she asked calmly. + +"Why? Why--because," he replied, almost impatiently, and then laughed a +little at his woman's reason. + +"I'll tell you why!"--her eyes deepening. "I'll tell you the secret of +your conclusion. You concluded he could not go on with his work just +because no assistant could be in close enough touch with Karl to make +clear the things he saw." + +He thought a minute. Then, "That's about it," he answered briefly. + +"You concluded that two men's brains could not work together in close +enough harmony for one man's eyes to fit the other man's brain." + +"You put it very clearly," he assented. + +She paused, as though to be very sure of herself here. "Then, doctor, +looking a little farther into it, one sees something else. If there were +some one close enough to Karl to bring to his brain, through some other +medium than eyes, the things the eyes would naturally carry; if there +were some one close enough to make things just as plain as though +Karl were seeing them himself, then"--her voice gathered in +intensity--"despite the loss of his eyes, he could go right on with his +work." + +"Um--well, yes, if such an impossible thing were possible." + +"But it _is_ possible! Oh if I can only make you see this now! Doctor, +_don't_ you see it? _I_ am closer to him than any one in the world! _I_ +am the one to take up his work!" + +He pushed back his chair and sat staring at her speechlessly. + +"Dr. Parkman," she began--and it seemed now that he had never known her +at all before--"most of the biggest things ever proposed in this world +have sounded very ridiculous to the people who first heard of them. The +unprecedented has usually been called the impossible. Now I ask you to do +just one thing. Don't hold my idea at arm's length as an impossibility. +Look it straight in the face without prejudice. Who would do more for +Karl than any one else on earth? Who is closer to him than any one else +in the world? Who can make him see without seeing?--yet, know without +knowing? Dr. Parkman,"--voice eager, eyes very tender--"is there any +question in your mind as to who can come closest to Karl?" + +"But--but--" he gasped. + +"I know," she hastened--"much to talk over; so many things to overcome. +But won't you be very fair to me and look at it first as a whole? The men +in Karl's laboratory know more about science than I do. But they do not +know as much about Karl. They have the science and I have the spirit. I +can get the science but they could never get the spirit. After all, isn't +there some meaning in that old phrase 'a labour of love'? Doctor"--her +smile made it so much clearer than her words--"did you ever hear of +knowledge and skill working a miracle? Do you know anything save love +which can do the impossible?" + +He did not speak at once. He did not find it easy to answer words like +that. "But, my dear Mrs. Hubers," he finally began--"you are simply +assuming--" + +"Yes,"--and the tenderness leaped suddenly to passion and the passion +intensified to sternness--"I am simply assuming that it _can_ be +done, and through obstacle and argument, from now until the end of my +life, I am going on assuming that very thing, and furthermore, Dr. +Parkman,"--relaxing a little and smiling at him under standingly--"just +as soon as the light has fully dawned upon you, _you_ are going to +begin assuming that, and you are the very man--oh, I know--to keep on +assuming it in the face of all the obstacles which the University of +Chicago--yes, and all creation--may succeed in piling up. There is one +thing on which you and I are going to stand very firmly together. That +thing,"--with the deep quiet of finality--"is that Karl shall go on with +his work." + +Dr. Parkman had never been handled that way before; perhaps it was its +newness which fascinated him; at any rate he seemed unable to say the +things he felt he should be saying. + +"Dr. Parkman, the only weak people in this world are the people who sit +down and say that things are impossible. The only big people are the +people who stand up and declare in the face of whatsoever comes that +nothing is impossible. For Karl there is some excuse; the shock has been +too great--his blindness has shut him in. But you and I are out in the +light of day, doctor, and I say that you and I have been weaklings long +enough." + +He had never been called a weakling before--he had never thought to be +called a weakling, but the strangeness of that was less strange than +something in her eyes, her voice, her spirit, which seemed drawing him +on. + +"Karl has lost his eyes. Has he lost his brain--any of those things which +make him Karl? All that has been taken away is the channel of +communication. I am not presuming to be his brain. All I ask is to carry +things to the brain. Why, doctor,--I'm ashamed, _mortified_--that we +hadn't thought of it before!" + +"But--how?" he finally asked, weakly enough. + +"I will go into Karl's laboratory and learn how to work--all that part of +it I want you to arrange for me. After all, I have a good foundation. I +think I told you about my father, and how hard he tried to make a +scientist of me? And it was queer about my laboratory work. It was always +easy for me. I could _see_ it, all right--enough my father's child for +that, but you see my working enthusiasm and ambition were given to other +things. Now I'll make things within me join forces, for I _will_ love the +work now, because of what it can do for Karl. I need to be trained how to +work, how to observe, and above all else learn to tell exactly what I +see. I shall strive to become a perfectly constructed instrument--that's +all. And I _will_ be better than the usual laboratory assistant, for not +having any ideas of my own I will not intrude my individuality upon +Karl--to blur his vision. I shall not try to deduce--and mislead him with +my wrong conclusions. I shall simply _see_. A man who knew more about it +might not be able to separate what he saw from what he thought--and that +would be standing between Karl and the facts." + +He was looking at her strangely. "And your own work--what would be +happening to it, if you were to do--this?" + +"I have given my own work up," she said, and she said it so simply that +it might have seemed a very simply matter. + +"You can't do that," he met her, sharply. + +"Yes,"--slowly--"I can. I love it, but I love Karl more. If I have my +work he cannot have his, and Karl has been deprived of his eyes--he is +giving up the sunlight--the stars--the face he loves--many things. I +thought it all out last night, and the very simple justice of it is that +Karl is the one to have his work." + +She was dwelling upon it,--a wonderful tenderness lighting her face; for +the minute she had forgotten him. + +Then suddenly she came sharply back to the practical, brought herself +ruthlessly back to it, as if fearing it was her practicality he would +question. "Besides, Karl's work is the more important. Nobody is going to +die for a water colour or an oil painting; people are dying every day for +the things Karl can give. But, doctor,"--far too feminine not to press +the advantage--"if I can do _that_, don't you think you can afford to +break through your conservatism and--you _will_, doctor, won't you?" + +But Dr. Parkman had wheeled his chair about so that she could not see his +face. His eyes had grown a little dim. + +"You see, doctor,"--gently,--"what I am going to give to it? Not only the +things any one else could give, but all my love for Karl, and added to +that all those things within myself which have heretofore been poured +into my own work. I _can_ paint, doctor, you and I know that, and I think +you know something of how I love it. Something inside of me has always +been given to it--a great big something for which there is no name. Now I +am going to just force all that into a new channel, and don't you see how +much there will be to give? And in practical ways too I can make my own +work count. I know how to use my hands--and there isn't a laboratory +assistant in the whole University of Chicago knows as much about colour +as I do!"--she smiled like a pleased child. + +He looked at her then--a long look. He had forgotten the moisture in his +eyes,--he did not mind. And it was many years since any one had seen upon +Dr. Parkman's face the look which Ernestine saw there now. + +"Isn't it strange, doctor," she went on, after a pause, "how we think we +understand, and then suddenly awake to find we have not been +understanding at all? Karl and I had a long talk yesterday, and in that +talk he seemed able to let me right into it all. All summer long I did my +best, but I see now I had not been understanding. And understanding as I +do now--caring as I care--do you think I can sit quietly by and see Karl +make himself over to fit this miserable situation? Do you think I am +going to help him adjust himself to giving up the great thing in him? +No--he is not going to accept it! I tell you Karl is to be Karl--he is to +do Karl's work--and find Karl's place. Why I tell you, Dr. Parkman, I +will not _have_ it any other way!" + +It was a passionate tyranny of the spirit over which caution of mind +seemed unable to prevail. His reason warned him--I cannot see how this +and this and that are to be done, but the soul in her voice seemed +drawing him to a light out beyond the darkness. + +"Doctor,"--her eyes glowing with a tender pride--"think of it! Think of +Karl doing his work in spite of his blindness! Won't it stand as one of +the greatest things in the whole history of science?" + +He nodded, the light of enthusiasm growing more steady in his own eye. + +"But I have not finished telling you. After our talk yesterday it seemed +to me I could not go on at all. I didn't know what to do. In the evening +I was up in my studio--"--she paused, striving to formulate it,--"No, I +see I can't tell it, but suddenly things came to me, and, doctor, I +understand it now better than Karl understands it himself." + +He felt the things which she did not say; indeed through it all it was +the unspoken drew him most irresistibly. + +"I'll not try to tell you how it all worked itself out, but I saw things +very clearly then, and all the facts and all the reason and all the logic +in the world could not make me believe I did not see the truth. My idea +of taking it up myself, of my being the one to bring Karl back to his +work, seemed to come to me like some great divine light. I suppose," she +concluded, simply, "that it was what you would call a moment of +inspiration." + +She leaned her head back as though very tired, but smiling a little. He +did not speak; he had too much the understanding heart to intrude upon +the things shining from her face. + +"I could do good work, doctor. I've always felt it, and I have done just +enough to justify me in knowing it. I don't believe any one ever loved +his work more than I love mine, and last night when I saw things so +clearly I saw how the longing for it would come to me--oh, I know. Don't +think I do not know. But something will sustain me; something will keep +my courage high, and that something is the look there will be on Karl's +face when I tell him what I have done. You see we will not tell Karl at +first; we will keep it a great secret. He will know I am working hard, +but will think it is my own work. If we told him now he would say it was +impossible. His blindness, the helplessness that goes with it, has taken +away some of his confidence, and he would say it could not be done. But +what will he say,"--she laughed, almost gleefully--"when he finds I have +gone ahead and made myself ready for him? When _you_ tell him I can do +it--and the laboratory men tell him so? He will try it then, just out of +gratitude to me. Oh, it will not go very well at first. It is going to +take practice--days and weeks and months of it--to learn how to work +together. But, little by little, he will gain confidence in himself and +in me, he will begin getting back his grip--enthusiasm--all the things of +the old-time Karl, and then some day when we have had a little success +about something he will burst forth--'By Jove--Ernestine--I believe we +_can_ make it go!'--and that," she concluded, softly, "will be worth it +all to me." + +Again a silence which sank deeper than words--a silence which sealed +their compact. + +She came from it with the vigorously practical, "Now, Dr. +Parkman,"--sitting up very straight, with an assertive little +gesture--"you go out to that university and fire their souls! Wake them +up! Make them _see_ it! And when do you think I can begin?" + +That turned them to actual issues; he spoke freely of difficulties, and +they discussed them together calmly. Her enthusiasm was not builded on +dreams alone; it was not of that volatile stuff which must perish in +detail and difficulty. She was ready to meet it all, to ponder and plan. +And where he had been carried by her enthusiasm he was held by her +resourcefulness. + +"Are august dignitaries of reason and judgment likely to rise up and make +it very unpleasant for you after I've gone?" she asked him, laughingly, +when she had risen to go. + +"Very likely to," he laughed. + +"Tell them it's not their affair! Tell them to do what they're told and +not ask too many questions!" + +"I'll try to put them in their proper place," he assured her. + +He watched her as she stood there buttoning her glove--slight, almost +frail, scarcely one's idea of a "masterful woman." It struck him then as +strange that she had not so much as asked for pledge of his allegiance. +What was it about her--? + +She was holding out her hand. Something in her eyes lighted and glorified +her whole face. "Thank you, doctor," she said, very low. + +For a long time he sat motionless before his desk. He was thinking of +many things. "Nothing in which to believe," he murmured at last, looking +about the room still warm with the spirit she had left--"nothing in which +to believe--when there is love such as this in the world?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +DR. PARKMAN'S WAY + +The next morning Dr. Parkman turned his automobile in the direction of +the University of Chicago. There was a very grim look on his face as he +sent the car, with the hand of an expert, through the crowded streets. He +had his do-or-die expression, and the way he was letting the machine out +would not indicate a shrinking back from what lay before him. He rather +chuckled once; that is, it began in a chuckle, and ended with the +semblance of a grunt, and when he finally swung the car down the Midway, +he was saying to himself: "Glad of it! I've been wanting for a long time +to tell that Lane what I thought of him." + +Inquiries over the telephone had developed the fact that through some +shifting about, Dr. George Lane was temporary head of the department; it +was to Dr. George Lane then that Dr. Parkman must go with the matter in +hand this morning. That had seemed bad at first, for Lane was one man out +there he couldn't get on with and did not want to. They always clashed; +upon their last meeting Lane had said--"Really now, Dr. Parkman, don't +you feel that a broader culture is the real need of the medical +profession?" and Parkman had retorted, "Shouldn't wonder, but has it ever +struck you, Dr. Lane, that a little more horse sense is the real need of +the university professor?" He declared, grimly, as he finally drew his +car to a snorting stop at the university that he would have to try some +other method than "firing his soul," as Ernestine had bade him do. "In +the first place," he figured it out, "he has no soul, and if he had, I +wouldn't be the one to fire it with anything but rage." But the doctor +was not worrying much about results. He thought he had a little +ammunition in reserve which assured the outcome, and which would enable +him, at the same time, to "let loose on Lane," should the latter show a +tendency to become too important. + +The erudite Lane was a neatly built little fellow, very spick and span. +First America and then England had done their best--or worst--by him. +Just as every hair on his head was properly brushed, so Dr. Parkman felt +quite sure that every idea within the head was properly beaten down with +a pair of intellectual military brushes, one of which he had acquired to +the west, and the other to the east of the Atlantic. "I suppose he's a +scholar," mused the doctor, as he surveyed the back of the dignitary's +head while waiting, "but what in God's name would he do if he were ever +to be hit with an original idea?" + +"Ah, yes, Dr. Parkman, we so seldom see you very busy men out here. We +always appreciate it when you busy men look in upon us." + +Now the tone did not appeal to Dr. Parkman, and with one of his quick +decisions he bade tact take itself to the four winds, leaving him alone +with his reserve guns. + +"I always appreciate it," he began abruptly, not attempting to deny that +he was a busy man, "when people take as little of my time as possible. I +will try to do unto others as I would that others do unto me." + +By the merest lifting of his eyebrows, Lane signified that he would make +no attempt at detaining the doctor longer than he wished to stay. He +awaited punctiliously the other man's pleasure, silently emphasising that +the interview was not of his bringing about. "Thinks I'm a boor and a +brute," mused Parkman. + +"What I wanted to see you about," he began, "relates to Dr. Hubers." + +"Ah, yes--poor Hubers. A remarkable man, in many ways. It is one of those +things which make one--very sad. We wanted him to go on with his +lectures, but he did not seem to feel quite equal to it." + +"Huh!"--that might mean a variety of things. The tone of patronage +infuriated Karl's friend. "Jealous--sore--glad Karl's out of it," he was +interpreting it. + +Then he delivered this very calmly: "Well, the fact of the matter is, +that among all medical men, and in that part of the scientific world +which I may call the active part--the only part of any real value--Karl +Hubers is regarded so far above every other man who ever set foot in this +university that all the rest of the place is looked upon as something +which surrounds him. Over in Europe, they say--Chicago?--University of +Chicago? Oh, yes--yes indeed, I remember now. That's where Hubers is.'" + +"The professor," as Dr. Parkman frequently insisted on calling him, +showed himself capable of a rush of red blood to the face, and of a very +human engulfing of emotion in a hurried cough. "Ah, I see you are a warm +friend, Dr. Parkman," quickly regaining his impenetrable superiority, and +smiling tolerantly. "But looking at it quite dispassionately, putting +aside sympathy and all personal feeling, I have sometimes felt that Dr. +Hubers, in spite of his--I may say gifts, in some directions, is a little +lacking in that broad culture, that finer quality of universal +scholarship which should dominate the ideal university man of to-day." + +Dr. Parkman was smiling in a knowing way to himself. "I see what you +mean, Professor, though I would put it a little differently. I wouldn't +call him in the least lacking in broad culture, but he is rather lacking +in pedantry, in limitations, in intellectual snobbery, in university +folderols. And of course a man who is actually doing something in the +world, who stands for real achievement, has a little less time to look +after the fine quality of universal scholarship." + +Perhaps Lane would have been either more or less than human, had he not +retorted to that: "But as to this great achievement--it has never been +forthcoming, has it?" + +The doctor had a little nervous affection of his face. The corner of one +eye and one corner of his mouth sometimes twitched a little. People who +knew him well were apt to grow nervous themselves when they made that +observation. But as no one who knew him chanced to be present, the storm +broke all unannounced. + +"For which," he snarled out, "every cheap skate of a university professor +who never did anything himself but paddle other men's canoes, for which +every human phonograph and intellectual parrot sends out thanks from his +two-by-four soul! But among men who are men, among physicians who have +cause to know his worth, among scientists big enough to get out of their +own shadows, and, thank God, among the people who haven't been fossilised +by clammy universities out of all sense of human values--among them, I +say, Karl Hubers is appreciated for what he was close to doing when this +damnable fate stepped in and stopped him!" + +The man of broad culture, very white as to the face, rose to his fullest +height. It should not be held against him that his fullest height failed +in reaching the other man's shoulder. "If there is nothing further," he +choked out, "perhaps we may consider the interview concluded?" + +"No," retorted Parkman serenely, "the interview has just begun. It's your +business, isn't it, to listen to matters relating to this department?" + +"It is; but as I am accustomed to meeting men of some--" + +"Manners?" supplied the doctor pleasantly. "As I am accustomed to men of +a somewhat different type,"--he picked the phrase punctiliously, +manifestly a conservative, even in war--"I was naturally unprepared for +the nature of your remarks." + +"Oh well, the unexpected must be rather agreeable when one leads so cut +and dried a life. But what I want to see you about," he went on, quite as +though he had dropped the most pleasant thing in the world, "is just +this. I want you to give the use of Dr. Hubers' laboratory, his equipment +and at least one of his assistants, to Dr. Hubers' wife, that she may get +in shape to work with him as his assistant, and enable him to carry on +his work and do those things, which, as you correctly state, are still +unachieved." + +Now the delivering of that pleased Dr. Parkman very much. He scarcely +attempted to conceal his righteous pride. + +"Really, now," gasped the head of the department, after a minute of +speechless staring, "really, now, Dr. Parkman, you astonish me."--"That's +the truth, if he ever spoke it," thought the doctor grimly."--Dr. Hubers' +wife, I understand you to say?"--and he of erudition was equal to a +covert sneer--"just what has she to do with it, please?" + +"She has everything to do with it. In the first place, she is rather +interested in Dr. Hubers. Then she's a remarkable woman. Needs to +freshen up on some things, needs quite a little coaching, in fact; but in +my judgment the best way for Hubers to go on with his work--you didn't +think for a moment he was out of it, did you?--is for his wife to get in +shape to work with him. That can be arranged all right?" he concluded +pleasantly. + +Then Dr. George Lane spoke with the authority in him vested. "It +certainly can not," he said, with an icy decisiveness. + +"But why not?" pursued Parkman, innocently. + +"Oh, now, don't misunderstand me, Professor. I didn't for a minute expect +that you were to give any of your valuable time to Mrs. Hubers. Hastings +is the fellow I'd like her turned over to. He's a friend of mine, and +he's in sympathy, you know, with Dr. Hubers' work. All you'll have to do +is to tell Hastings to do it," explained the doctor, expansively. + +The head of the department quite gleamed with the pride of authority as +he pronounced: "Which you may be very certain I shall not do." + +"No?" said Parkman, leaning over the desk a little and looking at him. +"You say--no?" + +"I do," replied the man in authority, with brevity, emphasis and +finality. + +Dr. Parkman leaned back in his chair and seemed to be in deep thought. +"Then the popular idea is all wrong, isn't it?" + +"I am at a loss to know to what popular idea you refer," said the +professor, with a suitable indifference. + +"Oh merely to the popular idea that this place amounts to something; that +it has let go of a little mediaevalism, and is more than a crude, cheap +pattern--funny what ideas people get, isn't it? Now there are people who +think the university here puts a value on individuality, that it would +actually bend a rule or two to fit an individual case, in fact that it +likes initiative, encourages originality, wouldn't in the least mind +having a few actual achievements to its credit." + +"At the same time," goaded from his icy calm--"it does not propose to +make itself ridiculous!" + +"And doing a rather unconventional thing, in order to bring about a very +great thing, would be making itself ridiculous, would it?" + +"I fail to see how anything so preposterous could bring about good +results," said the man in authority, introducing into that a note of +dismissal. + +"Do you?" replied Parkman, not yet dismissed. "Well, if you will pardon a +little more plain speaking, I will say that this is something I know a +good deal more about than you do." + +"We have made other arrangements for the laboratory," and the professor +picked up a paper from his desk and looked it over, nice subtilties +evidently being lost. + +"So? Going to give it to some fellow who will devote himself, after the +fashion of university men, to verifying other men's conclusions?" + +Then Dr. Parkman rose. "Well," he said, "you've had your chance. You had +a chance to do something which would give this place an excuse for +existing. I'm sorry you weren't big enough to take it. + +"I fear medical men may feel some little prejudice about this," he +remarked, easily--not in the least as though dealing in heavy ammunition. +"Hubers commands the medical men, you know. They care more for him than +for all the rest of the fellows out here put together. About that medical +school of yours," he said, meditatively, "that you're pushing so hard +just now,--to whom shall I tender my resignation as chairman of the +committee I'm on? And, at the same time, I'll just be released from the +lectures I was to give in the winter quarter. I'm entirely too busy to +spend my time on a place that doesn't care for anything but dead men's +bones. Lewis and Richmond will probably want to pull out too. Of course," +he went on, seemingly to himself, "a thing like this will unfortunately +be noised about, and all doctors will be a little sore about your not +caring to stand by Hubers. But I suppose I had better see the president +about all that. He gets home next week? And, come to think of it, I'm +pretty close to a couple of members of the board. I operated on both +Lessing and Tyler. Both of those fellows have a notion they owe their +lives to me. That makes people feel rather close to one, you know. But +then, of course, you don't know--why should you? And, dear me--there's +that rich old patient of mine, Burley. Now isn't it strange,"--turning +genially to Lane, as if merely interesting him in a philosophical +proposition--"how one thing leads to another? I fear Burley may not be so +interested in making that gift to the new medical building, if he knows +I've cut loose from the place. The president will feel rather sore +about that, too,--you know how the president is about such things. But +then,"--shrugging his shoulders indifferently--"he needn't feel sore at +me." + +Dr. George Lane was swallowing very hard. Though learned, he was not +dull. Word by word he had drunk in the bitter truth that this big, dark, +gruff, ill-mannered man was not to be put down with impunity. Call it +bullying--any hard name you would, there was no evading the fact that it +was power in sledge hammer strokes. "The professor" was just wise enough +to see that there lay before him the unpleasant task of retraction. + +"Ah--of course, doctor," he began, striving for nonchalance, "do not take +this as too final. You see anything so unusual as this will have to come +before the committee. You did not present it to me--ah--very fully, but +the more I consider it, the more I am disposed to think it is a thing +we--may care to undertake. I--will present it." + +"Oh, don't bother about that," said the doctor pleasantly. "I wouldn't +worry the committee about it, if I were you. I can get a down-town +laboratory all right. I simply thought I would give the university a +chance at the thing. It doesn't matter," he concluded, opening the door. + +"Well now, I'll tell you, doctor," said Lane, and part of his face was +white, and part of it was red, "while you're out here, you would +better go up and see Hastings. I'm sure I can say--speaking for the +committee--that we will be very glad to have Mrs. Hubers here." + +"I fired his soul all right," thought the doctor, grimly, as he walked up +to find Hastings. "Those little two by fours!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +OLD-FASHIONED LOVE + +Karl's new secretary was what Karl himself called "one of those +philosophical ducks." "That is," he explained to Ernestine, "he is one of +those fellows who has been graduated from science into philosophy." + +"But wouldn't you get on better with one of the scientific students who +hadn't been graduated yet?" she laughed. + +"Oh, no; no, I don't mind having a graduate. Ross can do the work all +right. I'm lucky to get him. There aren't many of them who are +stenographers, and then he can give me most of his time. He's finishing +up for his Ph.D." + +"And was he really a student of science in the beginning?" + +"Well, after a fashion. The kind that is graduated into philosophy." + +"Karl," she laughed, "despite your proud boast to the contrary, you're +bigoted. It's the bigotry of science." + +"No, it's having science patronised by these fellows who don't know +anything about it. If they'd once roll up their sleeves and do some +actual work they'd give up that idea of being so easily graduated. But +they want to get where they'll not have to work. Philosophy's a lazy +man's job." + +"There you go again! A clear case of the scientific arrogance." + +"No, they amuse me; that's all. 'I had a great deal of science in my +undergraduate work,' Mr. Ross said, 'but I feel now that I want to go +into the larger field of philosophy.'" + +"Karl," she laughed, a little amused and a little indignant, "did he +actually say that to you?" + +"He actually did. And with the pleasantest, most off-hand air. It was on +the tip of my tongue to reply: 'Fortunately, science never loses anything +in these people she graduates so easily into philosophy.' + +"I wonder what they think," he went on, "when we turn them upside down +two or three times a century? It doesn't seem to worry them any. 'Give me +some eggs and some milk and some sugar and I'll make a nice pudding,' +they say--that's about what goes into a pudding, isn't it? And then they +take the stuff in very thankless fashion, and when their pudding is done, +they say--'Isn't it pathetic the way some people spend their lives +producing nothing but eggs and milk and sugar?' And the worst of it is +that half the time they spoil our good stuff by putting it together +wrong." + +"Such a waste of good eggs and milk and sugar," she laughed. + +"But fortunately it is a superior kind of eggs and milk and sugar that +can't be hurt by being thrown together wrong. The pudding is bad, but the +good stuff in it is indestructible. And as we don't have to sit down to +their table, why should we worry over their failures?" + +"Why, indeed? But then, I don't agree that all puddings are bad." + +"No, not all of them. But it rubs me the wrong way to see bad cooks take +such liberties with their materials." + +"Because good eggs and milk and sugar aren't so easy to produce," she +agreed. + +"Some of us have paid a pretty good price for them," he said. + +That turned them to the things always close to them, and they were silent +for a time. It was Saturday evening, and on Monday Ernestine would begin +her new work. Dr. Parkman had arranged it for her--she did not know how, +but it had been done, and Professor Hastings, who would have her in +charge, was eager to give all possible help. That day, while Karl was +busy, she had been reading a book Dr. Parkman had given her. He would +keep her supplied with the best things for her to read, he said, +selecting that which was vital, so that she would not waste time +blundering through Karl's library at random. Dr. Parkman was being so +splendid about it all. He was a man to give himself to a thing without +reservations; if he helped at all he made his help count to the +uttermost. She felt him back of her as a force which would not fail. And +she would show him his confidence was not misplaced--his support not +given to a vain cause! Resolution strengthened within her as the way was +cleared. Unconsciously she caught Karl's hand and held it tight in both +of hers. + +"You know, liebchen," he said, caressing her hand in response, "I've done +considerable thinking of late. Perhaps a fellow thinks more about things +when he is not right in them, and it seemed to me to-day, when I was +thinking over these things suggested by Ross, that the reason most people +don't get on better with their work is just because they don't care for +it enough. You have to love a thing to do much with it. Take it in any +kind of scientific work; the work is hard, there is detail, drudgery, and +discouragement. You're going to lose heart and grip unless you have that +enthusiasm for the thing as a whole. You must see it big, and have +that--well, call it fanaticism, if you want to--a willingness to give +yourself up to it, at any rate. The reason these fellows want to get into +the 'bigger field of philosophy' is because they've never known anything +about the bigger field of science." + +She loved that fire in his voice, that rare, fine light which at times +like this shone from his face. In such moments, he seemed a man set +apart; as one divinely appointed. It filled her heart with a warm, glad +rush to think it was she would bring him back to his own. It was she +would reseat Karl on his throne. And what awaited him then? Might not his +possibilities be greater than ever before? Would not determination rise +in him with new tremendousness, and would not hope, after its rebirth in +despair, soar to undreamed of heights? Would not the meditation of these +days, the new understanding rising from relinquishment and suffering, +bring him back to his work a scientist who was also philosopher? + +She believed that that would be true, that the things his blindness +taught him to see would more than atone for the things shut away. And +would not she herself come to love the work just because of what it meant +to Karl? Care for it because of what it could do for him? Loving it first +because he loved it, would not she come to love it for itself? + +A quiver of pain had drawn the beautiful light from his face. "Tell me +about your work, dear," he said abruptly. "You haven't said much about it +of late." + +She turned away her face. She was always forgetting that he could not see +her face. + +"You know you must get to work, sweetheart," he went on as she did not +answer. "I am expecting great things of my little girl." + +"I hope you will not be disappointed," she answered, very low. + +"Of course I'll not be--if you just get to work. Now when are you going +to begin?" + +"I'm going to begin Monday," replied Ernestine. + +"Good! Painting some great picture?" + +She hesitated. "I hope it will be a great picture." + +"Tell me about it." + +"I can tell you better, dear, when it is a little farther along." + +"You love your work, Ernestine. You have the real, true, fundamental love +for it. I always loved to see your face light up when you spoke of your +work. Is your face lighted up now?" he asked, a little whimsically, but +earnestly. + +She laughed, but the laugh caught in her throat. + +"Will you tell me about your picture as it progresses, dear? Don't be +afraid to talk to me of your work, Ernestine. Things will be less hard +for me, if I think you are happy. And it will be good to know there is to +be some great thing come of our love, dear. I want something to stand for +it, something beautiful and great." + +"There will be!" she said passionately. "There is going to be." + +"I know," he said gently. "I am sure of it." + +He stroked her face lovingly then. He loved so to do that. + +"Will you mind much, Karl," she began, a little timidly, "if I am away +from you some this year?" + +"Away from me?" he asked, startled. "Why, what do you mean, Ernestine?" + +"Oh, not that I am going away," she hastened. "But, as I say, I am going +to begin my work on Monday, and part of the time I shall be working, away +from home." + +"You mean in some studio?" + +Her face grew troubled; she frowned a little, bit her lip, but after a +second's hesitation, answered: "Yes." + +"Found some fellow to study with?" + +And again she answered yes. + +"Well now look here, liebchen, have I been such a brute that you thought +I wouldn't want you to set foot out of the house? I didn't suppose there +was anyone here you'd have much to gain from, but if there is, so much +the better. I want you to go right ahead and do your best--don't you know +that?" + +But there was a note of forced cheer in it. It would be hard for Karl to +feel she was not in the house, when he had come to depend on her for so +many things. She could not tell him why she was willing to be away from +him. It hurt her to think he might feel she did not understand. + +A little later Georgia and her mother and Georgia's Mr. Tank came over to +see them. During the summer Ernestine and Karl had been bestowing an +approving interest on Georgia and Joseph Tank. Karl liked him; he said +the fellow laughed as though there was no reason why he shouldn't. "He +doesn't know everything," he told Ernestine, "but knows too much to seem +to know what he doesn't." + +Georgia had been disposed to be apologetic about Mr. Tank's paper bags, +and Karl had retorted: "Great Scott, Georgia, is there anything the world +needs much worse than paper bags?" + +To-night Mr. Tank was all enthusiasm about a ball game he had attended +that afternoon. He gave Karl the story of the game in the picturesque +fashion of a man more eager to express what he wishes to say than to +guard the purity of his English. "Oh, it was hot stuff, clear through," +he concluded. "Bully good game!" + +"It is sometimes almost impossible for me to tell what Georgia and Mr. +Tank are talking about," sighed Mrs. McCormick. "They use so many words +which are not in the dictionary. Now when people confine themselves to +words which are in the dictionary, I am always able to ascertain their +meaning." + +"I'm long for saying a thing the way I can get it said," laughed Tank. +"And I'm long for this new spelling. I never could get next to the old +system, and now if they push this deal through, I can pat myself on the +back and say, 'Good for you, old boy. You were just waiting for them to +start in right.' It would be such a good one on the teachers who bumped +my head against the wall because I didn't begin pneumonia with a p and +every other minute run in an i or an e I had sense enough to know had no +business there at all. Oh, I'm long for taking a fall out of the old +spelling book." + +"I do hope, Karl," admonished Mrs. McCormick, "that you will use your +influence with scholars to see that the dictionary is let alone. It is +certainly a very profane and presumptuous thing to think of changing a +dictionary,"--turning to Ernestine for approval. + +"When I was a child," observed Georgia, "I had a sublime and +unquestioning faith in two things,--the Bible and the dictionary. The +Bible was written by God and the dictionary by Noah Webster, and both +were to remain intact to the end of time. But the University of Chicago +is re-writing the Bible, and 'most any one who feels like it can take a +hand at the dictionary, so what is there left for a poor girl to believe +in?" + +"Believe in the American dollar," said Tank cheerfully. "That's the +solidest thing I've ever been up against." + +Mrs. McCormick left them to call upon a friend who lived next door, Karl +and Mr. Tank turned to frenzied finance, and Georgia and Ernestine +wandered away by themselves--Ernestine surmised that Georgia wanted to +talk to her. + +"How goes it at _The Mail_?" she asked. + +"Oh--so so," said Georgia fretfully. "Newspaper work is a thankless job." + +"Why, Georgia, I thought you loved it so." + +"Oh, yes,--yes, in a way, I do. But it's thankless. And you never get +anywhere. You break your neck one day, and then there's nothing to do the +next, but start in and break it again. You're never any better to-day for +yesterday's killing. Now with you--when you paint a good picture, it +stays painted." + +"Why don't you get married?" asked Ernestine, innocently. + +"Married! Pooh--that would be a nice thing!" + +"Indeed it would. If you care for the man." + +Georgia was fidgeting; it was plain she wanted to talk about marriage, if +she could do so without seeming to be vitally interested in the subject. + +"I mean it, Georgia," Ernestine went on. "If you care for him, marry +him." + +"Care for whom?" Georgia demanded, and then coloured and laughed at the +folly of her evasion. "Well, the fact of the matter is," she finally +blurted out, "I don't know whether I do or not. Now, in a way, I do. That +is, I want him to care for me, and I shouldn't like it if he sailed away +to the Philippine Islands and never showed up again, but at the same +time--well, I don't think even _you_ could get up much sentiment about +paper bags, and besides"--tempestuously--"the name Tank's preposterous!" + +Ernestine laughed. "What are those terms the lawyers are so fond +of--immaterial, irrelevant, and something else? Georgia, once when I was +a little girl and went to visit my grandmother, I had a stubborn fit and +wouldn't eat any dinner because the dining-room table had such ugly legs. +And the dinner, Georgia, was good." + +It was Georgia who laughed then. "But Ernestine"--with a swift turn to +seriousness--"you're not a fair sample; you and Karl are--exceptional. +You see you have so _much_--intellectual companionship--sympathetic +ideas--kindred tastes--don't you see what a fool I'd make of myself in +judging the thing by you?"--she ended with a little gulp which might have +been a laugh or might have been something else. + +Ernestine was giving some affectionate rubs to her brass coffee pot. When +she raised her head it was to look at Georgia strangely. She continued to +look, and the strangeness about her intensified. "Shall I tell you +something, Georgia?"--her voice low and queer. "Something I _know_? You +wouldn't be willing to fight 'till you dropped for sympathetic ideas. You +wouldn't be willing to lay down your life for intellectual companionship. +You wouldn't be willing to go barefoot and hungry and friendless for +kindred tastes. Don't for one minute believe you would! The only thing +for which you'd be willing to let the whole world slip away from you is +an old-fashioned, out-of-date thing called love--just the primitive, +fundamental love there is between a man and a woman. If you haven't it, +Georgia--hold back. If you have,"--a wonderful smile of understanding +glowed through a rush of tears--"oh, Georgia, if you _have_!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +LEARNING TO BE KARL'S EYES + +She wondered many times in the next few months why she had put it in that +very simple, self-evident way. + +For there are things harder than to go barefoot and hungry and +friendless. Those are the primitive things, to be met with one's +endowment of primitive courage, elemental strength. But poise of spirit +can not be wrested from elemental courage. To carry one's carefully +wrapped up burden with the nonchalance of the day--nature forgot to make +endowment for that; it is something then to be worked out wholly by one's +self. + +Persecution she could have endured like a Spartan; but it was almost +unendurable to be tolerated. She was sure it would have been easier if +only they had been rude to her. To be openly jeered at would fire her +soul. But there was so little in their manner either to kindle enthusiasm +or stir aggressiveness. She began to think that the most trying thing in +the world was to have people polite to one. + +The very first week was the worst of all. No one knew what to do with +her; as this was her own idea, an idea no one else pretended to +understand, it was expected she make some suggestions for the proper +disposition of herself. But poor Ernestine did not know enough about it +to make disposition of herself. She could only smile with a courageous +serenity, and ask that she be shown how to help about things. And so Mr. +Willard, who was in charge of Karl's laboratory, and who was Karl without +Karl's genius, turned her over to Mr. Beason, his assistant. Beason would +show her how to "help." + +Her sense of humour helped her there. It was amusing that one who was +learning to "help" should be such an encumbrance. And there were many +amusing things about Mr. Beason. He was afraid of her because she was a +woman, for like reason disapproving of her presence in the laboratory, +and yet there was an unconscious deference, the same kind of veneration +he would have paid Karl's old coat, or his pipe. + +John Beason had never been shaken by a genuine emotion until the day he +read that Dr. Karl Hubers had lost his eyesight and must give up his +work. In the horror, the rage and the grief which swept over him then, +Beason rose to the heights of a human being, never to be quite without +humanship again. When he came back that fall, Professor Hastings was +quick to sense the change. + +Beason was given a place in Dr. Hubers' old laboratory, as one of Mr. +Willard's assistants. That first morning, after he had been in there +about an hour, he came out to Professor Hastings, who chanced to be +alone. + +"I don't know whether I want to stay in there or not," the boy jerked +out. + + He told him that Dr. Hubers would like to have him there. "You know he +liked you," he said simply. + +Beason sat a long time pondering. "Well, they'll never have another man +like him," he said at last, savagely, and choking a little. + +After the first few weeks his attitude toward Ernestine took on a +complexity an analysis of which would have greatly astounded Mr. Beason +himself. He did a great deal of pondering as to whether it would really +be possible for Dr. Hubers to go on with his work. It seemed to him it +would not be, but a few things Mrs. Hubers had said in a very simple way +had opened up a great deal of speculation as to what was possible and +what was not. And the thing which made him grow so quickly into an +unconscious respect for her was her assumption that the most important +thing in the world was that Dr. Hubers should go on with his work. Now +that looked as though she had some sense, Beason admitted. Of course the +ridiculous part was thinking _she_ was the one to bring it about, when +anybody would know it would have to be some one--well, some one like +himself. But then it was just like a woman to think she could do anything +she took it into her head to do. Of course she would very soon find out +that she couldn't, but if she proved some one else could, why then she +wouldn't be so bad, after all. + +Ernestine was quick to see that the way to enlist Mr. Beason was to talk +to him about Karl. They were alone in the laboratory for an hour each +morning, and during that period she always managed to say something about +Dr. Hubers to leave Beason closer to her at the end of the hour than he +had been at the beginning. There were more ways than one of winning a +scientific victory, she concluded, half humorously, but with a touch of +sadness. She was beginning to see that it was a battle which demanded +tact and diplomacy quite as much as brains and skill. She must not only +furnish enthusiasm for herself, she must inspire all associated with her +if she were to gain from them what they had to give. + +It was after she had one day spoken with unusual freedom of the suffering +which surged beneath Karl's calm acceptance of the inevitable that Beason +took his first firm stand in her behalf. + +"Well now, of course," he conceded, after a long time of turning it over +in his mind, "you really don't have to _know_ much, do you? The great +thing for you to learn is to tell exactly how results look. It isn't as +if you had to reason and think,"--that was Beason's supreme rise to +graciousness. + +"Why, you have the idea exactly, Mr. Beason," she replied, admiringly, +and Beason grasped that he had manifested rare insight. + +"Well now,"--doubtfully--"I suppose you might practice on me. Practice is +what you need. I haven't looked at any of those things over there. See if +you can give me an idea of what they are." + +She did her best, blundering freely, and thinking with an inward smile +that she had not counted on anything so difficult as translating things +to Beason. + +Then he took the tube from her hand and explained how she had failed to +get the significant things, and how valueless she would be unless she +made the determining points stand out. He was very blunt and +unflattering, but she was grateful to him from the bottom of her heart. +"You see you do have to have some brains after all," he concluded with a +sigh. + +But after that he frequently devoted his entire hour to helping her. He +had come to accept her as one of his duties, and Beason was not one to +neglect his appointed task. Day by day she gained a great deal from the +uncompromising Mr. Beason. + +In fact, after those first uncertain weeks, she gained a great deal from +every one. Gradually it began to systematise itself, and Ernestine's good +sense, her earnestness, which was fairly devotion, her respect for every +one's knowledge and gratitude for all help--to say nothing of her eyes +and smile and voice--slowly penetrated even the conservatism of science. + +Dr. Parkman did not neglect her. He came out often and spent an hour in +the laboratory, bringing things for her to work with. Perhaps the doctor +saw that quite as much as his help, she needed the prestige his attention +would give. It was no small thing to have the great Dr. Parkman giving +her his time. "Upon my soul," Mr. Willard said one day, after the doctor +had been there a long time and had seemed very much in earnest, "I don't +believe Parkman's the man to spend his time on a wild goose chase!" + +"It doesn't seem so, does it?" said Professor Hastings ingenuously. + +"Why, think what that man's time is worth!" continued Mr. Willard, +growing more and more impressed. + +"I don't know any one else out here who would get much of it," Professor +Hastings ventured. + +"Well, she is a remarkable woman," Willard said then, insistently. + +And Professor Hastings--understanding many things about human +beings--said he was really coming to feel that way himself. + +Ernestine was alone in the laboratory one bright morning in December. Mr. +Beason had just gone away after assuring her anew that she had a very +great deal to learn. Perhaps it was funny, but one was not always in the +mood for humorous things. Sometimes one felt more like putting one's head +down on the table and having a good cry. Her hands were not quite steady, +as she went about the work Beason had patronisingly left for her to do, +and out of the mists which blinded her there came a picture of her own +quiet studio at home, where she had worked with her own things, things +with which she was supreme. She saw herself at her easel, working in that +quick, sure way of hers, no one to tell her some one else could do it a +great deal better, and that it was extremely doubtful whether she could +ever do anything at all. A longing to be back there doing the things she +knew she could do, a longing to have again that sure sense of her work as +good, swept over her then. She was accustomed to a sense of mastery; it +was that made some of these things so hard. It was not easy to make over +one's soul, even when it was love called one on. As she went steadily +ahead with her task, working out painstakingly the correction Beason had +made, she wondered whether there were as many tears back of other smiles +as there had often been back of hers. + +But she had been able to smile!--that was something for which to give +thanks. Not even Karl himself would ever know what she had gone through, +but what she had gone through was of small consequence could she but push +her way on to what she was confident awaited her. There was sustaining +power in that thought: her hands did not tremble now, her eyes were +clear; she worked on steadily and firmly. + +One thing which had unnerved her was that Karl had seemed to hate to have +her go away that morning. He had followed her out into the hall. "Working +so hard, liebchen?" he said--and was it not wistfully? Perhaps he had not +felt like work himself and had wanted her to stay at home with him. It +hurt cruelly to think Karl might not understand her willingness to be +away from him so much. + +His presence was always with her in the laboratory. The days brought a +very clear picture of Karl at work there, a new understanding of his +adjustment to his work, firmer comprehension of his love for it. Often a +sense of the terribleness and wrongness of his disaster would rush over +her, crowding her heart with the old rebellion and bitterness. Again and +again she lived through the hour Karl had spent there alone, facing the +truth, and then a horror of those things with which she worked, those +awful things which had destroyed Karl's eyes, would take hold of her as a +physical fear, a repulsion, almost impossible to fight. + +She was constantly brought to see the difference between him and these +other men; every hour she spent there brought deeper appreciation of +Karl's greatness, clearer sense of it. And when their kindly patronage +sometimes passed from the amusing to the insufferable, she would think +how Karl, master of them all, took her so unreservedly into his mind and +heart, cherishing her ideas and opinions as quite the most vital things +in all the world, and sometimes that would help her to smile, and not +infrequently it made her long to hurl a test-tube at the self-satisfied +head of Mr. Beason. But always, in the end, it caused her to set her +whole being with new persistence, more passionate stubbornness, in this +determination to achieve. + +It was while she was still alone that Professor Hastings came in with a +note he had just received for her. "It's from Dr. Parkman," she said as +she tore it open hastily. + +She read a little of it and then sat down. He thought for a moment that +she was going to cry. + +"Dr. Parkman wants me to come down to one of his operations this +afternoon,"--she looked up at him appealingly. "I--I never went to +anything like that," she added, with a tremulous laugh. + +"What does he say about it?" he asked, anxiously. + +"Merely--merely that it will be a good cancer operation, and that I had +better begin on that part of the work. He says he would be willing to do +that, but he thinks it will help me to be able to make some of the +observations for Dr. Hubers myself. I--well, it sometimes makes me sick +to see things I don't like,"--laughing a little, and plainly unnerved. + +"Oh, no," he assured her; "it will not be that bad." But he added, +uneasily: "Dr. Parkman seems anxious for you to come?" + +"No, not particularly anxious; he simply tells me to be there at two +o'clock." + +"I suppose then you'd better go," he laughed. "You won't mind much. You +may to-day, but you'll become accustomed to it very soon. And it is +important. Some one else might do it, but it will help your own +understanding of the subject, make your equipment that much better. It's +a great thing for you to have Dr. Parkman's help. And he is so pleased +with your progress. He told me the other day that he thought it +absolutely phenomenal the way you were getting on." + +"Did he?" she asked eagerly, for she had learned to seize upon all which +would buoy her up. + +"We all think so," he replied earnestly. "Even Mr. Willard, who, as you +may have observed, is not an enthusiast, said the other day that you were +becoming really useful." + +She brightened, and then laughed. She had never supposed she would be +inordinately pleased to have a man like Mr. Willard say she was really +useful. + +"While Mr. Beason went so far as to assert that you had a general +intelligence not unlike that of a man." + +She laughed heartily at that. "Well, I'm afraid they won't think I have +the nerve or sense of a man when I get in the operating room this +afternoon," she said with a wry little face. + +"Well, remember what it's all for," he said, in that simple way of his +which went so far because it was so direct, "and remember that we are all +believing in you." + +In response to that she went back to her work with new resolution. + +It was a little before two when her lagging footsteps brought her in +sight of the hospital. "Why, I act as though I were going to my own +execution," she told herself scornfully. Ever since receiving the note, +she had been trying not to think about what was before her; but it was +here now, a fact to be faced. Conquering an impulse to turn about and +beat a hasty retreat, she advanced with a brisk and business-like air she +was sure would deceive the most knowing of hospital attendants. + +They seemed to know about her in the office, and took her up to one of +the rooms adjoining the operating room. The hospital was a very large +place, and there were a great many odours she did not like. She hated +herself for being so silly about things! Through the open door she saw +many faces: white faces, thin faces, faces drawn with pain, faces robbed +of hope, faces fretful, and faces indifferent, and she caught sight of +one girl whose very happy eyes looked out from a face which bore the +record of much pain. A story easy to read: she had been very ill, but now +she was getting well. And how calm and well-ordered a place it was-- +strange how they could keep so unruffled a surface over so turbulent a +sea! + +A nurse upstairs said that Dr. Parkman had told her to look after Mrs. +Hubers. She dressed her in a white gown and talked to her pleasantly +about operations in general. Ernestine was glad that this very rational +being did not know how hard she was struggling to keep her teeth from +chattering. + +In a minute, Dr. Parkman himself came in, he, too, in white gown, ready +for the operation. He looked so strange; to her nervous vision, +supernatural, a being from other worlds, holding the destiny of this one +in those strong, supple, incisive fingers. "I don't suppose you'll enjoy +this much," he said, "but you'd better get used to them. Karl may need +you to do some of this for him, and you wouldn't like it not to be able +to." + +"No, indeed," she replied, heartily--very heartily. "I'm so glad to +come." + +He looked at her in his keen, deep-seeing way. She had an uncomfortable +sense that he had a distinct impulse toward a smile. + +"Hughes, one of our young doctors, will point out a few things to you as +we go along, and I'll go over it with you afterwards." + +Then they went into the operating room. + +She fought hard against the smell of ether, and managed to hold herself +quite firm against it. But there was a ghastliness in the whole thing +which frightened her. + +The patient was lying there on the operating table, covered with sheets, +looking as if dead. It was a woman who was to be operated on, and +Ernestine could not overcome the idea that it was a dreadful thing for +her to be there alone, surrounded by strange people who were acting in so +unconcerned a manner. They did not seem to be thinking in the least of +what life and death meant to this woman. One young doctor was showing +something to another, and they laughed right out loud! The woman whose +life was at stake was not impressing them any more than--not any more +than that terrible looking little instrument which the nurse handed to +Dr. Parkman. + +Her dizzy vision got Dr. Parkman's face as he leaned over his patient. +She had never seen such a look of concentration; he did not know anything +in the world then save the thing he was doing. And the concentration was +enveloped in so tremendous a coolness. But her own face must have warned +the nurse who was looking after her, for she whispered, "Suppose you come +over here by the window until they have started. There is no need for you +to watch while they are making the incision." + +So she stood there with her back to them, looking out at a little park +across from the hospital. Down there, men and women were moving about +quite as usual; one girl was laughing very heartily about something. +Strange that people should be laughing! + +"Now you might come over here," said the nurse, as pleasantly and easily +as though saying, "Wouldn't you like a cup of tea?" + +She tried then with all her might to take it as the rest of them were +taking it. But they were operating on the stomach, and her first glimpse +caused an almost uncontrollable sinking in the knees. Her ears began to +pound, but by listening very hard she could hear what Dr. Hughes was +saying. He was saying something about its being a very nice case, and she +wondered if the woman were married, and if she had any children, and then +she knew how irrelevant and unprofessional that was. Dr. Hughes was +telling her to look at something, and she did look, and she saw Dr. +Parkman's hands, only it seemed they were not human hands at all, +but some infallible instrument, an instrument with an unconquerable +soul,--and then everything was dancing before her eyes, her ears were +pounding harder and harder, her knees sinking, everything swaying, some +one had hold of her, and some one else, a great many miles away was +saying--"Take her out!" + +When she opened her eyes, she was lying on a couch in an anteroom, the +nurse bending over her. The attendant smiled pleasantly, no more agitated +than before. "Too bad," she said; "a good many of us take it like that at +first." + +But Ernestine was not to be comforted. It meant too much to her. The +tears were running down her face, but suddenly she brushed them angrily +aside, and sat up. "I'm going back," she said resolutely. + +"Oh, but you mustn't," protested the nurse,--"not today. It really +wouldn't do. And anyway they must be almost through. Dr. Parkman works so +rapidly." + +It was a very disheartened Ernestine who sat there then alone. "What will +Dr. Parkman think of me?" she bewailed to herself. "He will never want to +have anything more to do with me. He will be so disgusted that he will +let me alone now. And how am I to get along without him? Oh, _why_ am I +such a fool?" + +The whole day had been hard, she was tired out when she came, and this +was too much. So she just lay back on the couch and cried. It was so that +Dr. Parkman found her when he came briskly in at the close of the +operation. + +"Why, what's the matter?" he demanded. "Heard some bad news?" + +"_Bad_--news!" she choked out; "no, I haven't heard any bad news--except +that I'm an utterly worthless, weak-minded fool!" + +"And where did you hear that?" he pursued. + +"Oh, doctor--I'm so ashamed! But if you'll only give me another chance! +If you'll just not give me up for a little while yet!" + +"Give you up! Now what kind of reviving fluid did Miss Lewis produce for +you? What in the world are you talking about? Do you think you're any +grand exception in not seeing your first operation through? Hum! Ask some +of these nurses around here. Some of the doctors too, only they won't +tell the truth. My first day in the dissecting room was a day of about +thirty minutes. So you see you have plenty of company in your +weak-mindedness." + +She brightened then to the extent of looking willing to be comforted. +"But it's humiliating, doctor, to think you're going to accomplish some +big thing and then be absolutely overcome by a little incidental thing +that doesn't happen to appeal to your senses. It's awful to have your +senses get ahead of your soul like that," she laughed. + +"Hum!"--Dr. Parkman had a "hum" all his own. "There's nothing unique in +that experience, either. The spirit is willing, but the stomach is +weak--to put it in exact terms. As a matter of fact, that's what life is +made up of--having great purposes overthrown by minor inconveniences. +Many a man can get hold of a great idea, but very few of them can stick +by it through the things that make them uncomfortable. That's the reason +most dreamers fail--they're not willing to come down out of the clouds +and get to work at things that turn their stomachs!" + +"Well, I'm not like that!" she flashed back at him. + +"You? I know you're not. Some ancestor of yours gave you a big bump of +stubbornness--for which you should look back to him with gratitude. +Stubborn people aren't easily put out of the race. Now I'll tell you why +I wanted you to come down here," he went on, more seriously. "I want you +to see the thing just as it is. I want you to get the conception of it as +a whole. I don't want you to become short-sighted. Some people look so +much through the microscope that they forget how to look any other way. +That's the difference between Karl and some of those fellows you're +associated with now. That Willard and Lane and young Beason are the +scientific kind, too abominably scientific to forge ahead. Don't lose +sight of what you are doing. All these things you are doing now are +simply a means to an end. You are to be one of the instruments +employed--as you put it yourself one day--but make yourself such a +highly-organised, responsive instrument that you're fairly alive with the +idea yourself. See? That's where your real value will come in. You +know,"--it was Dr. Parkman now who breathed the enthusiasm which draws +one to a light out beyond obstacle and difficulty--"I'm beginning to see +the thing more and more as actual fact. I caught the idea from the first, +and then it seemed it simply had to be done because it was such a great +thing to do, but I'm getting it more and more now just as a practical, +matter-of-fact thing. And it isn't so far away,--not so very. You see, +after all, Mrs. Hubers, you don't have to do it all. It would be stupid +to set a race horse at a job that could be just as well accomplished by a +plug. Any well-trained man can do certain things for Karl--but it's the +touch of the artist--the things that make it real--it's making the blind +man see--doing the impossible!--that's your work. Why, I can fairly see +the whole thing," he went on--"Karl and you and some good assistant. +He'll get both points of view then--he can't miss anything. The other +fellow can give him certain technicalities you might miss--and then +you'll turn in and bring it to his vision. A clear statement of facts +could never make a blind man see. And then it will be your business to +keep the spirit right--that's the real point, after all. Why, I can see +it just as clearly as I could see that work to be done in there!"-- +pointing to the operating room. + +It was another Ernestine now. She rose to it as the warrior to the +trumpet call. He knew that the right word had been said. + +"Now I don't think it will hurt you to see some of these operations," he +went on, in more business like way. "Not only to help with observations +for Karl, but--well, just to see it for yourself. Nothing will make this +quite so real and vital to you as to see it actually breaking down human +organisms, destroying life. I want you to get an eye for the thing as a +whole:--see it as it is now, see the need of making it some other way. +You must have more than a desire to help Karl--you must have an +enthusiasm for the thing itself. You'll get so then that when you see an +operation like this you won't see just some broken-down, diseased tissue +that makes you feel weak-kneed, but you'll see something to get in and +fight. Oh, it's a battle--so get your fighting blood up! Remember that +you'll have to have enough for two. You know, what you must do for Karl +is not only give him back the weapons with which to fight, but you must +rouse his soldier's blood,--see what I mean?" + +It was a joy to watch the response. He could see weariness and +discouragement slipping from her as she spoke. + +He was thinking to himself that she was superb, but aloud he said, "This +is a good specimen in here. If you'll just come into the next room I'd +like to go over it with you. I think I can make a few things clear." + +She was radiant then, happy that he had so soon forgotten her first +failure, appreciating his assumption that she was ready even now to go on +with the fight. + +"She will carry it through," thought Dr. Parkman, as he finally left the +hospital. "And, by the good Lord, I believe that Karl Hubers is going to +get back in the game and win! Nasty blow to the woman haters," he mused, +as he looked in upon an office full of waiting patients,--"a very nasty +blow." + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +WITH BROKEN SWORD + +He wished that Ernestine would come home. He had let Ross go at four, and +it was lonesome there alone. In spite of the fact that she was away so +much, Ernestine was almost always there when he wanted her most. That was +just one of the wonderful things about Ernestine. Something must have +detained her to-day. + +He reached over on the table for his copy of "Faust." It had become his +habit to pick it up when he did not care to sit face to face with his own +thoughts. It seemed to hold some word for everything in life. Its +universality made it a good friend. + +It was becoming easier to read with his fingers, but he had never come +into the old joy in reading that there had been in the days when he could +_see_ it. And it seemed to him that there was an unnecessary clumsiness +about the whole thing. He had worked out a little idea of his own for +which he was going to have a model made. He believed it might help +some--at any rate he had enjoyed working it out. "If a fellow feels like +inventing, he simply must invent something, whether it amounts to +anything or not," he had explained to Ernestine. + +He did not read consecutively to-night, but just a line here and there, +getting a little of wit, a little of philosophy, a dash or two of +sarcasm, an occasional gleam of sentiment; he liked to take it that way +at times like this; it seemed if not one thing, then surely another, must +keep him from the things into which it would be so easy to slip to-night. + +"Restless activity proves the man!"--several times his fingers went over +that, and his responsive face told that to his mind it brought a poignant +meaning, and to his heart an understanding and a sadness. He closed the +book, and sat there thinking. He seemed very self-contained--quiet, +poised, but the understanding eye would have known that he was thinking +deep thoughts, facing hard truths. + +Once at a horse race he had seen a horse which had just been lamed tied +near the track. It heard the ringing of the gong, heard the music of the +other horses' feet, heard, saw, smelled, sensed in every way the race +that was going on. A weakness in one foot could not kill the spirit of a +race horse. Tied there beside the track, watching others struggling for +the race! He had wondered about that horse, then, had been sure from the +quivering of its nostrils, the pawing of its foot, the passionate +trembling of its whole superb body that it suffered. Thinking back to it +to-night he had good reason to know that he had been right that day. + +It was queer about life. In some ways so incomprehensively great and +superb, and yet so easy to be overthrown. Great purposes seemed very +great, but was a thing really great when it was so easily undermined? Was +there not a dizzying instability about it all? + +He smiled a little as he lighted his pipe. He seemed to be doing a great +deal of speculating these days. What if he too were to be graduated into +the bigger field of philosophy? But he shook his head, still smiling a +little. If he ever entered the bigger field of philosophy he was sure he +would not be carried there in other men's elevators, that he would not +arrive in the jaunty, well-groomed state of Ross and his sort. No, if he +ever found the bigger field of philosophy, it would be after he had +scaled slippery crags and forded great rivers, after he had pushed his +way through brambles and across sharp stones, after he had many times +lost his footing, and had many times stopped to rest, believing he could +go no farther. It was after some such quest that he might perhaps find +his way up into the bigger field of philosophy. But he would not find +Ross there. Ross and his fellows were down in a nice little garden that +had been fixed up for them. That was it: the garden of philosophy,--a +garden made by man, in which there were little artificial lakes and +shrubbery set out in attractive designs. A very nice garden indeed, where +the sun shone and where it was true pretty flowers would grow--but ah, +one did not feel the wind upon one's face down in that sheltered garden +as he believed one would feel it up there on the lonely heights to which +one had climbed alone! And the garden of philosophy--he was smiling at +his fancy, but it interested him--was electric lighted, while up there on +the big wide sweep, one came very close to the stars. + +What was philosophy, anyway? With Ross it seemed a matter of speaking the +vocabulary of philosophers. It was so, he knew, with many men. And yet, +as to the thing itself, it was not a mere learning a system of thought, +acquiring the easy use of a peculiar kind of words. It was not fair, +after all, to judge a thing by the people least fitted to understand it. +Perhaps philosophy was conquering life. Perhaps it was learning to take +life in good part, making up one's mind to write good text-books if it +seemed certain the writing of text-books were to be one's part. Perhaps +it was just holding one's place. The mere thing of holding one's place +seemed a bigger thing now than it once had. He wondered. He was wondering +about many things these days, and perhaps he had already scaled a crag or +two, for he was able sometimes, in spite of the deep sadness of his face, +to smile a little in his wonderings. + +Ernestine was her sweetest self when she came in a little later. "I'm +glad you were late," he said, after her affectionate protestations +regarding her shortcomings, "you haven't been this nice for a long time." + +She threw aside her hat and coat and took her favourite place on the low +seat beside him. "Don't you remember, liebchen, how it was over there in +Europe--after you'd treated me badly, you were always so nice, that I +used to be quite tempted to make you be horrid?" + +"I never was horrid to you," she protested. + +"You're never horrid any more," he said, and, strangely enough, he said +it sadly. + +"Well, do you _want_ me to be?" + +"Yes! I wish you'd turn in once in a while and call me an old brute, and +say you wished you'd never seen me, and didn't know how in heaven's name +you were going to go on living with me!" + +"Karl," she gasped--"are you going _crazy_?" + +"No--at least I hope not. But you're just nice to me all the time, +because--because I'm blind! I don't like it! I wish you'd _swear_ at me +sometimes!" + +"Well, in the first place," laughing, but serious too,--it had come so +heatedly, "it isn't my way to swear at any one. I never did swear at you. +Why should I begin now?" + +"Oh, swear was figurative language," he laughed. + +"And of all things for a man to harrow up his soul about! Not liking it +because his wife is never horrid to him!" + +"It's not as crazy as it sounds. Are you and I a couple of plaster +saints? Well, hardly! Then why don't we have any quarrels? It's just +because you're sorry for me! I'll not have you being sorry for me!" he +concluded, almost angrily. + +But when she kissed him, he could not resist a smile. "You don't know +much, do you, Karl? Don't you know that we don't quarrel about little +things, because we've had so many big things on hand? We don't swear at +each other, because--" + +"Because we have so many other things to swear at," he finished for her. + +"That's it. All our fighting emotion is being used up." + +"Oh, you're such a genius for making things seem right! Now looking at it +that way, I'm quite reconciled to your being nice to me. Still I want you +to promise that if you ever feel like swearing, you will." + +"I promise," she responded solemnly. + +"Don't do things--or not do things--because you're sorry for me, +Ernestine." + +"We are 'sorry for' people who are unequal to things. I'm sorry with you, +not for you, Karl." + +"Ernestine,"--with an affectionate little laugh--"is there _anything_ you +don't understand?" + +"You might play a little for me," he said after a silence. "Play that +thing that ends in a question." + +"Of Liszt's?" + +"Yes; the one that leaves you wondering." + +At first she had resented bitterly her not being able to play more +satisfyingly. If only music were her work! It seemed an almost malicious +touch that fate, in taking away Karl's own work, had also shut him out +from hers. Resentment at that had made it hard for her to play for him at +all, at first. But she had overcome that, and had been able to make music +mean much to them both. They loved especially the music which seemed to +translate for them things within their own hearts. + +But to-night when Ernestine had left him pondering a minute the question +he said Liszt always left with him, she turned, eagerly it seemed, to +lighter things. She played a little Nevin, played it with a lightness, +gladsomeness, he had never felt in her touch before. He said Nevin helped +him to see things, that he could see leaves moving on their branches, +could see the shadows falling on the hillsides where the cattle were +grazing, as he listened to Nevin. But it did not bring the pictures +to-night. It opened up new fears. + +"Ernestine," he said abruptly, "come here." + +"Are you ever frightened, Ernestine?" he asked of her, still in that +abrupt, strange manner. + +"Frightened--about what?" + +"Frightened about having to live all your life with me!" + +For a moment she did not answer. Then, her voice quiet with the quiet +that would hold back anger: "Karl, do you think you are treating me very +kindly to-night? Saying these strange things I cannot understand?" + +"But, Ernestine--look here! You're young--beautiful--love life. Doesn't +it ever occur to you that you're not getting enough fun out of things?" + +"Karl,"--and there was a quivering in the voice now--"do you think I have +been thinking lately about 'getting fun out of things'?" + +"No, but that's just it! You _ought_ to be thinking about it! +Ernestine--_think_ of it! How are you going to go on forever loving a +blind man?" + +For answer, she knelt down beside him, her arms about his neck, her cheek +against his. + +"Yes--I know--in that way. But in the old way of the first days? I was so +different then. How _can_ you love me now, the way you did then? What do +I do now but sit in a chair and try to be patient? Look at a man like +Parkman! That's life. Ernestine"--drawing her close, a sob in his +voice--"liebchen,--_can_ you?" + +She longed to tell him then; it would mean so much to tell him now,--Karl +was so troubled to-night. But the time was not ripe yet; she must not +spoil it all. And so instead she talked to him of how real power +comprehended more than activity, how depth of understanding, great things +of the soul, were more masterful than those outer forces men called +"life." Ernestine seldom failed in being convincing when she felt things +as she now felt this. + +"You always have the right word," he said at last. "You can always get +ahead of the little blue devils." + +"Oh, Karl," she murmured, very low, her heart too full to resist +this--"some day I can show you better what I expect of life." + +"Of course," he mused, after a silence, "you have your work." + +"Yes," replied Ernestine, and something in her voice puzzled him, "I have +my work." + +He would have been startled could he have seen her face just then. For +Ernestine was so happy to-night. She had come away from the hospital with +a song in her heart; a song of resolution and of triumph. She had never +foreseen the future so clearly; the time had never seemed so close at +hand; it had never been this real before. Just in front of her as she sat +there beside Karl was the Gloria Victis, that statue for which he had +cared so little at first, but which in these later days she often found +him dwelling upon with his hands in lingering touch of appreciation. To +her the statue had come to hold many meanings; she looked at it now with +shining eyes. Karl had held so tight to the broken sword--how splendid +then that he should win the fight despite it all. + +And she felt she had never risen so completely to the idea of Karl's +greatness as she did to-day. What was there in the afternoon had meant so +much to her? Was it actually seeing things as they were, or was it the +things Dr. Parkman had said to point the way anew? There was to-night a +new tide of appreciation, a larger understanding, more passionate +response to this thought of Karl as greatest of them all. Looking at +his face as he sat there in deep thought, she saw the marks of his +greatness upon it just as plainly as she saw those other marks of his +suffering.--This man stop work? Such as he out of the race? + +She remembered the letters they had received when the news of his +blindness had gone out. She had wept over them many times, but it seemed +she had never grasped their significance before. They were from men of +science, from doctors, from students, and from many plain people unknown +outside their small communities, who wrote to say they were sorry. They +had seen about him once or twice in the magazines, they said, or perhaps +their own doctor at home had told them of him, and they were so +interested because their wife or husband or mother had died of cancer, +and they knew what an awful thing it was. It should have been some one +whom the world needed less than it needed him, these plain people said. + +Her eyes filled with a rush of tears. This was her Karl--he with whom all +the world grieved! She recalled the editorials in the scientific papers, +telling of the things he had done, the things it had been believed by +them all he would achieve. This was her Karl!--this man whose withdrawal +from active participation had been told of by great scientists everywhere +as a world-wide calamity. How quiet and unassuming and simple he had been +about it all--he whose stepping-out had been felt around the world! + +And, now, some day before long she would come to him with: "Karl, I have +found a new way of fighting with broken swords; take a good grip on the +sword, a good strong grip, and let us turn back to the fight!" + +She turned to him with that quick passionateness he loved in her so well. +"I love you," she said, and though she had said it many times in other +days, it had never sounded just like that before. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +UNPAINTED MASTERPIECES + +Georgia was to be married. It was the week before Christmas, and on the +last day of the year she would become Mrs. Joseph Tank. She had told Joe +that if they were to be married at all they might as well get it over +with this year, and still there was no need of being married any earlier +in the year than was necessary. She assured him that she married him +simply because she was tired of having paper bags waved before her eyes +everywhere she went, and she thought if she were once officially +associated with him people would not flaunt his idiosyncrasies at her +that way. And then Ernestine approved of getting married, and Ernestine's +ideas were usually good. To all of which Joe responded that she certainly +had a splendid head to figure it out that way. Joe said that to his mind +reasons for doing things weren't very important anyhow; it was doing them +that counted. + +Yesterday had been her last day on the paper. She had felt queer about +that thing of taking her last assignment, though it was hard to reach +just the proper state, for the last story related to pork-packers, and +pork-packing is not a setting favourable to sentimental regrets. It was +just like the newspaper business not even to allow one a little +sentimental harrowing over one's exodus from it. But the time for gentle +melancholy came later on, when she was sorting her things at her desk +just before leaving, and was wondering what girl would have that old +desk--if they cared to risk another girl, and whether the other poor girl +would slave through the years she should have been frivolous, only to +have some man step in at the end and induce her to surrender the things +she had gained through sacrifice and toil. As she wrote a final letter on +her typewriter--she did hate letting the old machine go--Georgia did +considerable philosophising about the irony of working for things only to +the end of giving them up. She had waded through snowdrifts and been +drenched in pouring rains, she had been frozen with the cold and +prostrated with the heat, she had been blown about by Chicago wind until +it was strange there was any of her left in one piece, she had had front +doors--yes, and back doors too, slammed in her face, she had been the +butt of the alleged wit of menials and hirelings, she had been patronised +by vapid women as the poor girl who must make her living some way, she +had been roasted by--but never mind--she had had a beat or two! And now +she was to wind it all up by marrying Joseph Tank, who had made a great +deal of money out of the manufacture of paper bags. This from her--who +had always believed she would end her days in New York, or perhaps write +a realistic novel exposing some mighty evil! + +"Ah, well--it's all in the day's work!"--she had been saying that to +herself as she covered her typewriter, and then, just as she was fearing +that her exit would be a maudlin one, Joe called up to say that he did +not think it would be too cold for the machine, and why not spin out +somewhere on the North Shore for a good dinner? Now that had been nice of +Joe, for it tided her over the good-byes. + +To-day she was engaged in the pre-nuptial rite of destroying her past, +indulging in the letter destroying ceremonial which seems always to +attend the eve of matrimony. It was so that Ernestine found her when she +stopped on her way from the university that afternoon. + +Mrs. McCormick was sewing yards upon yards of lace on something when +Ernestine came in. "She's right in there," she said, referring to Georgia +in a sepulchral tone which might fittingly have been employed for: "The +remains have been laid out in the front room." + +Georgia herself, though not sepulchral, was subdued. "My, but I'm glad +you've come," she said, brushing aside several hundred letters that +Ernestine might have a place to sit down. "I'm having the most terrible +twinge of conscience." + +"Why, what about?" + +Georgia pointed to the clock. "Think of my not being at the office! I +ought to be hanging around now for an afternoon assignment." + +"You'll get over that," Ernestine assured her, cheerfully. + +"Oh, I suppose so. One gets over everything--even being alive. Meanwhile, +behold me,"--with a great sweep of her arms--"surrounded by my blighting +past." + +"That one looks like Freddie Allen's writing," said Ernestine, giving an +envelope at her foot a little shove. + +"It is," said Georgia, with feeling; "yes--it is. Poor Freddie--he was +such a nice boy." + +"I suppose he's nice still," observed Ernestine. + +"Oh, I suppose so. I'm sure I don't know. He's way back there in the dim +past." + +"Well, do you want him up here in the sunny present?" Ernestine inquired, +much entertained. + +"No, oh no--if I had wanted him I would have had him," with which +reversion to the normal Georgia they laughed understandingly. + +She shook herself free of the dust of her past then, piled up the pillows +and settled herself on the bed. "But we had some good times back there in +the dim past, didn't we, Ernestine?" + +"Some of them were good times," replied Ernestine, a little soberly. + +"Of course our college life would have been happier if we had been able +to pull down that sophomore flag. I've always thought Jack Stewart might +have done a little better with that. But as long as we kept Jim Jones +away from every party in his junior year, perhaps we should be +satisfied." Georgia sighed heavily. "And it is a joy to think back to +your telling the dean he didn't have the courage of his convictions when +he let them fire Stone for heresy. Oh there are a good many things to be +thankful for. You always had lots of nerve when it came to a show-down. +You looked so lady-like, and yet you really weren't at all." + +"Well, I don't know whether I like that or not." + +"I mean not so lady-like that it interfered with anything you wanted to +do. You'd speak up in the pleasantest, most agreeable voice and say the +most dreadful things. I'll never forget the day you told "Prof" Moore in +class that you had always had a peculiar aversion to the Pilgrim +Fathers." + +"I always did," Ernestine said fervently. + +"Then one day when we had spent an hour trying to tell what Shakespeare +meant by some line you said you thought quite likely he put it in just +because there had to be another line. And "Prof" Jennings conditioned you +on the whole year's work--remember?" + +"I have reason to," laughed Ernestine. + +"The funny part of it was that you never seemed to think you were saying +anything startling. Like the day you contended in ethics that you thought +frequently it was better to be pleasant than truthful. Kitty Janeway was +so shocked at that. I wonder if Kitty Janeway is any happier with her +second husband than she was with her first?" + +"I'm sure I don't know," said Ernestine in a rather far-away voice. + +"I'll send all the girls cards," said Georgia, and again she sighed +heavily. "The cards are going to look very nice," she added, a little +more hopefully. + +"Ernestine?"--after a little pause. + +"Yes?" + +"You and I are hanging right over the ragged edge of thirty." + +"Horrors!--Georgia; is this your idea of furnishing pleasant +entertainment for a guest?" + +"But I was just thinking how many things have happened to us since we +were twenty-two." + +"I was thinking of that a minute ago myself." + +"To you, especially. Now, I never supposed when we were in college that +you were going to marry Karl Hubers." + +"No," laughed Ernestine, "neither did I." + +"I mean I never associated you two with one another. And now I can't +think of you separately. And then your father and mother, and then Karl +losing--heavens, but I'm cheerful! Now, isn't it just like me," she +demanded, angrily, "to act like a fool just because I'm going to be +married? If I keep on I'll find myself weeping because Socrates is dead. +And I never do weep, either. I tell you that Joe Tank's a terrible man," +she laughed, brushing away some tears. + +"I don't think you're going to have much to weep about, Georgia. I know +you're going to be happy." + +"Well, if I'm not it won't be Joe's fault. Unless it is his fault on +account of its _not_ being his fault. What I mean is that good-natured +people are sometimes aggravating." + +"Oh he'll not always be good-natured," she reassured her. + +Ernestine said then that she must go, and was standing at the door when +Georgia burst forth: "Oh Ernestine--I'm so glad I remembered. You really +must go down to the Art Institute and see those pictures by that +Norwegian artist--I shouldn't dream of pronouncing his name. They go away +this week, and it would be awful for you to miss them." + +A wistfulness, fairly pain, revealed itself for an instant in Ernestine's +face. And then, as if coming into consciousness of the look: "I know," +she said briefly. "I read about them. I've been--thinking about it. I did +see some of them in Europe, but of course I should love to see them +again." + +"I wish you would, my dear; perhaps"--a little fearfully--"they'd +make you feel like getting to work yourself. Ernestine,"--gathering +courage--"it's awful for you to let your work go this way. Every one +says so. I was talking to Ryan the other day--you know who he is? He +asked all about you, and if you were doing anything now, and when I told +him I was afraid not he fairly flew into a rage, said that was just the +way--the people who might be great didn't seem to have sense enough to +care to be." + +That brought the quick colour. "Perhaps Mr. Ryan does not understand +everything in life," she said, coolly. + +"Now, Ernestine--he was lovely about you. Would he have shown any feeling +at all if he didn't care a great deal for your work? Does any one fly +into a rage at _my_ not painting? He said you were _one_ American woman +who was an artist instead of 'a woman who paints.' It seems he saw the +Salon picture. Oh, he said beautiful things about you." + +Ernestine did not answer. She was standing there very quietly, her hand +on the knob. "Now, Ernestine," Georgia went on, after the manner of one +bound to have it out, "I've tried all winter to cultivate repression. I +don't know what it is you are trying to do over there in the laboratory. +You asked me to do two things--not to ask you about it, and not to +mention it to Karl. I haven't done either, but I want to tell you right +now if you have any idea of giving up your own work I think it's time for +your friends to inquire into your mental workings! The very fact you +don't want Karl to know about it shows you know very well _he_ won't +think it's right. Anything that relates to his work can be done by people +who do that kind of work a great deal better than you can. Really, +Ernestine, the thing is positively fanatical. And anyway,"--this with the +air of delivering the overpowering--"I don't think it is at all nice the +way you are taking other men into your confidence and deceiving Karl." + +She met that with a little laugh. "Dear me--what laudable sentiment. I've +always heard there was no one half so proper as the girl about to be +married. Never mind, Georgia,"--a little more seriously, a little as if +it would not be hard to cry--"Karl will forgive me--some day." + +"But, Ernestine, I want you to work! Can't you see how awful it is for +you not to--express yourself?" + +"I am going to express myself," she answered, lightly enough, but after +she had gone Georgia wondered just what she had meant by that. + +She decided, when she came out of the apartment building, that she would +take a little walk. It was just cold enough to be exhilarating, and she +felt the need of something bracing. She was wishing as she walked along +very fast, responding to the keen, good air, that Karl were with her now. +Karl did not exercise enough, and when he did yield to her supplications +and go for a walk with her he did not seem to enjoy it as she wished he +might. "After a while, liebchen," he would say. "I'll be more accustomed +to things after a while. And meanwhile there's plenty of fresh air right +here in our back yard." "But it isn't just getting the fresh air," she +would protest, "it's enjoying it while you're getting it."--"Wait till +spring comes," he would sometimes answer. "I'm going to get out more +then." + +When she saw she was near one of the stations of the Illinois Central she +stopped, a little confused. Could it be she had meant all the time to +come here? Looking to the south, she saw that at the next station, not +three blocks away, the train which would take her to the city in ten +minutes was just arriving. The Art Institute was only two blocks from the +Van Buren Street station;--those facts associated themselves quickly in +her mind. She looked at her watch: not quite three. Karl had said he +would be busy with Mr. Ross until five. She stood there in hesitation. +She had seen no pictures since--oh it was too long ago to remember. What +harm could it do her? And anyway--this with something of the uprising of +the truant child--it was Christmas time! Every one else was taking a +vacation, why--but here it was all swept into the imperative +consciousness that she had no time to lose, and she was at the ticket +window before she was quite sure that she had made up her mind. + +It was all so strange then; exhilaration mounted high for a little while, +but there followed a very tense excitement. She tried to laugh at +herself, contend that she was coming for enjoyment, relaxation, that it +was absurd to go to pieces this way; but things long suppressed called +for their own, and the man to whom she gave her admission fee wondered +for a long time after she had passed him just what it was about her +seemed so strange. + +How good it was! How good to be back among her own kind of things! In the +laboratory every one knew more than she did; there she was repressed, +humble even, gratefully accepting the crumbs of knowledge falling from +their tables. It was good to feel for a little while that she was some +place where she knew a great deal about things. She wished Mr. Willard or +Mr. Beason would happen along that she might give them some insight into +the colossalness of their ignorance. + +She turned down the corridor leading to the room where she would find the +special exhibit. She stopped before many of the pictures--reverting to +that joy of the spirit in dominance. There was exultation, almost +rapture, in this quick, firm rush of understanding; deep joy in just +knowing the good from the bad. + +But when she reached the pictures she had come to see it was different. +She walked to the middle of the room, and in one slow sweep of glance, +punctuated with long pauses, took them in. And she responded to them with +a warm, glad rush of tears. + +They fell upon her artist's soul as the very lovely rain upon the thirsty +meadow. They drew her to them as the mother the homesick child, and like +the homesick child, back at last after weary days, she knew only that she +had come home. In this first overflowing moment there was no thought of +colour--brush work--this or that triumphant audacity; it was a coming to +her own, a home-coming of the spirit--the heart's passionate +thankfulness, the heart's response. + +A few minutes of reverent pause, a high delight, deep response, and +then--the inevitable. Clear as a bell upon the midnight air was that call +from soul to kindred soul. Assurance and longing and demand possessed her +beyond all power to stay. The work she stood before now called to her as +naturally and inevitably as the bird to its mate, as undeniably as the +sea to the river, as potently as spring calls upon earth for its own, as +autumn calls to summer for harvest time. + +It frightened her. It seemed something within her over which she had no +control. It surged through her as far beyond all reason as the tides of +the sea are beyond the hand of man. It was procreative power demanding +fulfillment as the child ready for birth demands that it be born. + +She was conscious of some one's having come into the room. That her face +might not be seen she turned away and sat down before one of the +pictures. She was quivering so passionately that it seemed almost +impossible to hold herself within command. + +The girl who had come in was moving restlessly from one picture to +another; at last she walked over and sat down on the seat by Ernestine. + +"I think I like this one best," she said, abruptly, nodding to the +picture before them. + +Ernestine nodded in reply. She was not sure what would happen were she to +speak. The girl she supposed to be one of the students there. + +"I would give anything in the world--just anything in the world--if I +could do it too!" + +At the passion of that she turned quickly and looked at the girl. In +spite of the real feeling of her tone a fretful look was predominant in +her face. + +"Do you--work hard?" she asked, merely to relieve the pause. + +"Work--yes; but mere work won't do it. I can't do anything like +this,"--it was in bitterness she said it. + +"Very few can, you know," murmured Ernestine. + +"Yes--but I want to! I don't care anything about life--I don't care +anything about anything--if I can't paint!" + +It struck her immediately as so entirely wrong. She looked at the girl, +and then again at the pictures. All the great things they conveyed were +passing her by. She missed the essence of it. The greatness of the work +merely moved her to anger because she was not great herself. It was an +attitude to close the soul. + +"But you should care for life," she said, in her very gentle way. "Do the +best you can with your own work, but work like this should, above +everything else, make you care for life." + +The girl moved impatiently. "You don't understand. I guess you are not an +artist," and she rose and went away. + +Ernestine smiled a trifle, but the strange little interview had opened up +a long vista. The girl represented, in extreme measure, but +fundamentally, the professional attitude. Most artists saw work in +relation to themselves. Pictures were either better or worse than they +could do. They came to the great things like these, seeking something, +usually some mechanical device, to take away to their own work. She could +see so plainly now the shallowness of that. + +Her own mood had changed,--broken. Perhaps it was the consciousness that +she too had been seeing it in relation to herself, or it may have been +but natural reaction. The big uprising was dying down; the heat of the +passion had passed; it was all different now, and in the wake of her +brimming moment there came the calm that follows storm, the sadness of +spirit which attends the re-enthronement of reason, but also the +understanding, far-seeingness, which is the aftermath of great passion +like that. + +There had come to her, as she sat there beside the girl, a throbbing +determination to do both things. The thought had come before, but always +to be banished. It came now with new insistence just because anything +else seemed so impossible. There had never come, even to the outermost +edge of her consciousness, the thought of giving up the work she was +going to do for Karl. Her hardest hour had never even suggested the +possibility of surrender. Her love had seen its way; her life had been +consecrated. But now, when it seemed no longer within her power to deny +the work for which she had been ordained, it seemed that to fulfill both +things was the one thing possible. But in this after-moment of unblurred +understanding she saw she could do both things only by taking from the +things she gave to Karl. It would mean giving her soul to the one, and +what she had left to the other. And she knew that she could never do what +she meant to do for Karl unless she gave everything within herself to +that cause. The chief aim of her struggle in the laboratory had not been +to acquire knowledge and usefulness--that she could do, she knew; her +real aim had been to give to Karl's work the things she had always given +to her own. With a divided soul she could do no more for him than any +other assistant. She was seeking to give him herself. Oh no--it was +simple enough; she had no thought of offering Karl an empty vessel. + +Her mind saw it all, her will never wavered, but the bruised, conquered +spirit quivered under the pain. A long time she sat there, and as the +hour went by a strange thing happened. The pictures were healing the +spirit which they had torn. As they had first moved her to the frenzy +for achievement, had then left her with the pain of relinquishment, +they were bringing her now something of the balm of peace. How big they +were!--first passion, then pain, then understanding, now strength. + +Ernestine came in that hour to see a great truth. It was something she +worked out for herself, something taught her by life and her own heart, +and that is why it reached her soul as it could never have done had she +but read it in books. She came to see that the greatest thing in life was +to be in harmony with the soul of the world. She came into the +understanding that to do that, one need not of necessity paint great +pictures, one need not stand for any specific achievement, one need only +so work out one's life that one made for harmony and not for discord. The +greatest thing pictures could do was to draw men into this world harmony. +These pictures were great because they reached the soul, and she came to +see, and this is what few do see, that the soul which is reached is not +less great than the soul which has spoken. She too could have been one of +the souls to speak; she accepted that in the simplicity with which we +receive the indisputable, but it was good to think that she would not +have failed utterly in fulfilling herself, if at the end, no matter +through what, she made for harmony, and not for discord. + +She grew so quiet then: the quiet of deep understanding. A long time +she sat before a picture of light out beyond some trees. Oh what a +world--with the light coming through the trees like that, and men to see +it, and make it seen! She wished Karl might see these pictures; she +looked at them with a new intentness,--she would tell Karl all about +them; he would be so glad she had come. + +She rose to go. Once more she looked around at the pictures, and to her +eyes there came a dimness, and to her spirit a deep and tender yearning. +There would be joy in having done such work as this. But there were other +things! To work out one's life as bravely and well as one knew how, to do +what seemed best, to be faithful and unfailing to those who were nearest +one, to be willing to lay down one's life for one's love,--perhaps when +the end of the world was reached, and all things translated in terms of +universal things, to have done that would itself mean the painting of a +masterpiece. Perhaps the God of things as they are would see the +unpainted pictures. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +EYES FOR TWO + +"This day smells as though it had been made in the country," Karl said, +leaning from the dining room window which Ernestine had thrown wide open +as she rose from the breakfast table. + +"Yes, and looks that way," she responded, leaning out herself, and taking +a long draught of the spring. + +"Let's take a walk," he said abruptly. + +"Except when you asked me to marry you--you never proposed a more +delightful thing," she responded with gayer laugh than he had heard for a +long time. + +"Suppose we walk down through the park and take a look at the lake," he +suggested. + +"I call that a genuine inspiration!"--losing no time in getting Karl's +things and her own. + +Nothing could have pleased her more than this. It seemed beginning the +spring right. + +"I can fancy we are in Europe," he said, after they had gone a little +way, and she laughed understandingly;--this seemed closer to the spirit +of the old days than they had come for a long time. + +Her guiding hand was on his arm, but more as if she liked to have it +there, than as though necessary. "Your little finger could pilot me +through Hades" he said, lovingly, gratefully, as a light touch told him of +a step to go down, and again she laughed; it was very easy to laugh this +morning. + +The winter, full of hard things for them both, had gone now, and spring, +as is spring's way, held promise. In the laboratory they no longer +treated Ernestine with mere courteous interest. That day in December when +she went down to Dr. Parkman's operation had marked a change. Since then +there had been a light ahead, a light which shed its rays down the path +she must go. + +What did it matter if she were a little stupid about this or that, if Mr. +Beason was unconsciously rude or Mr. Willard consciously polite? For she +_knew_ now--and did anything matter save the final things? With her own +feeling of its not mattering their attitude had seemed to change; she +became more as one with them--she was quick to get that difference. +"You're arriving on the high speed," Dr. Parkman had assured her when he +visited the laboratory a few days before. + +So she knew why she was happy, for added to all that was it not a +glorious and propitious thing that Karl felt like taking a walk? Did it +not argue a new interest in life--a new determination not to be shut off +from it? And Karl--why did he too seem to feel that the spring held new +and better things? Was it just the call of spring, or did Karl sense the +good things ahead? Could it be that her soul, unable to contain itself +longer, had whispered to his that new days were coming? + +"Why, even a fellow on his way to the penitentiary for life would have to +get some enjoyment out of this morning," he said, after they had stood +still for a minute to listen to the song of a bird, and had caught the +sweetness of a flowering tree. + +"And oh, Karl," she laughed, joyously, "you're _not_ on your way to the +penitentiary for life." + +"No," he said, and he seemed to be speaking to something within himself +rather than to her,--"I'm _not_!" + +They had reached Jackson Park, and sat down for a little rest before they +should wend their way on to the lake. "Oh, Ernestine," he said, taking it +in in long breaths, feeling the dew upon his face, and hearing the murmur +of many living things,--"_tell_ me about it, dear. I want to see it too!" + +"Karl--every tree looks as though it were just as glad as we are! Can't +you feel that the trees feel just as we do about things? The leaves +haven't all come out yet, some of them are holding themselves within +themselves in a coy little way they have--although intending all the time +to come out just as fast as ever they can. And it's that glorious, +unspoiled green--the kind nature uses to make painters feel foolish. Oh, +nature's having much fun with the painters this morning. Right over +there,"--pointing with his finger--"is such a beautiful tree. I like it +because all of its branches did not go in the way they were expected to +go. Several of them were very perverse children, who mother trunk thought +at one time were going to ruin her life, but you know lives aren't so +easily ruined after all. 'Now you go right up there at an angle of +twenty-two degrees,' she said to her eldest child. 'Not at all,' said the +firstborn, 'I intend to lean right over here at whatsoever angle will +best express my individuality.' And though the mother grieved for a long +time she knows now--Karl--how foolish we are! But listen. You hear that +bird who is trying to get all of his soul into his throat at once? He's +'way up there on the top branch, higher than everything else, and so +pleased and proud that he is, and he's singing to a little blue cloud +straight above him, and I tell you I never saw such blue--such blue +within blue. Its outside dress is a very filmy blue, but that's made over +an under dress of deeper blue, and there's just a little part in it where +you can see right into the heart, and that's a blue so deep and rich it +makes you want to cry. And oh, Karl--the heart itself has opened a little +now, and you can get a suggestion, just a very indefinite suggestion--but +then all inner things are indefinite--that inside the heart of the cloud +is its soul, and you are permitted one fleeting glimpse to tell you that +the soul of the cloud is such a blue as never was dreamed of on land or +on sea." + +"I can see that cloud," he said,--"and the bird looking up at it, and the +tree whose eldest child was so perverse and so--individual." + +"And, Karl," she went on, in joyous eagerness, "can't you see how the +earth heaved a sigh right here a couple of hundred centuries ago--now +_don't_ tell me the park commissioners made them!--and that when it +settled back from its sigh it never was quite the same again? It was +a sigh of content--for the little slopes are so gentle. Gentle little +hills are sighs of content, and bigger ones are determinations, and +mountains--what are mountains, Karl?" + +"Mountains are revolutionary instincts," he said, smiling at her +fancifulness--Ernestine was always fanciful when she was happy. + +"Yes, that's it. Sometimes I like the stormy upheavals which change the +whole face of the earth, but this morning it's nice to have just the +little sighs of content. And, dear--now turn around and look this way. +You can't really see the lake at all--but you can tell by looking down +that way that it is there." + +"How can you tell, liebchen?" he asked, just to hear her talk. + +"Oh, I don't know _how_ you can. It's not scientific knowledge--it's--the +other kind. The trees know that the lake is there." + +"Let's walk down to the lake," he said. "I want to feel it on my face. +And oh, liebchen--it's good to have you tell about things like this." + +As they walked she told him of all she saw: the people they met, and what +she was sure the people were thinking about. Once she laughed aloud, and +when he asked what she was laughing at, she said, "Oh, that chap we just +passed was amusing. His eyes were saying--'My allowance is all gone and I +haven't a red sou--but isn't it a bully day?'" + +"There's no reason why I should be shut out from the world, Ernestine," +he said vigorously, "when you have eyes for two." + +"Why, that's just what I think!" she said, quickly, her voice low, and +her heart beating fast. + +The shadows upon the grass, the nursemaids and the babies, the boys and +girls playing tennis, or just strolling around happy to be alive--she +could make Karl see them all. And as they came in sight of the lake she +began telling him how it looked in the distance, how it seemed at first +just a cloud dropped down from the sky, but how, upon coming nearer, it +was not the stuff that clouds are made of, but a live thing, a great live +thing pulsing with joy in the morning sunshine. She told him how some of +it was blue and some of it was green, while some of it was blue wedded to +green, and some of it too elusive to have anything to do with the +spectrum. "And, dearie--it is flirting with the sunlight--flirting +shamefully; I'm almost ashamed for the lake, only it's so happy in its +flirtation that perhaps it is not bothered with moral consciousness. But +it seems to want the sunlight to catch it, and then it seems to want to +get away, and sometimes a sunbeam gets a little wave that stayed too long +and kisses it right here in open day--and isn't it awful--but isn't it +nice?" + +In so many ways she told how the lake seemed to her--how it seemed to her +eyes and how it seemed to her heart and how it seemed to her soul, how it +looked, what it said, what it meant; what the clouds thought of it, and +what the sunlight thought of it, what the wind thought of it, what the +dear babies on the shore thought of it, and what it thought of itself. +She could not have talked that way to any one else, but it was so easy +for her heart to talk to Karl's heart. One pair of eyes could do just as +well as two when hearts were tuned like this! + +And then, when she did not feel like talking any more, they stood there +and learned many things from the voice of the lake itself. "Ernestine," +he said, when they turned from it at last, "it seems to me I never saw +Lake Michigan quite so well before." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +SCIENCE AND SUPER-SCIENCE + +"Insubordinate children who play off from school in the morning must work +in the afternoon," Karl said at luncheon, and they went to their work +that afternoon with freshened spirit. + +When the McCormicks gave up their flat at Christmas time, Beason had come +to live with the Hubers. Ernestine prided herself upon some cleverness in +having rented two rooms without Karl's suspecting it was a matter of +renting the rooms. When he engaged Ross as his secretary in the fall she +said it would be more convenient for them all for Mr. Ross to have his +room there. They had an extra room, so why not? She did not put it the +other way--that she felt the house more expensive than they should have +now. Of course Karl would make money in his books--that had been settled +in advance, but things had changed for them, and Ernestine felt the need +of caution. Then as to Beason, she said there was that little room he +could have, and it would do the boy good to be there. "You like John," +she said to Karl, "and as he has not yet been graduated into philosophy, +he may be more companionable than Mr. Ross." And Karl said by all means +to have Beason if it wouldn't bother her to have him around. + +She was glad of that for more reasons than a reduced rent; Beason had +become a great help to Ernestine. After he came there to live they fitted +up some things for her in her studio, and she managed to get in a number +of extra hours when Karl thought she was busy with her pictures. + +In her glow of spirit this afternoon--that walk in the park had meant so +much as holding promise for the future--Ernestine was even willing to +admit, looking back upon it, that the winter had not been nearly so bad +as one would suppose. Mr. Beason and Mr. Ross were both, in their +differing ways, alert and interesting, and there had been some good +wrangles around the evening fire. Other people had found them out, and +they had drawn to them an interesting group of friends. So the days had +flowed steadily on, a brave struggle to meet life in good part, keep that +good-fellowship of the spirit. + +One of the hardest things of all had been deceiving Karl. Her reason +justified it, but it hurt her heart. They had been able to do it, +however, better than she would have believed possible. Mr. Ross was with +him most of the time when she was not, and had frequently been forced to +intercept some caller who was close to an innocent remark about Mrs. +Hubers being over at the university. Several times Karl had caught the +odour of the laboratory about her, and she had been forced to explain it +as the odour of the studio; and more than once, in the midst of a +discussion, her interest had beguiled her into some surprisingly +intelligent remark, and she had been obliged to invent laughing reasons +for knowing anything about it. It hurt her deeply to take advantage of +Karl's blindness in keeping things from him, even though the motive was +all love for Karl, and determination to help. She would be so glad when +all that was over, and she thought as she worked along very hard that +afternoon that perhaps it would not be many days now until Karl should +know. + +That would be for Dr. Parkman to say; so many vital things seemed left to +Dr. Parkman. "Did you ever think," she said, turning to Mr. Beason, who +was busy at the table beside her, "what the doctor really counts for in +this world?" + +"Yes--in a way," said Beason, adjusting his microscope, "but then I never +was sick much." + +"Well, I didn't mean just taking one's pulse," she laughed. "It seems to +me they mean more than prescriptions. For one thing, I think it's rather +amusing the way they all practice Christian Science." + +"Why--what do you mean?" he demanded, aroused now, and shocked. + +"Oh, I've come to the conclusion that a modern, first-class doctor is a +Christian Scientist who preserves his sanity"--she paused, laughing a +little at Beason's bewildered face, and at the thought of how little her +formula would be appreciated in either camp. "I've noticed it down at Dr. +Parkman's office," she went on. "It's quite a study to listen to him at +the telephone. He will wrangle around all sorts of corners to get +patients to admit something is in better shape than it was yesterday, and +though they called up to say they were worse, they end in admitting they +are much better. He just forces them into saying something is better, and +then he says, triumphantly, 'Oh--that's fine!'--and the patient rings off +immensely cheered up." + +"That's a kind of trickery, though," said Beason. + +"Pretty good kind of trickery, if it helps people get well." + +"Well I shouldn't care to be a practicing physician," Beason declared, +"just for that reason. That sort of business would be very distasteful to +me." + +Ernestine was about to say something, and then relegated it to the things +better left unsaid; but she permitted herself a wise little smile. + +"I don't think it's such an awfully high grade of work," he went on. "In +a way it is--of course. But there's so much repetition and routine; so +much that doesn't count scientifically at all--doesn't count for anything +but the patient." + +"But what is science for?" she demanded, aggravated now. "Has medical +science any value save in its relation to human beings?" + +"Oh yes, I know--in the end," he admitted vaguely. + +"All this laboratory work is simply to throw more power into the hands of +the general practitioner. It's to give him more light. It's just because +his work _is_ so important that this work has any reason for being. Dr. +Hubers saw it that way," she concluded, with the air of delivering the +unanswerable. + +"But even that wasn't just what I meant," she went on, after they had +worked silently for a few minutes. "What I was thinking about was the +superdoctor." + +Beason simply stared. + +"No, not entirely crazy," she laughed. "For instance: what can a man do +for nervous indigestion without infusing a little hope? Think of what +doctors know--not only about people's bodies, but about their lives. +Cause and effect overlap--don't they? Half the time a run down body means +a broken spirit, or a twisted life. How can you set part of a thing right +when the whole of it's wrong? How _can_ a doctor be just a doctor--if +he's a good one?" + +But nothing "super" could be expected of Beason. His very blank face +recalled her to the absurdity of getting out of focus with one's +audience. + +She herself felt it strongly. It seemed to her that Dr. Parkman's real +gift was his endowment in intuition. When all was going well she heard +nothing from him; but let things begin to drag, and the doctor appeared, +rich in resources. He seemed to have in reserve a wide variety of +stimulants. + +He looked in upon them often. Whenever in their neighbourhood he stopped, +and though frequently he could not so much as take time to sit down, +the day always went a little better for his coming. "If the end of the +world were upon us, Dr. Parkman could avert the calamity for a day or +two--couldn't he, Karl?" Ernestine had laughed after one of his visits. + +This proved to be one of the days of his stopping in, and he arrived just +as Karl was dictating a few final sentences to Mr. Ross. While they were +finishing--he said he was not in a hurry today--he took a keen look at +Karl's face. His colour was not good--the doctor thought; in fact several +things were not to his liking. "Too many hard times with himself," he +summed it up.--"Droopy. Needs a bracer. Needs to get back in the +harness--that's the only medicine for him." + +He had been thinking about that very seriously of late. Ernestine was at +least in position now to show the possibilities of the situation, and +working with Karl would do more for her in a month than working along +this way would do in five. Why not? No matter how long they waited it was +going to be hard at first. The deep lines in Karl's face furnished the +strongest argument against further waiting. + +"What have we here?" he asked, picking up one of the embossed books lying +open on the table near Karl. + +"I presume that's my Bible," Karl replied. + +"Has it come to this?" the doctor asked dryly. + +"Didn't we ever tell you the story of my Bible?" + +"No. You never did. I never suspected you had one." + +"Oh yes; the Bible was the first book of this sort I had. It was sent to +me by some home missionary society, some woman's organization--" + +"Fools!" broke in Parkman. + +"They saw in the paper about my eyes and so they said to themselves--'Now +here is a good chance to convert one of those ungodly scientists.' So +they sent the Bible along with a nice little note saying that now I +would have time to read it, and perhaps all of this was the hand of +God leading me--you can construct the rest. Well." he paused with a +laugh--"Ernestine was mad." + +"I should hope so!" growled Parkman. + +"She was so divinely angry that in having fun with her I overlooked being +enraged myself. Oh, if I could only give you any idea of how incensed she +was! I think she intended notifying the Chicago police. Really I don't +know to what lengths she would have gone had it not been for my +restraining influence. And then she constructed a letter. It was a +masterpiece--I can tell you that. She compared me to them--greatly to +their disadvantage. She spoke of the various kinds of religious +manifestation--again greatly to their disadvantage." + +"Did she send it?" laughed the doctor. + +"No. I persuaded her that well-intentioned people should receive the same +kindly tolerance we extend to the mentally defective. The writing of the +letter in itself half way contented her--it was such a splendid +expression of her emotions. Poor old girl," he added musingly, "she was +feeling pretty sore about things just then." + +"But the sequel is the queer part," he went on. "I began to read their +Bible, and I like it. It's part of the irony of fate that I haven't +gotten from it the things they intended I should; but I tell you part of +this Old Testament is immense reading. You know, Parkman, I suppose we're +prejudiced ourselves. We don't see the Bible as it is itself. We see it +in relation to a lot of people who surround it. And because we don't care +for some of them we think we shouldn't care for it. Whereas the thing in +itself," he concluded cheerfully, "is just what we'd like." + +"And how go your own books?" Dr. Parkman asked him. + +Karl shrugged one shoulder in a nervous little way he had acquired. +"Oh--so, so. Pretty fair, I guess." His face settled into a gloom then, +but almost immediately he roused himself from it to say, in a voice more +cheerful than spontaneous: "They'll be finished in a couple of weeks. I'm +both glad and sorry. Don't know just what I'll go at then." + +Again he seemed to settle into the gloom which the doctor could see was +ever there waiting to receive him. But again he roused himself almost +immediately. Was it this way with the man all the time? A continuous +fight against surrendering? "But I'm mighty thankful I've had the books," +he said. "They've pulled me through the winter, and they've enabled me to +make a living. Lord, but a man would hate not to make a living!" he +concluded, straightening up a trifle, more like the Karl of old. + +The sheer pathos of it had never come home to the doctor as it did with +that. A man who should have stood upon the very mountain peaks of fame +now proudly claiming that he was able to make a living! But if it brought +home the pathos of the situation it also brought new sense of the manhood +of Karl Hubers. It was great--Parkman told himself--great! A man who felt +within himself all the forces which make for greatness could force +himself into the place of the average man, and thank the Lord that he was +able to make a living! + +"Here's a little scheme I've worked out," Karl said, and opening one of +the drawers of the library table, pulled out the model for the idea he +had worked out for reading and writing in Braille. + +It was the first Dr. Parkman had heard of it; he wanted to know all about +it, and Karl explained how it had seemed to him as soon as he learned how +the blind read and wrote that the thing could be simplified and vastly +improved. So he had worked this out; he explained its points of +difference, and wanted to know what Parkman thought of it. + +"Why, man," exclaimed the doctor, "it strikes me you've revolutionized +the whole business. But--why, Karl--nobody ever thought of this before?" + +"The usual speech," laughed Karl. + +"But in this case it seems so confoundedly true." + +"Well I believe it will help some, and I'll be glad of that," he added +simply. "Oh I have some more schemes. If I've got to be blind I'm going +to make blindness a better business." + +"Our old friend the devil didn't do so well then after all," said Dr. +Parkman quietly. "He closed up one channel, but he didn't figure on your +burrowing another." + +Karl laughed. "Oh this won't worry him much; it came so easily I can't +think it amounts to a great deal. But as long as I was used to scheming +things out it--amused me, exercised a few cells that were in pretty bad +need of a job. And I have other ideas," he repeated. + +Parkman asked what Karl intended to do with his model, offering some +suggestions. The doctor was more than interested and pleased; he +was deeply stirred. "Why, confound the fellow," he was saying to +himself,--"they _can't_ knock him out! They knock him down in one place, +and he bobs up in another!" The ideas of this brain were as difficult to +suppress as certain other things in nature. Dam up one place--they find +another. + +They smoked their cigars and talked intermittently then; they were close +enough together to be silent when they chose. And all the while the +undercurrent of Dr. Parkman's thought flowed steadily on. + +He was thinking that after all there were better things to do with fate +than damn it. If ever a man would seem justified in spending his soul in +the damning of fate, that man, it seemed to him, was the friend beside +him. And while he had done some of it, perhaps a great deal more than any +one knew, it had not been his master-passion. His master-passion had been +to press on--press on to be knew not what--there was the glory of it! It +was easy enough to work toward a goal sighted ahead; but it took a Karl +Hubers to work on through the darkness. + +And ah, there was a good time coming! The doctor's sombre face relaxed to +a smile. His own life seemed almost worth living now just because he had +been able to take a hand--yes, and play a few good cards--in this little +game. Those things Karl had shown him today made it seem there was all +the finer joy in bringing him back to the things which were his own. He +had been thrust from out the gates, but he had not sat whimpering outside +the wall. He had gone on and sought to find a place in that outer world +in which he found himself. And now he should come back to his own through +gates of glory. + +Karl asked him about Ernestine then. How was she looking; was she +thin--pale? Her face felt pale to him, he said. He had urged her to work, +because he knew she would be happier so, but Parkman must see to it she +did not overwork. Had he seen the picture on which she was working so +hard? He asked that wistfully; and the doctor's face was soft, and a +gentleness crept into his voice as he said he believed he was to see the +great picture very soon now. And then, after a silence, Karl said, +softly, very tenderly--"Bless her gamey little heart!" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +THE DOCTOR HAS HIS WAY + +It was in response to the doctor's telephone message that Ernestine went +down to his office one afternoon a few days later. Dr. Parkman had been +detained at the hospital, they told her, but would be there very soon, +and so she sat down in the waiting room, which was already well filled. +Were there always people there waiting for him--and did they not +sometimes grow impatient and want to find a doctor who would not keep +them waiting so long? + +The woman sitting near her looked friendly, and so she asked: "Don't you +get very tired waiting for Dr. Parkman?" + +"Oh, yes," sighed the woman, "very tired." + +"Then why don't you go to some doctor who would attend to you more +quickly?" she pursued, moved chiefly by the desire to see what would +happen. + +The woman stared, grew red, and replied frigidly: "Because I do not wish +to." + +All the other patients were staring at Ernestine, too. "Why don't you do +that yourself?" asked a large woman with a sick-looking small boy. + +"I guess if there was anything much the matter with you, you'd be willing +to wait," said a pale woman with a weary voice. + +And then a man--she was sure that man was a victim of cancer--said +loftily: "A doctor you never have to wait for isn't the doctor you want." + +"The only thing seems queer to me," said a meek looking woman, taking +advantage of the outbreak, "is that he don't look at your tongue. Down in +Indiana, where I come from, they always look at your tongue. There's a +lot of questions he don't ask," she ventured, looking around for either +assent or information. + +"He asks all there's any need of," the first woman assured her. "I guess +_you_ aren't very sick," turning, witheringly, to Ernestine. + +And then they went back to their waiting; those who had rocking chairs +rocking, those who had magazines reading, or turning leaves at least, +some just sitting there and looking into space. It must take away all +sense of freedom to feel that people like this, sick people for whom +everything was hard, were always waiting for one. + +She would tell the doctor how she had been well-nigh mobbed by loyal +patients. They were like a great family; she knew well enough they did +considerable grumbling, but her remark put her without the fold, and from +her as an alien, criticism was not to be brooked. By the glare with which +the first woman still regarded her she was sure she was suspected of +being an agent sent there by some inferior doctor to try and get Dr. +Parkman's patients away from him. + +Ernestine was tired, and she believed she would have to admit that she +was nervous. She had been working harder, she supposed, than she should, +but the further she went the more she saw to do, and something from +within was eternally pushing her on. + +As she waited, her mind turned to the stories that office must hold. +How much of anxiety and suffering and sorrow and tragedy--and occasional +joy--it must know. The mothers who brought children whom others had +declared incurable--how tense these moments of waiting must be for them! +The husband and wife who came together to find out whether she would have +to have the operation--how many of the crucial moments of life were lived +in such places as this! The power in these doctors vested! The power of +their voice, their slightest glance, in holding men from the brink of +despair! Who could know the human heart better than they? They did not +meet the every day men and women well groomed with restraints and +pretence. For it was an hour when the soul was stripped bare that the +doctor looked in upon it. Men were various things to various people, but +to the doctor they came very close to being themselves. Too much was at +stake to dissemble here. When phantoms of fear and death took shape in +the shadows one sought the doctor--and told the truth. + +She had a fancy which moved her then. She saw the men like Dr. Parkman +fighting darkness down in the valley, while from the mountain peak +adjacent men like Karl turned on, as with mighty search-lights, more, and +ever more, of the light. And what were the search-lights for if not to be +turned down into the valley? + +"What time did you go to bed last night?" he demanded, after they had +shaken hands in the inner office. + +"Why--did you see the light?" she faltered;--she had made a promise +against late hours. + +"The light--no; but I see your face now, and that's enough. Was it +two--or worse?" + +"Just a mere trifle worse. And truly, doctor--I didn't mean to. But don't +you know it's hard to stop when you feel just right for a thing? Why, one +can't always do things at the proper time," she expostulated. + +"No, and one can't always keep an abused nervous system from going to +pieces either. Did you ever stop to think of that?" + +"But you'll look after the nervous system," she replied ingenuously. + +"Now that's where a lot of you make the mistake. I can't do anything at +all without the cooperation of common-sense." + +"Well I'm intending to be real good from this on," she laughed. "But it +is so important that I know everything!" + +He laughed then too. "A very destructive notion." + +"Tell me," he said, when he had settled himself in his chair in the +particular way of settling himself when he intended having a talk with +her, "have you been rewarded in all this by any pleasure in it +whatsoever? I don't mean," he made clear, anticipating her, "just the +pleasure of doing something for Karl. But has your work given you any +enthusiasm for the thing in itself?" + +"Doctor--it has. And that was something I was afraid of. But you should +have heard me talking to Mr. Ross the other day when he made one of his +patronising remarks about mere science. I believe that when you work hard +at almost anything you develop some enthusiasm for it." + +"Um--a rather doubtful compliment for science." + +"It was rather Beasonish," she laughed. "But you see in the beginning my +face was turned the other way." + +He gave her one of those concentrated glances then. "And how about that? +Never feel any more like heading the other way?" + +She smiled, and the smile seemed to be covering a great deal. "Oh +sometimes the perverse side of me feels like turning the other way. There +are many sides to us--aren't there? But never mind about that," she +hastened. "That is just something between me and myself. I can suppress +all insurrections." + +There was a pause. She leaned back in the big chair and was resting; +he had seen from the first that she was very tired. "No desire to back +out?"--he threw that out a little doubtfully. + +She sat up straight. She looked, first angry, and then as if she were +going to cry. "Doctor--tell me! Am I _that_ unconvincing? Hasn't the +winter--" + +"This winter," he interrupted gently, "has proved that you knew what you +were talking about when you came to me last fall. Could I say more than +that? I only asked the question," he explained, "because this is the last +chance for retreat." + +And then he told her, watching the changing expressions of her responsive +face. But at the last there was a timidity, a sort of frightened +fluttering. + +"But doctor--am I ready? _Can_ I really do it? There is so much I don't +know!" + +"The consciousness of which is excellent proof of your progress. My idea +is this. In any case it is going to be hard at the first. You might go on +another year, and of course be in better shape, but I don't know just +what Karl would be doing in that year; he's in need of a big rousing up, +and as for you, after working the year with him, you'll be a long way +ahead of where you would be alone. So it argues itself that way from both +standpoints. I made up my mind when I was out the other day that Karl +needs just what this is going to give." + +"You think he looks badly?" she flew at that, relinquishing all else. +"You think Karl's not well?" + +"I didn't mean that. But he needs the hope, the enthusiasm, activity, +this is going to give." + +"Hasn't he been splendid this winter?" she asked softly, those very deep +warm lights in her eyes. "Did you ever see anything like it, doctor?" + +"I thought I knew something about courage," he replied shortly, "but Karl +makes me think I didn't." + +"I don't believe there are many men could turn from big things to smaller +ones, and grow bigger instead of smaller," she said, with a very tender +pride. + +"They say scientists are narrow and bull-headed. Wonder what they would +say to this? And there's another thing to remember. We have seen the +results of the victories. Only Karl Hubers knows of the fights." + +"I know of some of them," said Ernestine, simply. + +"Yes," he corrected himself--"you. And before we quite deify Karl we must +reckon with you. He could not have done it without you." + +"He would not have tried," she said--and the man turned away. That look +was not his to see. + +When she recalled herself it was with a sense of not having been kind. +Why did she say things like that to Dr. Parkman after Karl had told +her--? "And you, doctor," she said in rather timid reparation, "I wonder +if you know what you have done for us both?" + +"Oh, I haven't counted for much," he said almost curtly. "It would have +worked itself out without me." But even as he spoke he was wishing with +all his heart that there was some way of showing her what they had meant +to him. He did not do it, for a soul which has been long apart grows +fearful of sending itself out, fearful of making itself absurd. + +They talked it all out then, going at practical things in a very +matter-of-fact way. "And now," said the doctor, "I have a suggestion. It +is more than a suggestion. It is a request. A little more than a request, +even; a--" + +"Command?" she smiled at him. + +"You know," he began, "how it is with the athletes. Sometimes they become +overtrained, which is the worst thing could happen to them. A good +trainer never puts overtrained men in the game. Now, my dear enthusiastic +friend,"--she was looking at him in that intent way of hers--"I've +noticed two or three times that you've about jumped out of your chair at +some meaningless noise in the other room. Your eyes tell the story;--oh +there are various ways of reading it. You're a little overtrained. Before +you tell Karl the great secret I want you to go away by yourself for a +couple of weeks and rest." + +"You mean that I should leave Karl?" she demanded. + +"I do. I want you to have change, rest, and for that matter a little +lonesomeness won't be a bad thing. You'll be in just the right mood then +to put it all to him when you come back. He'll be in just the right mood +to take it." + +"Oh, but, doctor--you don't understand! I can't leave Karl. There are +things I do for him no one else could do. Why you must remember he's +blind!" she concluded, passionately. + +She was not easy to win, but he stated his case, and one by one met her +arguments. Yes--Karl would be lonely. But when she came back he would be +so glad to see her that he would be a much better subject for enthusiasm +than he was now. She also would be in better mood. "If you tell him now," +he said, "and he makes some objections, says it can't be done--ten to +one, as you are now, you will begin to cry. A nice termination for your +whole winter's work! You must go to him just as you came to me in the +beginning--overwhelm him, take him whether or no. And you're not right +for that now. It's just because I'm bound this thing shall go through, +that I insist you do as I say." + +"Couldn't Karl go with me?" she asked, quite humbly, her eyes pleading +eloquently. + +He showed her, kindly, but very decisively, that that would not make the +point at all. There followed then but a few final protestations. Where +would Karl think she was? What in the world would he think of her--going +away and leaving him like that? Who would look after him? What if he +needed some help he didn't get? Suppose he grew so lonesome and depressed +he just couldn't stand it? + +On all of which points he somewhat banteringly reassured her. Other men +had been lonesome now and then, and it had not quite killed them. Beason +and Ross were in the house, and there was a good maid, who adored Dr. +Hubers. "As to where he thinks you are, I'll tell him half the truth. +That you are a little nervous and I have prescribed change and rest." + +But she would not agree to that. "Karl would worry," she said. "We'll +tell him instead that I have to go to New York to see about my picture. +It will be easier for Karl if he thinks it is about my work." + +He yielded to her judgment in that, and agreed to the further compromise +that if she found she could not possibly stay away two weeks she might +come back in one. + +It was the change, the going away, the getting lonesome the doctor wanted +most of all. He wanted to lift her clear up to her highest self that she +might have all that was hers to give when she told her story to Karl. + +"And of course, doctor," she asked anxiously, "when the time comes you +will talk to him too--tell him you feel I can do it?" + +"Trust me for that," he said briefly. + +"But where is it I am to go?" she laughed, as she was ready to leave. + +He told her then of a place in Michigan. An old nurse of his had married +and was living there, and he frequently sent patients to her as boarders. +"I have written to her and she wants you to come," he said. + +"Well--upon my word! Before I so much as said I would go?" + +"Why certainly," he answered, looking a trifle surprised. "For three +days, perhaps five, I want you to sleep. You'll find you're very +tired--once you let go. Then you can walk in the woods--I think it's +going to be warm enough for browsing around. And you can think of Karl," +he said with a touch of humour, and a touch of something else, "and of +all this is going to mean. I've thought a great many times of what you +said about the statue. There's something mighty stirring in that idea of +unconquerableness." + +"There is!" she responded. + +"A great thing, you know, is worth making a few sacrifices for. You've +made some pretty big ones for this, now make this one more. Haven't you +been laying claim to great faith in my judgment?" + +"Oh yes--as a matter of judgment; only--" + +"Very well then, be lonesome--if you must be lonesome. I hope you will +be--it's part of the treatment. And then you'll come back and in your +first bursts of delight tell Karl just what you've done. When he says +it's impossible, you'll just laugh. You'll get him to try and then the +day is yours." + +Out on the street she stopped half a dozen times in the first block, +thinking she would go back and tell Dr. Parkman she couldn't possibly +leave Karl. "Why, he's a terrible man," she mused, half humorously, half +tearfully, "sending wives away from husbands like this--wanting people +to be lonesome, just because he thinks it's good for them! I'll not do +it--I'll go back and tell him I _won't!_" But she did not go back. She +felt Dr. Parkman might look unpleasant if a patient came back to say: "I +won't."--"No one would ever get up courage enough for that," she +concluded mournfully, "so I'll just have to go." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +LOVE'S OWN HOUR + +It was Sunday, and Ernestine was going away next morning. She had told +Karl the day before; it alarmed him at first, for he telephoned Dr. +Parkman, asking him to come out. When the doctor arrived he demanded the +truth as to Ernestine. Had anything happened? Was she not well? He was so +relieved at the doctor's assurance that Ernestine was perfectly well, and +was going away because of her work, that he accepted the situation more +easily than she had anticipated. "Perhaps it will do me good, liebchen," +he told her. "I fear I'm getting to be a selfish brute--taking everything +for granted and not appreciating you half enough." + +But that afternoon it was Ernestine herself who was forced to fight hard +for cheerfulness. She did not want to go away. She was curiously +depressed about it, and resentful. More than once she was on the point of +telephoning to Dr. Parkman that she could not leave Karl. + +Georgia and Joe and Mrs. McCormick came in about five and Georgia's +spirit seemed to blow through the house like a strong, full current of +bracing air. She and Joe had returned from California the night before, +and there were many things to tell about their trip. Mrs. McCormick said +it was indeed curious how some people always had so many more adventures +than other people had. She wondered why it was she never met any of these +amusing persons Georgia was always telling about. + +Their visit did Ernestine much good. It was impossible to feel blue or +have silly forebodings in the presence of so much naturalness and cheer +as always emanated from Georgia. Those hearty laughs had cleared the +atmosphere for her. + +"Look here, liebchen," said Karl, emerging from a brown study, "we must +fix up a code." + +"A code, dear?" + +"For your writing to me. You see Ross will have to read the letters, and +how can you say in every other line you love me, with that duffer reading +it out loud?" + +"Oh, Karl--how stupid of me not to learn writing the other way! You see +it never occurred to me I would be away from you. Couldn't I take that +manual, and make it out from that?" + +"Well--you might, but we'll do both; it will be fun to have a code. Now, +when you say--'I am a trifle tired,' you mean--'Oh, sweetheart, I am so +lonesome for you that I am never going away again!'" + +"But won't Mr. Ross think it strange if I say in each letter that I am a +trifle tired?" + +"What do we care what he thinks? They're not his letters, are they? And +when you say--'New York seems most attractive,'--you mean--'Oh, dearest, +I never dreamed I loved you so much! I am finding out in a thousand new +ways how much I care, and never, never, shall we be separated again.'" + +"And when I say, 'I send you my love'--it will be perfectly proper for +Mr. Ross to read that, I mean--'Dear love--I send you a thousand kisses, +and I would give the world for one minute now in your arms.'" + +And so they arranged it,--revising, enlarging, going over it a great many +times to have it all certain--there was such a tender kind of fun in it. +As to the other side of it, Karl of course could write to her on his +typewriter. + +It was a beautiful evening they had sitting there before the fire. She +saw pictures for him, and he even saw some pictures for her,--he said a +blind man could see certain pictures no one else could possibly see. They +spoke of how they had never been separated since their marriage, of how +strange it would seem to be apart, but always of how beautiful to be +together again. There was such a sweetness, tenderness, in the sadness +which hung about their parting. They made the most of their pain, as is +the way of lovers, for it drew them together in a new way, and each kiss, +each smallest caress, had a new and tender significance. + +"You'll be back in time for your birthday, Ernestine?" + +"Oh, yes; I'm only going to stay a week." + +"I thought you said, perhaps two?" + +"Did I? Well I've decided one will be enough." + +"Ernestine, what have you been painting? Tell me, dear. That's one thing +I'm a little disappointed in. I do so want to keep close to your work." + +"Well, Karl," after a silence, "that picture I have been working on this +winter is hard to tell about because it is in a field all new to me. It +is a picture which emphasises, or tries to, what love means to the +world,--a picture which is the outgrowth of our love. I am not sure that +it is good in all its technical features, but I believe there is +atmosphere in it, poetic feeling, and, back of that, thought, and soul, +and truth. I think there is harmony and richness of colour. Some people +will say it is very daring, and no one will call it conventional, but I +am hoping,"--Ernestine's voice was so low and full of feeling he could +scarcely get the words--"that it is going to be a very great picture--the +greatest I have ever done. Some of it has been hard for me, dear. In +truth I have been much discouraged at times. But great things are not +lightly achieved, Karl, and if this is anything at all, it is one of the +great things. As to the subject, detail, I am going to ask you to wait +until I come back. I have been keeping it for you as a little surprise. +Perhaps it will help some of your lonely hours, dear"--her voice +quivered--"to think about the beautiful surprise. And if it seems strange +sometimes that I could bring myself to go away from you, will you not +bear in mind, Karl dear, that I am doing it simply that the great +surprise may be made perfect for you? It is a whim of mine to keep this a +great secret; in the end I know you will forgive the secrecy. And when I +come back"--her voice was stronger, fuller now--"I am going to make you +see it just as plainly as you ever saw anything in all your life!" + +"You must! I couldn't bear it to be shut out from your work." + +"You are not going to be shut out from my work!"--she said it with an +intensity almost stern. + +"I want your life to be happy, Ernestine," he said, after a time, and the +words seemed to have a new meaning spoken out of this mood of very deep +tenderness. "I don't want it to be darkened. I want my love to make you +happy--in spite of it all." + +"It does," she breathed,--"it does." + +"But I want you to be--as you used to be! I haven't been fair in letting +this make such a difference with us." + +"Karl--how can you talk like that, when you have been so--splendid?" + +"But you see I don't want to be splendid," he said whimsically. "I'd +rather be a brute than be splendid. And I want you to love me always as +you did at first--just because you couldn't help yourself." + +"I can not help myself now," she laughed. "I am just as helpless as I +ever was." + +And then a long and very precious silence. She was filled with many +things too deep for utterance, even had she been free to speak. She +thought of her birthday night a year before, their happiness then, all +that had come to them since, all that love had meant, the great things it +was to do for them. She looked at Karl's face--his fine, strong face +which seemed the very soul of the mellow fire-light. How would that dear +face look when she told him what she had done? Convinced him that great +things were before him now? Would it not be that his determination not to +fail her would stir fires which, even in his most triumphant days, had +slumbered? + +But from exultation in all that, she passed to the heart's pain in +leaving him. She moved a little closer, took his hand and rested it +lovingly against her cheek. She had never been away from Karl. Tears came +at the thought of it now. + +And he must have been thinking of what Ernestine had meant to him +in the last year, for of a sudden he stooped down and with his old +abandonment, with all the fullness of the first passion and the tender +understanding of these later days, gathered her into his arms. "Oh, +Ernestine," he whispered--breathing into her name all that was in his +heart--"_Ernestine!_" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +ALMOST DAWN + +She found that in the beginning at least it was as Dr. Parkman had said. +It was good to sleep. It was good to go to bed at night with the sense of +nothing to do in the morning, good to wake at the usual time only to feel +she might go back to that comfortable, beautiful sleep. For Ernestine was +indeed very tired. Since that day when the great idea had come to her +there had been no time when she was free from the sense of all that lay +before her. But now she could rest. + +Strangely enough she did not worry greatly about Karl. Her first waking +thoughts were of him, but fuller consciousness always brought the feeling +that it was all right with Karl; he was missing her, of course, but she +was going back to him very soon and bring him the things he had believed +shut away forever;--bring him the light!--that was the way she had come +to think of it. The deliciousness of her rest was in the sense of its +being right she should take it; she could best serve Karl by resting +until she was her strongest self. + +Her room was so quiet and restful, the bed so comfortable, and Mrs. +Rolfe, Dr. Parkman's old nurse, so good to her. It was soothing to be +told to close her pretty eyes and go to sleep, sustaining to be met +with--"Now here is something for our little lady to eat." After many days +of responsibility it was good to be "mothered" a little. + +But after the first revel in sleep had passed she did a great deal of +languid, undisturbed thinking. She seemed detached from her life, and it +passed before her, not poignantly, but merely as something to look upon, +quietly muse about. Soon she would step back into it, but now she was +resting from it, simply viewing it as an interesting thing which kept +passing before her. + +From the very first it came before her, from those days when she was a +little girl at home, and she found much quiet entertainment in trying to +connect herself of those days with herself of the now. "Am I all one?" +she would want to know, and in thinking that over would quite likely fall +asleep again. + +She thought a great deal about her father and mother; they were more real +to her than they had been for a long time; but it was hard to connect the +Ernestine of that home with the Ernestine who belonged to Karl. There was +Georgia, to be sure, who extended clear through. Dear Georgia--how well +she had looked Sunday in that beautiful black gown. She remembered such a +funny thing, and such a dear thing, Georgia had done once. They had +become chums as freshmen and when they were sophomores Georgia came to +their house to live, and one night she inadvertently said something +which started one of those terrible arguments, and ended in the saying +of so many bitter things that Ernestine could not bear it--especially +before Georgia, and as soon as she could she left the table and went +up to her room. She did not cry, her mother cried so much that it seemed +enough for the family, but she sat there very still looking straight +ahead--denying herself even the luxury of tears. And then, just when +that atmosphere of unhappiness and bitterness seemed pressing down +upon her--crushing her--there had come a wild shriek from +Georgia--"Ernestine--Ernestine--get your things quick--let's go to the +fire!" + +That was not to be resisted even by a nineteen-year-old girl. She +remembered tumbling into her things, running two blocks, and then +gasping--"Where is it?" and Georgia replied, gasping too--"Don't +know--small boys--said so." And then after running all over town they +found there was no fire at all, and that had so overcome them with +laughter that she forgot all about those other things which would have +given her so miserable an evening. She had had just a little suspicion +then, and now she had a firm conviction, that Georgia never heard small +boys say anything about fire that night. Bless Georgia's big heart--she +loved her for just such things as inventing fires for unhappy people to +go to. + +As she lay there resting, away from the current of her life, she thought +a great deal about a little grave over in France, such a very, very small +grave which represented a life which had really never come into the world +at all. She could fancy her baby here with her now--patting her face, +pulling her hair--so warm and dear and sweet. Her arms ached for that +little child which had been hers only in anticipation. And what it would +have meant to Karl!--the laughter of a very small voice, the cuddling of +a very small head.... Deep thoughts came then, and deeper yearnings, and +when Mrs. Rolfe came in at one of those times she was startled at the +look in the deep brown eyes of her patient, a look which seemed to be +asking for something which no one could give, and when Ernestine smiled +at her, as she always did, the woman could scarcely keep back the +answering--"Never mind, dearie--never you mind." + +And through all of her thoughts there was Karl--his greatness, his work, +his love. She would be so happy when she did not have to keep things back +from Karl. It seemed it would be the happiest moment of her life when she +could throw her soul wide open to him with--"There is never going to be +another thing kept back from you!" She could not bear the thought of +Karl's believing she was in New York. But soon there would be no more of +that, and Karl himself would tell her she had done it because she cared +so much. + +And most beautiful of all things to think about was the hour when she +would tell him! How would he look? What would he say? + +On the fifth morning she awakened feeling quite different. Those +birds!--What were they singing about? She got up and raised the curtain, +and then drew in a long breath of delight. For it was a radiant spring +morning, breathing gladness and joy and all beautiful things. Oh how +beautiful off there in the trees!--the trees which were just coming back +to life after their long sleep. She too had been asleep--but it was time +now to wake up and be glad! + +She felt very much awake and alive this morning.--Oh, how those birds +were singing! She laughed in sheer happiness, and began to sing too. She +would dress and go out of doors. To remain in her room one hour longer +would be unbearable bondage. For all the world was awake and glad! She +could scarcely wait to get out there among the birds and trees. + +She had never felt so alive, so well tuned to life, so passionately eager +for its every manifestation as when, after a hurried breakfast, she +started up the beautiful green hill to the trees where all the birds were +singing--the soft breath of the spring enfolding her, her spirit lifting +itself up to meet the caress of the spirit of spring. She walked with +long, swinging step, smiling to herself, humming a glad little air, now +and then tossing her head just to get the breath of spring upon her face +in some new way. Mrs. Rolfe watched her from the kitchen door, smiling. + +On the hill-top she stopped, standing straight, breathing deep, revelling +in the song of the birds--they were fairly intoxicated with joy at +this morning--listening to the soft murmur of the spring beneath it +all--happy--oh so happy, as she looked off to the far distances. The long +winter had gone, and now the spring had come again--the dear spring she +had always loved! + +It was with her too almost an intoxication--the throwing off of gloom, +the taking on of joy. On such a morning nature calls unto her chosen, and +they hear her call, and are glad. As she stood there on her hill-top her +spirit lifted itself up in lyric utterance; her whole being responded to +the songs of the returning birds. + +How well Dr. Parkman had planned it! She would go back now and tell Karl +what a great thing it was to be alive, how the spirit was everything, and +could conquer all else. It seemed very easy now. It was all a matter of +getting the spirit right;--how good of Dr. Parkman to think it out like +this. + +But there was something a little wrong. She stopped for a minute, +pondering. Now she knew! Karl!--why could he not be here too? All in an +instant she saw it so clearly that she laughed aloud. She was rested +now--ready to tell him--and _this_ the place! She would send for him! Mr. +Ross--or perhaps the doctor himself--would come with him, and here where +it was all so beautiful, where the call of the spring reached them and +made them glad--she would tell him! And then, his spirit strong as hers +was now strong, he would respond to it, be made ready for the fight. + +How simple and how splendid! How stupid not to have thought of this +before! And then again she laughed. It would be fun to improve on Dr. +Parkman's idea. That was all very well--but this a thousand times better. +Karl's spirit too needed lifting up;--what could do it as this? It was +true he could not see it with his eyes--but there were so many other ways +of being part of it: the singing of the birds, the scent of the budding +trees, the rich breath of spring upon one's face. And even the vision +should not be lost to him. She would make him see it! She would make him +see the sunlight upon the trees, the roll of that farther hillside--one +did not need to try to forget the park commissioners here!--and then she +would say to him: "See, Karl--even as I can make you see the trees and +that little brook there in the hollow, just as plainly as I can make you +see the sky and the hill come together off there--so plainly will I make +you see the things in the laboratory which belong with your work." She +would prove to him by the picture she drew of these green fields in +spring-time that she could make plain to him all he must see. How +glorious to prove it to him by the spring-time! + +And then, both of them uplifted, gladdened, both of them believing it +could be done, loving each other more than they had ever done before, +newly assured of the power of love, they would go back and with firm +faith and deep joy begin the work which lay before them. + +She turned to walk back to the house. She would send a telegram +to Dr. Parkman that Karl must come. Perhaps he could be here +to-night;--to-morrow, surely. Dear Karl--who needed a vacation more than +he? Who needed the rejuvenation of the spring as Karl needed it? + +She had walked but a little way when she stopped. Someone was coming +toward her, walking fast. Had the sun grown a little dim--or was +something passing before her eyes? The world seemed to darken. She looked +again at Mrs. Rolfe, coming toward her. How strange that she shivered! +Was it a little chilly up here on the hill-top where a minute before it +had been so soft and warm? She wanted to go to meet Mrs. Rolfe, but she +did not; she stood strangely still, waiting. And why was it that the +figure of Mrs. Rolfe was such a blur on the beauty of the hillside? + +But when at last she saw her face she did run to meet her. "What is the +matter?"--her voice was quick and sharp. + +The woman hesitated. + +"Tell me!" demanded Ernestine. "I will not be treated like that!" + +"Dr. Parkman wants you to come home," the woman said, not looking +Ernestine in the face. + +"Why?--Karl?"--she caught roughly at the other woman's arm. + +She knew then that she could not temporise nor modify. "Dr. Hubers was +taken sick yesterday. He was to have an operation. The telegram should +have been delivered last night." + +She thought Ernestine was going to fall--she swayed so, her face went so +colourless, her hands so cold. But she did not fall. "That--is all you +know?"--it came in hoarse, broken whisper. + +And when the woman answered, yes, Ernestine started, running, for the +house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +"OH, HURRY--_HURRY!_" + +That train!--She would go mad if it kept stopping like that. She kept +leaning forward in her seat, every muscle tense, fairly pushing the train +on with every nerve that was in her. Never once did she relax--on--on--it +must go on! She would _make_ it go faster! When it stopped she clenched +her hands, her nails digging into the flesh--and then when it started +again that same feeling that she, from within herself, must push it on. +At times she looked from the window. Now this field was past--they +were so much nearer. Soon they would be over there where the track +curved--that was a long way ahead. They were going faster now. She would +lean forward again--pushing on, trying through the straining of her own +nerves to make the train go faster. + +Mrs. Rolfe had wanted to come with her, but she said no. It seemed she +could get there faster by herself. There had been an hour's wait for the +train; it made her sick, even now, to think back to that hour. At least +this was doing something, getting somewhere. She had telegraphed to every +one she could think of, but no reply had come up to the time the train +started. She reasoned that out with herself, now for good, now for bad. +And then--if he were better, if there were anything good to tell-- + +Her temples were thumping more loudly than the train thumped. Her heart +was choking her. Her throat was so tight she could not breathe. Again and +again she went over it to herself. Dr. Parkman had operated on Karl. Of +course Dr. Parkman would do it right. He would not dare to operate on him +without her being there unless he was absolutely sure it would be all +right. And then close upon that--he would have waited for her if-- + +Appendicitis--that was what those quick operations were. And most of +them--especially with Dr. Parkman--came out all right. And Karl was the +doctor's best friend! Would not a man save his best friend when he could +save every one else? And Karl himself--his will, his power, his love for +her--why Karl would _know_ that nothing must happen while she was away! +But close upon that came awful visions--Oh _why_ had Dr. Parkman sent +her away and then done this thing? She would tell him when she got +there--she would tell him-- + +It would all be right when she got there. If only the train would hurry! +There was smoke off there. Was it?--It _was_ the smoke of Chicago! +Nothing had ever looked so beautiful before. Very soon now! Why, perhaps +within a few hours she and Karl would be laughing at this! "Isn't it +great the way I got on, liebchen?" he would say. "Isn't Parkman a dandy?" + +They were passing those houses on the outskirts. Oh why was Chicago so +big! But she must be calm--very calm; she must not excite Karl in the +least. How sorry he would be that she had been frightened like this! They +were passing larger buildings, coming closer to the city. She gritted her +teeth hard, clenched her hands. + +Karl was at the hospital--the telegram told that. She would get off at +the stop just this side of the main station--that was a little nearer the +hospital, she believed. She would take a cab--if only there were an +automobile!--but the cabman would surely go very fast if she told him why +she had to hurry like this. + +Long before the train came to its stop she was standing at the door. She +would not have waited for the standstill if the porter had not held her +back. Oh how she must hurry now! + +She ran to the nearest cabman. Would he hurry very fast?--faster than he +ever had before? It was life and death, it was--"Yes--yes, lady," he +said, putting her in. "Yes, I understand. I'll hurry." + +"But faster," she kept saying to him--"oh _please_, faster!" + +She saw nothing either to the right or left. She saw only the straight +line ahead which they must travel. And still everything from within her +was pushing her on--oh if the man would only _hurry_! + +A big building at last--the hospital. Only two blocks now, then one, and +then the man had slowed up. She was out before he stopped, running up the +steps--somebody in the hospital would pay--and up the stairs. The +elevator was there--but her own feet would take her faster. + +"Dr. Hubers?--Where is he?" she said in choked voice to a nurse in the +hall. + +The nurse started to speak, but Ernestine, looking ahead, saw Dr. Parkman +standing in the door of a room. She rushed to him with outstretched hand, +white, questioning, pleading face. Her lips refused to move. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +WITH THE OUTGOING TIDE + +He simply took her into the room, and there was Karl--alive. That was all +she grasped at first; it filled her so completely she could take in +nothing else. He was lying there, seemingly half asleep, looking much as +he always did, save that of course it was plain he was very sick. She +stooped down and kissed him, and his face lighted up, and he smiled a +little. "Ernestine," he murmured, "did they frighten you?" + +It was as she had known! His thought was of her. And oh how sorry Karl +would be when he was quite well and she told him all! + +She nestled her head close to him, her arm thrown about him. The +tears were running down her cheeks. Of the blessedness of finding Karl +here--breathing, smiling upon her, sorry she had been frightened! She +took his hand and it responded to her clasp. That thrilled her through +and through. Those awful fears--those never-to-be-forgotten fears--that +Karl's hand might never close over hers again! She leaned over him that +she might feel his breath upon her face. In all her life there had never +been so blessed a joy as this feeling Karl's breath upon her cheek. +Nothing mattered now--work, eyes, nothing. She had him back; she asked +nothing more of life. What could anything else matter now that those +awful fears had drawn away? She was sobbing quietly to herself. Again his +hand closed over hers. + +Then something made her look up, and at the foot of the bed she saw Dr. +Parkman. One look at his face and she grew cold from head to foot; her +throat grew painfully tight; strange things came before her eyes. She +could not move. She simply remained there upon her knees, looking at Dr. +Parkman's face, her own frozen with terror. + +The doctor came to her, took her hands, and helped her to rise. Two +nurses and another doctor were bending over Karl--doing something. Dr. +Parkman led Ernestine into an adjoining room. + +She did not take her eyes from his face; the appeal, terror, in them +seemed to strike him dumb. It was as though his own throat were closed, +for several times he tried vainly to speak. + +"Ernestine," he said at last, "Karl is very sick." + +"How--sick?" she managed to whisper. + +"How--sick?" she repeated as he stood there looking at her helplessly. + +And, finally, he said, as if it were killing him to do it--"So sick +that--" + +"Don't say that!"--she fairly hissed it at him. + +"Don't _dare_ say that! You _did_ it--you----" And then, sinking down +beside him, catching hold of his hand, she sobbed out, wildly, +heartbreakingly--"Oh, Dr. Parkman--oh, please--_please_ tell me you +_will_ save Karl!" + +Her sobs were becoming uncontrollable. "Ernestine," he said, sharply--"be +quiet. Be quiet! You have got to help." + +The sobs stopped; she rose to her feet. He pulled up a chair for her, but +she did not sit down. A few sobs still came, but her face was becoming +stern, set. + +"Tell me," she said, holding her two hands tight against her breast, and +looking him straight in the face. + +And then he jerked it out. Karl had been taken ill--pain, fever, he +feared appendicitis. He had two other doctors see him; they agreed +that he must be operated on immediately. They brought him here. They +found--conditions awful. They did all that surgery could do--every known +thing was being done now, but--they did not know. He had rallied a little +from the operation; now he seemed to be drooping. He was in bad shape +generally,--heart weakened by the shock of his blindness, intestines +broken down by lack of exercise, whole system affected by changed +conditions--all these things combined against him. He told the short +story with his own lips white, swaying a little, seeming fairly to age as +he stood there. + +Her face had been changing as she listened. He had never seen a human +face look as hers did then; he had never heard a human voice sound as +hers sounded when she said: "Dr. Parkman, you are mistaken." She looked +him straight in the eye--a look which held the whole force of her being. +"I say you are mistaken. We will go back in here now to Karl. You and I +together are going to save him." + +There was the light from higher worlds in her eye as she went back, in +her voice a force which men have never named or understood. And something +which emanated from her took hold of every one who came into that room. +There was more than the resources of medical science at work now. + +On her knees beside the bed, her arm about him, passionately shielding +him from the dark forces around him, her face often touching his as if +reassuring him, Ernestine spoke to Karl, quietly, tenderly, forcefully, +love's own intuition telling her how much to say, when to speak. By her +warm body which loved him, by her great spirit which claimed him, she +would hold him from the outgoing tide. Her voice could rouse him where +other stimulants failed; the only effort he made was the tightening of +his hand over hers, and sometimes he smiled a little as he felt her close +to him. + +Two hours went by; the lines in Dr. Parkman's face were deepening. They +worked on unfalteringly--hypodermics, heat, rubbing, oxygen, all those +things with which man seeks to deceive himself, and for which the foe, +with the tolerance of power, is willing to wait. But their faces were +changing. The call of the outgoing tide, that tide over which human +determination has not learned to prevail, was coming close. They worked +on, for they were trained to work on, even through the sense of their own +futility. + +Looking about her Ernestine saw it all, and held him with a passionate +protectiveness. If all else failed, her arms--arms to which he had ever +come for help and consolation--could surely hold him! The cold fear crept +farther and farther into her heart, and as it crept on her arms about him +tightened. Not while she held him like this! Oh not while she held him +like this! + +And then a frenzy possessed her. That she should sit here +powerless--weeping--despairing, surrendering, while Karl slipped +from her! She must do something--say something--something to hold him +firm--call him back--make him understand that he must fight! + +Suddenly a light broke over her face. She looked at Dr. Parkman, who was +bending over Karl. "I will tell him," she whispered--"what I did--the +secret--about the work." + +He hesitated; medically his judgment was against it; and then, white to +the lips with the horror of the admission he faced the fact that this had +passed beyond things medical. Let her try where he had failed. Through a +rush of uncontrollable tears he nodded yes. + +And she did tell him,--in words which were not sentences, with +sharp flashes of thought--such flashes as alone could penetrate the +semi-consciousness into which she must reach; after a moment of pause in +which to gather herself together for the great battle of her life, with +concentration, illumination, with a piercing eloquence which brought hot +tears to every cheek, and deep, deep prayers to hearts which would have +said they did not know how to pray--a woman fighting for the man she +loved, human love at its whitest heat pitted against destiny--she told +him. + +"Karl," at the last--"you _understand?_--That's the great +secret!--_That's_ the great picture! I've not painted one stroke this +winter! I've been working for _you_--working in your laboratory every +day--studying day and night--getting ready to be your eyes--going to give +you back your work--oh, Karl--_Karl_--won't you--" but the sobs could +hold back no longer. + +She had reached him. He took it in, just a little at first, but +comprehension was growing, and upon his face a great wondering, a +softening. + +"Old man,"--it was Dr. Parkman now--"you get that? See what you've got +ahead? God, man--but it was splendid! She came to me with the idea--_her_ +idea--thought it all out herself. Karl was not happy--Karl must have his +work. Karl--Karl--it was nothing but Karl. She was closer to him than any +one in the world. She could make him see what others could not. Then +_she_ would be his eyes. Man--do you know that this woman has fairly made +over her soul for love of you? Do you know that she has given up becoming +one of the great painters of the world to become your assistant? Do you +get it, Karl? So help me God it was the pluckiest fight I've ever seen or +heard of. And she's won! I'm no fool--and I say she can do what she says +she can. She's ready. She's ready to begin to-morrow. What do you say, +old man? What do you think of Ernestine now? Isn't she worth taking a +good brace and living for?" + +And then he got it all; he was taking it in, rising to it, understanding, +glowing. And a look that was very wonderful was growing upon Karl's face. + +"Ernestine," he whispered, dwelling long upon the name, his voice a voice +of wonder, "you did that--for me?" + +"I did it because I love you so!" she whispered, and it seemed that +surely death itself could not withstand the tenderness of it. + +And then his whole face became transfigured. His blind eyes were opened +to the light of love. His illumined face reflected it as the supreme +moment of his life. In that moment he triumphed over all powers set +against him. He rose out of suffering on wings of glory. He transcended +sorrow and tragedy, blindness--yes, in that moment, death. He saw behind +the veil; he saw into the glory of a soul; he comprehended the wonder of +love. Compensation for suffering and loss--understanding, victory, peace; +it was the human face lighted with divine light. They did not dare to +move or breathe as they looked upon the wonder of his face. + +"Ernestine--little one," he whispered, the light not going from his +face--"you loved me--like that?" + +"You see, Karl,"--it was this must reach him--"what you have to live for +now?" + +But he did not get that. He was filled with the wonder of that which he +was seeing. + +"You see, old man," said Parkman, sharply, "what you've got ahead of +you?" + +But he only murmured, happily, faintly, as one about to fall asleep: "She +loved me--like that." + +It terrified her; it seemed, not as though the great idea were holding +him, but as though he were taking it away with him, even as though well +content to go, having this to take with him from life. + +"Karl--Karl!" she sobbed--"don't you _see _how I love you?--don't you see +you _must _live now--for me?" + +But he had far transcended all sense of suffering or loss, even her +suffering and loss. Her plea--she herself--could not reach him. He and +the great idea were going away together. And that light did not leave his +face. + +It was so that he sank into a sleep. He did not hear Ernestine's sobs; he +knew nothing of her pleading cries. In a frenzy of grief she felt him +going out to where she could not reach him. She called to him, and he did +not answer. She pressed close to him, and he did not know that she was +there. + +But the great idea was with him. It lighted his face to the last. It was +as if that were what he was taking with him from life. It was as if that, +and that alone, he could keep. + +"Karl--Karl!" she cried, terrorised--"look at me! Speak to me! I am here! +Ernestine is here!"--And then, the strongest word of woman to man--"I'm +frightened! Oh take care of me--Karl--take care of me!" + +Dr. Parkman tried to take her away, but she resisted fiercely, and they +let her stay. And during the few hours which followed she never ceased +her pleading--to him to come back to her, to them to help. Crazed with +the consciousness of his slipping from her, wild beyond all reason with +the thought that her kisses could not move him, her arms could not hold +him, her passion lashed to the uttermost in the thought that she must +claim him now or lose him forever, she pleaded with all the eloquence of +human voice and human tears. She could not believe it--that he was there +beside her and would not listen to her pleadings. Again and again she +told him that she was frightened and alone; that--surely that--he must +hear. It could not be that he was there beside her, breathing, moving a +little now and then, and did not hear her call for help. + +And when at last she heard some one speak a low word, and saw some one +bend over him to close his eyes, she uttered one piercing, heartbreaking +cry which they would bear with them so long as they lived. And then, +throwing herself upon him, shielding him, keeping him, there came the +wild, futile call of life to death--"Karl!--Karl!--_Karl!_" + + + + +PART THREE + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +BENEATH DEAD LEAVES + +The cold March rain drove steadily against the car window. His thoughts +were like that,--cold, ugly, driving thoughts. Looking out at the bleak +country through which they were passing he saw that dead leaves were +hanging forlornly to bare trees. His hopes were like that,--a few dead +hopes clinging dismally to the barren tree of experience. So it seemed to +Dr. Parkman as he looked from the car window at the country of hills and +hollows through which he was passing. The out-lived winter's snow still +in the hollows, last summer's leaves blown meaninglessly about, denied +even the repose of burial, the cheerless wind and the cheerless rain--it +matched his mood. + +Almost a year had gone by, and Dr. Parkman was going out to see +Ernestine. Every mile which brought him nearer, brought added uncertainty +as to what he should say when he reached her. What was there for him to +say? The dead leaves of her hopes were all huddled in the hollow. Was he +becoming so irrational as to think he could give life to things dead? Was +she not right in wishing to cover them up decently and let them be? Was +anything to be gained in blowing them about as last summer's leaves were +being blown about now by the unsparing, uncaring winds of March? + +She was out where she had lived as a girl,--living in the very house +which had once been her home. He had understood her going. It was the +simple law of living things. The animal wounded beyond all thought of +life seeks only a place of seclusion. + +But when Georgia returned from her visit to Ernestine the month before, +she came to him with: + +"Dr. Parkman, you _must_ do something for Ernestine!" And after she had +told him many things, and he questioned still further, she said, in +desperate desire to make it plain--"She is becoming a great deal like +you!" + +And from then until the time of starting on this trip he had had no +peace. + +He understood; understood far more deeply than she who would have him +see. Was any one better qualified to understand that thing than he? + +Well,--what then? What now? Was there any other thing to expect? Was he, +of all men, going to her with platitudes about courage and faith? And +even so, would sophistry avail anything? Did he not know Ernestine far +too well far that? + +His own face bore the deep marks of hard and bitter things. But the loss +and the sorrow showed themselves in strange ways, little understood as +manifestations of grief. He ran his automobile faster, showed even less +caution than before in his business ventures, had less and less to say, +was called more and more strange by those associated with him. And the +thing which mocked him most of all was that the year had been attended +with the greatest professional successes of his life. He never heard his +plaudits sounded without a curse in his heart. + +"It went mighty hard with Parkman not to be able to save Hubers," medical +men said with growing frequency as the year advanced. But there were none +of them who dreamed into what deep and vital things the cut had gone. +With his own will and his own skill he patched it up on the surface, not +the man to leave his wound exposed to other eyes. But he knew its +hopelessness too well ever to try and reach the bottom of the wound. It +was not a good, clean, straight cut such as time expects to heal. Indeed +it was not a cut at all; nothing so wholesome and reachable as that. It +was a destroying force, a thing burrowing at the springs of life, a thing +which made its way through devious paths to vital sources. Did a patched +up surface mean anything to a thing like that? + +The evening of the day he had seen Georgia, and she told him of +Ernestine, he sat a long time in his office alone. The grey ashes of his +own life seemed spread around him. And it was he, who was asked, out of +this, to rekindle a great flame? And what flame? What was there left for +Ernestine? Ask her to come back--to what? Fight--for what? + +He did not know, or at least he said he did not know, and yet he, like +Georgia, saw it as all wrong, unendurable, not to be countenanced, that +Ernestine should shut herself out from life. + +Perhaps he was going to her because he knew so well the desolation of +ashes. Was it because he had lived so long among them that he hated to +see another fire go out? Could it be that a man who had dwelt long among +ashes knew most surely the worth of the flame? + +He had reached the end of his journey. He had come to the western college +town for which he had set out. From the window he could see some of the +college buildings. Yes, this was the place. + +He rose and put on his coat. A few minutes later he was standing on the +station platform, watching the on-going train. Then he turned, with +decision, in the direction Georgia had bade him go. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +PATCHWORK QUILTS + +And now that the first ten minutes had passed he felt anew the futility +of his errand. His first look into her face made him certain he might +better have remained in Chicago. The thing which cut off all approach was +that she too had done some work on the surface. + +It seemed to him as he sat there in utter silence that he had been +brutal, not alone to her heart, but to his own, that he asked too much, +not only of her command, but of his. He had come to talk of Ernestine and +the future; the things about him drew him overmasteringly to Karl and the +past. + +She had taken him to her little sitting room up stairs, forced to do so +because the fire down stairs had gone out. He understood now why it was +she had faltered so in asking him to come up here. Here was Karl's big +chair--many things from their library at home. It was where she lived +with her past. She wanted no one here. + +She would make no attempt at helping him. She sat there in silence, her +face white, almost stern. In her aloofness it was as though she were +trying to hold herself, from the consciousness of his presence. + +He too remained silent. For he was filled with the very things against +which he had come to protest. + +It was Karl who was very close; it was the thoughts of Karl's life which +filled him. His heart had never been so warm for his friend, his +appreciation had never been so great as now. Karl, and all that Karl +meant, had never been so close, and so dear. And the words he finally +said to Ernestine, words of passionate tenderness spoken in utter +unconsciousness of how far he had gone from his purpose, were: "I do not +believe any of us half appreciated Karl!" + +Startled, she gave him a long, strange look. "No, Dr. Parkman,"--very +low--"neither do I." + +"I have been looking into it since. I wanted to throw Karl's results to +the right man. He was head and shoulders above them all." + +There was a slow closing of her eyes, but she was not shrinking from him +now;--this the kind of hurt she was able to bear. + +"If he had been left to work out his life--" but he stopped, brought +suddenly to a sense of how far he had lost himself. + +She too saw it. "Dr. Parkman,"--with a smile which put him far from +her--"_this_ is what you came to say? You think _I_ need any incitement? +You needn't, Dr. Parkman,"--with rising passion--"you needn't. Every +time I leave this room two things are different. I have more love for +Karl--more hate for his destroyers. And those two passions will feed upon +me to the end of my life!" + +Instinctively he put out a protesting hand. It was too plain that it was +as she said. + +"More love for Karl--more hate for his destroyers,"--she repeated it with +a passionate steadfastness as though it comprehended the creed of her +life. + +"His--destroyers?" he faltered. "What do you mean--by that?" + +And she answered, with a directness before which dissembling and evasion +crumbled away: "Read the answer in your own heart. + +"And if you cannot look into your own heart," she went on, unsparingly, +"if your own heart has been shut away so long that it is closed even to +yourself, then look into your looking-glass and read the answer there. +Let the grey hairs in your own head, the lines in your own face,--yes, +the words of your own mouth--tell you what you would know of Karl's +destroyers." + +He drew in his lips in that way of his; one side of his face twitched +uncontrollably. He had come to reach her soul, reach it if must be +through channels of suffering. He had not thought of her reaching his +like this. + +But she could not stop. "And if you want to know what I have gone +through, look back to what you have gone through yourself--then make +some of those hours just as much stronger as love is stronger than +friendship--and perhaps you can get some idea of what it has been to me!" + +He was dumb before that. Putting it that way there was not a word to say. + +He saw now the real change. It was more than hollowed cheeks and eyes +from which the light of other days had gone, more than soft curves +surrendered to grief and youth eaten out by bitterness. It was a change +at the root of things. A great tide had been turned the other way. But in +the days when happiness softened her and love made it all harmonious he +had never felt her force as he felt it now. Reach this? Turn this? The +moment brought new understanding of the paltriness of words. + +It was she who spoke. "Dr. Parkman,"--looking at him with a keenness in +which there was almost an affectionate understanding--"you did not say +what you intended to say when you came into this room. You intended to +speak of me--but the room swept you back to Karl. Oh--I know. And it is +just because you _were_ swept back--care like this--that I am going to +tell you something. + +"Doctor,"--blinded with tears--"we never understood. None of us ever knew +what it meant to Karl to be blind. After--after he had gone--I found +something. In this book"--reaching over to Karl's copy of Faust--"I found +a letter--a very long letter Karl wrote in those last few days, when he +was there--alone. I found it the day I went out to the library alone--the +day before they--broke it up. Oh doctor--_what it told!_ I want you to +know--" but she could not go on. + +When she raised her head the fierce light of hate was burning through the +tears. "Can you fancy how I hate the light? Can you fancy with what +feelings I wake in the morning and see it come--light from which Karl was +shut out--which he craved like that--and could not have? Do you see how +it symbolises all those other things taken from him and me? He talked of +another light--light he must gain for himself--light which the soul must +have. And Karl was longing for the very light I was ready to bring! He +would have believed in it--turned to it eagerly--the letter shows that. +Do you _wonder_ that there is nothing but darkness in my soul--that I +want nothing else? Look at Karl's life! Always cut off just this side of +achievement! Every battle stopped right in the hour of victory! Made +great only to have his greatness buffetted about like--_held up for +sport!_--I _will_ say it! "--in fierce response to his protesting +gesture--"It's true!" + +He tried to speak, but this was far too big for words which did not come +straight from the soul. + +"Do you know what I am doing now?" She laughed--and none of it had told +as much as that laugh revealed. "I am making patchwork quilts! Can +you fancy anything more worthless in this world than a patchwork +quilt?--cutting things up and then sewing them together again, and making +them uglier in the end than they were in the beginning? Do you know +anything more futile to do with life than that? Well that's where my +life is now. My aunt had begun some, and I am finishing them up. And +once--once--" but the sob in her voice gathered up the words. + +He wanted to speak then; that sob brought her nearer. But she went on: + +"I sit sewing those little pieces together--a foolish thing to do, but +one must be doing something, and as I think how useless it is there comes +the thought of whether it is any more useless than all the other things +in life. Is it any more useless than surgery? For can a great surgeon +save his best friend? Is it any more useless than science--for can +science do anything for her own? Is it any more useless than ambition and +purpose and hope--for does not fate make sport of them all? Is it any +more useless than books--for can books reach the hearts which need them +most? Is it any more useless than art--for does art reach realities? Is +it any more useless than light--for can light penetrate the real +darkness? Is it,"--she wavered, quivered; she had been talking in low, +quick voice, her eyes fixed on something straight ahead, as though +reading her words out there before her. And now, as she held back, and he +saw what she saw and could not say, he asked for her, slowly: "Is it any +more useless than love?" + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +ASH HEAP AND ROSE JAR + +As she broke then to the sobs for which he had hoped, something of +tremendous force stirred within the man; and he felt that if he could +bring her from the outer darkness where she had been carried, back to the +things which were her soul's own, that his own life, his whole life, with +all of the dark things through which it had passed, would have found +justification. He had tried to save Karl, and failed. But there was left +Ernestine. And it seemed to him--he saw it simply, directly, +unquestioningly--that after all he would not have failed Karl if he could +do what it was in his heart to do now for her. + +Looking at her bowed head he saw it all--the complete overthrow, the rich +field of life rendered barren waste. Barren waste--but was that true for +Ernestine? Did there not remain for her the scent of the field? The +memory of that glorious, luxuriant growth? With _him_ barren waste--but +for her did there not grow in the field of life some things which were +everlasting? With the quickness with which he saw everything he saw that +it was the picture of his own barrenness could show her most surely the +things which for her remained. + +He drew back from the thought as one draws away from the rude touch upon +a wound. Lay bare the scars of his life that another profit by their +ugliness? Years of habit were against it; everything fundamentally +himself was against it. But he was a man who had never yet shrunk from +the thing he saw was right to do. The cost of an accomplishment never +deterred him from a thing he saw must be accomplished. With each second +of listening to her sobs, he was becoming once more the man who masters, +the man ruthless and unsparing in his purposefulness. + +"Ernestine," he began, and his voice was very strange, for it knew it was +to carry things it had never carried before, "you and I are similarly +placed in that we have both lost the great thing of life. But there is +something remains to each of us. Life has left something to us both. To +you it has left a rose jar. To me--a heap of ashes." + +It came with the moment's need. It comprehended it so well the channels +long closed seemed of themselves to open. In the clearness with which he +saw it, the fullness with which he felt it, he lost himself. + +"Do you know that you have no right to cry out against life? Do you know +that there are men and women who would lay down their lives--yes, and +give up their immortal souls--for hours which you have had? Do you know +that you have no right to say Karl Hubers was mocked by fate, made sport +of, buffetted about? Do you know,"--his face went white as he said this, +slowly--"that I would be a thousand times willing to give up my two +eyes--yes, and lay down my life--just to _know_, as he knew, that love +was great and life was good?" + +The tears remained undried upon her cheek. He held her. + +"Look deeper. There is another way to read Karl's life--a deeper truth +than those truths you have been seeing. + +"Ernestine, we all dream of love; we all desire it. It is only at rare, +rare times it comes as it came to you. And I say to you--and I mean it +from the bottom of my heart--that if you had been forced to give up your +love in the first hour of its fulfillment, for all that you should thank +God through the remainder of your life that it had been yours. For you +_had_ it!--and nothing, loss, death, defeat, disappointment of every +kind, can strip from your soul the consciousness that once, no matter for +how short a time, love in its fullness and perfection was yours. Long, +lonely years may come, and all hard things may come, but through it all +the thing to keep your soul in tune is the memory of some one perfect +hour." + +Stillness followed that, the stillness which was silence. She had not +moved. + +"You dreamed your dream,"--and in his voice now the beautiful things of +appreciation and understanding. "I know your dream. You dreamed of +growing old together; of taking from life everything there was together; +of achieving to the uttermost; of rejoicing in each other's victories, +growing more and more close together. I know your dream--a beautiful +dream. Giving up some things as the changing years do their work, and +taking on the other things, the more quiet, in fact finer things, that +come with the years. Oh, yes--don't think I do not know that dream. To +walk together down the years, meet them fearlessly, gladly, in the +thought that they but add to the fullness of your love--I know--I know. +And now that it is not to be as you thought, you say life has left +nothing to you; that you hate it; will have none of it. Oh, Ernestine, if +you could only know how rich you are!" + +Then harshly, rudely, the change; the voice which had seemed to caress +each word was now like a lash. + +"Suppose you didn't have the luxury of giving yourself up to your own +heart? Suppose that every day and night of your life, you had to fight +memory, knowing it held nothing for you but jeers and mockery and things +too damnable for words! Suppose you had to fairly forbid yourself to +think of the beautiful things of life! Suppose that what had been the +most beautiful moments of your life were made, by memory, the most +hideous! Suppose the memory of his kiss always brought with it the +consciousness of his falseness; that his words of love never came back to +you without the knowledge that he had been laughing at you in his heart +all the time! Suppose you could never get away from the damning truth +that what you gave from the depth of your heart was tossed aside with a +laugh! Suppose you had given the great passion of your life, the best +that was in you, to a liar and a hypocrite! Suppose you had been made a +fool of!--easy game! _Then_ what of life?--your belief in love?--thoughts +of fate? Great God, woman, can't you see what you have got?" + +After the throbbing moment which followed that there came a great quiet; +slowly passion settled to sadness. He seemed to have forgotten her, to be +speaking instead to his own heart, as he said, very low, his voice +touched with the tenderness of unrelinquished dreams: "To have had one +hour--just one perfect hour, and then the memory of that untarnished +forever--it would be enough." + +Her heart rushed passionately to its own defence; she wanted to tell him +no! She wanted to tell him it was cruel to be permitted to live for a +time in a beautiful country, only to be turned out into the dark. She +wanted to tell him that to know love was to need it forever. But his head +had fallen to his hand; he seemed entirely lost to her, and even now she +knew his answer to what she would say. "But you _had_ it," he would +reply. "The cruel thing would be to awaken and find no such country had +ever existed." They would get no closer than that, and with new +passionateness her heart went out to Karl. Karl would understand it as it +was to her! + +He too felt that they could come no closer than this. They sat there in +the gathering twilight with their separate thoughts as souls sit together +almost in the dark, seeing one another in shadow, across dim spaces. + +The tearing open of his heart had left him weakened with pain. Perhaps +that was why he was so very tired, and perhaps it was because he was so +tired that this thought of growing old came back to him. It seemed to him +now, leaning back in his chair and filled with the things of which he had +spoken, that almost as great as a living presence with which to share the +years, would be that thing of growing old with a beautiful memory. It +would be a supreme thing to have a hand in your hand, a face against your +face, a heart against your heart as you stepped on into the years; but if +that could not be, and perfection is not given freely in this life, +surely it would keep the note of cheer in one's voice, the kindly +gleam in one's eye, to bring with one into old age the memory of a +perfect love. It would be lonely then when one sat in the twilight and +dreamed--but what another loneliness! If instead of holding one's self +away from one's own heart, one could turn to it with: "She loved me like +that. Her arms have been about my neck in true affection; her whole being +radiated love for me; she had no words to tell it and could tell it only +with her eyes and with the richness and the lavishness of her kisses. She +would have given up the world for me; she inspired me to my best deeds; +she comforted me in my times of discouragement and rejoiced with me in my +hours of cheer. She is not here now, and it is lonely, but she has left +me, in spirit, the warmth of her presence, the consciousness that she +loved me with a love in which there was no selfishness nor faltering, and +the things she has left me I can carry through life and into eternity." + +And all of that was Ernestine's could she but see her way to take it! + +He knew that it was growing late. "I must go," he said, but still he sat +there, knowing he had not finished what he had come to say. But need he +say it? Would it avail anything? Must not all human souls work their own +way through the darkness? And when the right word came, must it not come +from Karl himself, through some memory, some strange breath of the +spirit? _He_ knew, but she would have to see it for herself. That each +one's seeing it for one's self was what made life hard. Would there not +surely come a day, somewhere in the upward scale, where souls could reach +one another better than this? + +But he had stirred her; he knew that by the way she was looking at him +now. Finally she asked, tremblingly, a little resentfully: "Dr. Parkman, +what is it you would have me do?" + +"Do something with your life," was his prompt reply. "Help make it right +for Karl." + +She caught that up breathlessly. "Make it right for Karl?" + +"You say he was always cut off just this side of achievement. Then you +achieve something which will at least show what he was able to inspire." + +That sunk so deep that her face went very white. + +"But you do not understand," she whispered passionately. "You mean that I +should paint--and I tell you I _cannot_. I tell you it is _dead!_" + +"Not necessarily that you should paint. Not just now, if you cannot. But +come back into touch with life. Do something to force yourself back into +it, and then let life itself show you that the other things are not dead +after all." + +"But I do not want to!" came bitterly from her. + +"Sometimes," he said, with more of his usual manner, "we do things we do +not want to, and through the doing of them, we get to want to. Do +something!--whether you want to or not. Stop doing futile things and +dwelling on the sense of their futility. Why, Ernestine, come up to the +hospital and go to work as a nurse! Heaven knows I never expected to +advise you to do that, but _anything_--painting pictures or scrubbing +floors--that will bring you back to a sense of living--the obligations of +life--show you that something is _yours_ that life and death and _hell_ +can't take from you!" + +And still he sat there, thinking. In just a moment he must go--go away +leaving her alone with the years which awaited her. For just an instant +it seemed as though all of the past and all of the future were in his +keeping. What word leave with her? He knew by her passionate breathing +that he had reached her. And now he was going away. Could he have done +more--reached deeper? In this, too, had he failed? What word leave with +her? His heart was so full of many things that his mind did not know what +to choose. He remembered the day she had come to him filled with the +spirit to ride down an adverse fate and win triumph from defeat. Her +splendid spirit then! Would that spirit ever come again? Could it? + +Karl was very close in those final moments, and even more close than Karl +was the spirit of love. Many precious things seemed in his keeping just +then. + +"Ernestine," he said at the last, and his face was white and his voice +trembled, "you have known. It came to you. You had it. It came to you as +June to the roses,--in season, right. I grant you it was short. I grant +you it was hard to see it go. But you _had_ it! Say that to yourself when +you go to sleep at night. Say it to yourself when you wake in the +morning. And some day you will come to see what it means just to know +that you know, and then your understanding and your heart will go out to +all who have never known. You will pity all who scoff and all who yearn, +and you will say to yourself: 'The world needs to know more about love. +More than knowledge or science or any other thing, the world needs more +faith in love.' Then some day you will see that you not only know but +have power to make it plain, and you will not hold back any longer then. +And _there_ is to be the real victory and completion of Karl Hubers' +life!--there the real triumph over fate--that triumph of the spirit of +love. I see it now. I see it all now. And my good-bye word to you is just +this--I do not believe you are going to withhold from Karl the +immortality which should be his." + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +"LET THERE BE LIGHT" + +Hours had passed, and still she could not master the sobs. It seemed no +one had ever been as cruel as Dr. Parkman had been to her that afternoon. +Karl would understand!--and in her passionate need of Karl's +understanding she turned at last to the letter of which she had spoken, +the letter which always seemed a little like Karl's voice speaking from +out the silence. + +Old and worn and blurred with the grief spent upon it, the letter bore +upon itself the record of the year's desolation. It had lived through +things never to be told,--never to be comprehended. + +"Lonesome days, liebchen,"--he had written. "It would seem almost like a +rush of light to feel you standing in the doorway now. + +"My letters which I send you will tell you I am well, getting along all +right, that I love you. These are some other things. If I think they will +hurt you, I will not let you see them. But I will feel better to get them +said, and of course the easiest way to say them is to say them to you. + +"I can't write. I wish I could. There are things 'way back in my thoughts +I should like to say, and say right. For I've done some thinking this +year, liebchen--while I sat here writing text-books there came a good +many thoughts. + +"Text-books--any fool can write them! Lectures on what other men have +done--what do I care about them? I'll do it, for I have to, but I want +somebody to know--I want _you_ to know that I know it doesn't amount to a +hill of beans! + +"Liebchen, you hear a lot of talk about the beauties of resignation. +Don't you ever believe any of it. We don't get resigned to things that +really count. But what we do get, is courage to bear them. I'm not +resigned and I don't want to be! But I will try to be game about it, and +we can't be game while we are sore. I know that because the times I've +been least game are the times I was most sore. Wonder if anybody can make +any sense out of that? + +"Life's queer--you can't get around that. Making us one thing and then +making us be another. What are we to think of it, liebchen? Seems as if +we could get on better if we could just get a line on the scheme of +things, understand what it is all about, and the why. Or isn't there any +why? I like a why for things. It gives them their place. I don't like +disorder, and senselessness, and if there isn't any why--why then--See +what I'm getting at? + +"What are you going to do when your force pushes you on to a thing which +is closed to you? Stop the force? Well, doesn't that stop yourself? Turn +it somewhere else? Easy to say in working out a philosophy,--not so easy +to do. + +"Where's the end of it?--that's what I want to know. I'm one of those +practical chaps who wants to see an end in sight. + +"Ernestine, light's a great thing. Light's _the_ great thing. I never +knew that until I went blind. You have to stay a long time in the +darkness to know just what it is light means. + +"They call great men 'great lights.' 'And then came the light,' they say, +regarding the solving of some great thing. 'He brought the light'--that's +what I wanted to do! They tell about science bringing the light. I know +now what a tribute they pay when they say that. Light of understanding, +light of truth--and ah, mein liebchen, the light of love--and well do I +know how that light can shine into the darkness! + +"'More light'--Goethe said, when he was going out into the dark. A great +thing to ask for. I know how he felt!--'And God said--Let there be +light'--I don't wonder that story has lived a long time. + +"My books are finished. Now what?--more books?--lectures?--some kind of +old woman's make-shift? Sit here and watch my red blood dry up? Sit here +like a plant shrivelling away in the darkness? Be looked after and fussed +over and have things made as easy for me as possible? I don't know--I +can't see-- + +"There, liebchen--I've taken a brace. I took a long drink of courage, and +I'm in better shape. Often when I get like that I've been tempted to take +a long drink of something else--but I never have. Whiskey's for men who +feel good; men who haven't much to fight. Not for me--not any such finish +as that. + +"I'm making bad business of this letter. I wanted to tell things, tell +what light was and what darkness was; but I can't do it. Many things have +been circling around my thoughts and I thought I might get hold of a few +of them and pull them in. But I can't seem to do it. I never was much +good at writing things out; it's hard to get words for things that aren't +even full-born thoughts. + +"My work was great, liebchen--great! A constant piercing of the darkness +with light--a letting in of more light--new light. I can understand now +why I loved it; where the joy was; what it was I was doing. + +"Is life like that? Don't we understand things until we are out of them? +By Jove, is it true that we have to _get_ out of them, in order to +understand them? And if that's true, is it the understanding that's the +goal? Is it--oh, I don't know--I'm sure I don't know. + +"But look here, liebchen,--is it true that while I had the light, I +didn't have it at all,--didn't know what it meant? Did I have to lose it +in order to get it? For isn't it _having_ a thing to understand it--more +than it's having it to really have it and not understand? See what I +mean? Those are some of the things circling around on the outside. + +"Sometimes I think so. Sometimes I think the light was shut out that the +greater light might come. Sometimes I think we scientists haven't the +right line on the world at all. Why, Ernestine, sometimes I think it's +miles deeper than we ever dreamed! A hodge-podge--this letter. Like my +life, starting out one thing, and ending up another, or rather not ending +up anything at all--a going to pieces in the midst of my philosophy--a +not being sure of anything--a constant 'perhaps.'" + +"I'm lonesome. I'm tired. I don't feel well. The old ladies would say I'm +'under the weather.' Why, I can't even keep feeling right when you're +away. + +"I want you. I want you--here--now. I can't talk to you on this infernal +machine, my hands groping around just as senselessly as my thoughts. I +tell you, liebchen, blindness is bad business. It sounds well in a poem, +but it's a bad thing to live with. It's bad to wake up in the night +sometimes and think that it will be daylight soon and then remember that +it will never be daylight for you again! + +"I wish you were here. I'm just in the mood for talking--not talking, +perhaps, but having you close to me, and understanding. + +"There's one thing that there's no perhaps about. That's you. There's no +perhaps when it comes to our love. There's no perhaps-- + +"Now, that made me fall a-dreaming. I stopped writing and lighted my pipe +and sat a long time, thinking of you. It's 'our hour'--I know that, +because I heard the clock strike. Where are you? Why aren't you here? + +"I want you. Believe I said that before, but if I said it a thousand +times, I couldn't make it strong enough. I don't know why I want you like +this--this soul want. It isn't just your kisses, your sweetness, the dear +things about you. I want you to be here to understand--for you would--you +do. + +"My light in the darkness, my Ernestine! I shall never let you go away +again. The darkness is too dark without you. + +"Evening now, for again I stopped; too tired, too quiet, someway, to feel +like writing. I am going to bed. I wish you were here for your good-night +kiss. I wish you were here just to tell me that you understand all these +things I have not been able to say. I wish you were here to tell me--what +in my heart I know--that you are going to bring me the light, that love +will light the way. I wish you were here to tell me that what my eyes +cannot tell you, as they used to, you can read now just by the beating of +my heart, just through the fullness of our silences. + +"Oh, little one--your eyes--your dear eyes--your lovely hair--your +smile--your arms about my neck--your whispered word in my ear--your soft +cheek against mine--your laugh--your voice--your tenderness--I want it +all to-night--and the Ernestine of the silences--the Ernestine who +understands without knowing--helps without trying. + +"Soon you will be back. That will be sunrise after long darkness. + +"Good-night. It's hard to leave you--so lonesome--wanting you so. Again, +good-night, dear girl for whom my arms are yearning. Bless you, +sweetheart--God bless you--and does God, Himself, know what you have been +to me?" + +She read the last of it, as always, with sobs uncontrollable. Dr. +Parkman--everything--was forgotten. It was Karl alone in the library, +longing for her, needing her--and she not there. + +"Oh, Karl--Karl!" she sobbed across the black chasm of the year--"if I +could only have had that hour!" + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +WHEN THE TIDE CAME IN + +But the days which came then were different. Dr. Parkman had stirred her +to a discontent with despair. + +She had come West with Georgia and Joe. For five days they had been at +this little town on the Oregon coast. Through the day and through the +night she listened to the call of the sea. It stirred her strangely. At +times it frightened her. + +She did not know why she should have wished to come. Perhaps it was +because it seemed a reaching out to the unknown. After she had known +she was to go, she would awaken in the night and hear the far-off +roll of the Pacific, and would lie there very still as if listening +for something from the farther unknown. Her whole being was +stirred--drawn--unreasoningly expectant. There were moments when she +seemed to just miss something to which she was very close. + +To-day she had walked clear around the bend. The little town and pleasant +beach were hidden from view, and there was only the lighthouse out among +the rocks, and the sea coming in wild and mighty to that coast to which +no mariner would attempt to draw near. + +It was the hour of the in-coming tide, and as the sea beat against the +rocks it seemed as omnipotent and relentless as that sea of fate against +which nothing erected by man could hope to prevail. + +There was no human being in sight. Man, and all to which man blinded one, +were far away. She was alone with things as they were, alone with the +forces which made the world and life, and as the tides of the sea brought +close to her wave after wave, so the mind's tides were bringing close to +her wave upon wave of understanding. + +Fate had washed them away just as this ocean would wash away the child's +playhouse built upon the sands. They had believed they could make their +lives, that it was for their spirit to elect what they should do, their +hands build as they had willed; and all that the spirit had willed to do, +and all that the hands set about to achieve, was washed away by just one +of those waves of fate which rolled in and took them with no more of +regret, no more of compassion, than the sea would have in washing away +the play-house built upon the sands. And if the sea were chidden for +having taken away the house upon the sands, which meant much to some one, +it would quite likely answer grimly: "I did not know that it was there." + +She laughed--and Karl would have hated life for bringing Ernestine to +that laugh. But she laughed to think how she had looked fate in the face +with the words: "I will prevail against you!" Would the child, building +its house upon the sand and saying to the ocean: "I will not let you take +my house!" be more absurd than she? + +What she had believed to be the tremendous force of her spirit had been +as one grain of sand against the tides of ocean. What was one to think of +it all then--of human love which believed itself created for eternity, of +dreams which one's soul persuaded one would come true, of aspirations +born in a hallucination of power, of that spark within one which played +one false, of believing one could master fate only to find one had +erected a child's house upon the sands, and that what had been achieved +in consciousness of great power could be swept away so easily that the +ocean was not even conscious of having taken it unto itself? + +Very sternly, very understandingly, their lives swept before her +anew.... Just one little wave from the tide of fate had lapped up, +unknowingly, uncaringly, that house upon the sand which a delusion of the +spirit had made seem a castle grounded in eternity. Why blind one's self +to the truth and call life fair? For what had they fought and suffered +and believed and hoped? Just to hear the mocking voice of the outgoing +tide? + +The fury of the sea was creeping into her blood. Rage possessed her. All +of her spirit, mightier than ever before, went out to meet the spirit of +the sea--hating it, defying it, understanding its own futility, and the +more hot from the sense of impotence. That died to desolation. She had +never been so wholly desolate--the sea so mighty, she so powerless. Fate +and human souls were like that. + +Karl--where was he? Swept out by the ocean of fate. To what shore had he +been carried? What thought he of the tide which had carried him out from +her? Was his soul, like hers, spending itself in the passion of +rebellion--so mighty as to shake the foundations of one's being, so +futile as to prevail against not one drop of water in that sea of fate? + +Time passed; the tide was still coming in, nearing its height. But to the +sea there had come a change. The spirit of it seemed different. For a +long time she sat there dimly conscious of a difference, and then it +seemed as though the sea were trying to reach her with something it had +to bring. + +She tried to shake herself free from so strange a fancy, but it held her, +and for a long time she sat there motionless, looking out at the sea with +all her eyes, reaching out to it with all her soul, becoming more and +more still,--a hush upon her whole being,--moved, held, unreasoningly +expectant. + +The sea seemed trying to make her ready. Each wave which beat upon the +rocks beat against her consciousness, driving against her mood and +spirit, as if clearing a way, making her ready, open, to what would come. + +It seemed finally to have cleared her whole being, driven away all which +might impede. It seemed now as though she could take in things not seen +or heard. There was that strange openness of the spirit, that hush, that +unreasoning expectancy. + +All at once it rushed upon her, filling her overwhelmingly. It said that +there was a sea mightier than what she called the sea of fate; it told of +a sea of human souls over which fate only seemed to prevail. A great rush +of truth filled her with this--It was the belief in the omnipotence of +fate which was the real delusion of the spirit. + +Over and over again, with steadily rising tide, it told her that,--no +more to be reasoned away than the sea, resistless as the tide. + +She never knew in after years just what it was happened in that hour. She +could not have told it, for it was not a thing for words to compass. But +after that great truth had rushed full upon her, sweeping away the +philosophy of her bitterness, Karl's spirit, something sent out from him +to her, seemed to come in with the tide. He pleaded with her. He asked +her to stop fighting and come back to the soul of things. He asked her to +be Ernestine--his Ernestine. He told her that his own spirit could not +find peace while hers was waging war and full of bitterness. He wanted +her to make a place for them both in that great world-harmony of their +belief. He told her that out where souls see in wider sweeps, they know +that there is a spirit over which death and fate cannot prevail. + +Darkness came on, but she had no thought of fear. And before she turned +away something had risen from the dead. Out of woe and despair, defeat +and bitterness, out of loneliness and a broken heart, something was born +again. Karl asked that she make it right with the world. Karl asked for a +child of their love. And at the last it was the call of the child to the +mother which she heard. It was the maternal instinct of the spirit which +answered. + +Very late that night, after she had sat long at her window, looking up at +the stars, waiting, a great light seemed to appear, and shimmering +against the sky, high above the tides of the sea, she saw the picture +which she would paint. + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +WORK THE SAVIOUR + +For more than three years then they saw nothing of Ernestine. She left +this note for Georgia: "I am sorry to seem erratic, but I cannot wait for +you. I am going away at once. I am going first to New York, and then, I +think, to Paris. I am going to do something which I can do better there +than anywhere else. Thank you, Georgia, for everything. It must be +satisfying to feel one has succeeded as beautifully in anything as you +have succeeded in being a friend to me. Do not worry. There is nothing +now to worry about. You will be glad to know that I am going back to my +work." + +A little later Dr. Parkman had this from her from New York: "I am sailing +for Paris. I am going to work. I see it all now; all that you would have +me see, and more. Some day I will try to show you just how well I see it. + +"I do not know how I am going to bear part of it--the going back where we +were so happy. But I _will_ bear it, for nothing shall keep me from the +work I see before me. + +"Thank you--for all that you have done, and most of all for all that you +have been. My idea is all comprehended in this: To the very uttermost of +my power, I am going to make it right for Karl." + +Six months later she wrote him this: + +"Dear Doctor: Thank you for attending to those things for me. It +infuriated me at first to think that the only thing in money left by the +work of Karl's great life was the money from those books which I resented +so bitterly. But how wrong to see it that way--for Karl would be so happy +to know that the brave work he did after his blindness was helping me +now. But I never spend a dollar of this money without thinking of the +mood--the circumstances--out of which it was earned. + +"No--no money for the work he did for the blind. Karl intended that as a +gift. He would be so glad to know of its usefulness. He thought it all +wrong that books for the blind were so expensive, and so many of the +great things not to be had. + +"Karl used to repeat a little verse of Heine, which he translated like +this:" + + +'At first I did not even hope, +And to a hostile fate did bow-- +But I learned to bear the burden-- +Only do not ask me how.' + + +"I have learned to bear it here in Paris--only do not ask me how. I could +not say. I do not know. + +"But I want to tell you of a few of the good things. You would not +believe what that work in the laboratory has done for me. It has given me +a new understanding of colour--new sense of it, new power with eye and +hand, a better sense of values. Would you have thought of that? And do +you not see the reasons for my being glad? + +"What I have done so far is but leading up to what I am going to do. That +is so vital that it must not be done too quickly. I must get my hand in, +gain what there is to be gained here, that the work I am going to do for +Karl may have the benefit of it all. But I have made innumerable +sketches, and it is growing all the time. There need be no fear of my +losing it. I could no more lose it than I could lose my own soul. It +grows as I grow. Sometimes I think I should wait ten years--but I shall +not. + +"Yes, the critics like the picture of which you speak. Of course I am +painting all the time--other things--various things. But it all seems +like practice work to me--a mere getting ready." + +And then, after a long time, this:--"This is my birthday;--a day linked +more closely than I could ever tell with Karl, our life and work and +love. If I had looked forward from one happy birthday I had and seen what +was ahead--how it would be with me now--I never could have gone on. We go +on by not knowing what is waiting for us, and day by day we bear what we +would have said, looking ahead, we never could endure--and that is human +life. + +"I have been so lonely to-day that I must write this little word to one +who will understand. I turn to you as one close to us in those dear days, +one who cared for and appreciated Karl, understood something of the kind +of love that was ours. Doctor--it was so wonderful! So wonderful that it +seems to me sometimes the universe must have existed through the +centuries just that our love might be born. I think of it as the one +perfect flower of creation. + +"I want you to know that I have come to see the worth--pricelessness--of +my memories. Karl's love for me lights up my life with a glory nothing +can ever take away. I think we do not have even our memories until we +have earned them. I have tried to come back to my own, to take my place. +I am trying to be of that great harmony of the world in which Karl and I +believed, and as my spirit turns from discord and seeks harmony, I am +given my memories, the memories of those many perfect days, and I am +never too lonely nor too desolate to thank God that to me was left the +scent of the roses. + +"Oh, Doctor--where is he now? Do you ever think of all that? No one who +has ever loved and lost can remain secure in his materialism. I begin to +see that the beautiful thoughts, the poems, of immortality, eternity, of +its all coming right, have sprung from the lonely hearts of great lovers. +For they would not have it any other way--they could only endure it by +having it so, and, ah, Doctor--far greater than any proof of science or +logic, is there not proof in this? Lifting up their hearts in hours of +desolation were not the men and women born for great loves and great +sorrows granted a vision of the truth? + +"We do not know. None of them know. We hope and wait and long for the +years to tell us the truth. And while we wait and hope, we work, and try +to make our lives that which is worthy our love. That endeavour, and that +alone, makes life bearable." + +After a year of silence he received this letter: "Doctor, it is finished. +I will not tell you the things they are saying of it here, for you will +read it in the papers. The papers here are full of it; I think I have +never seen so much about any picture. + +"But it is more important that I tell you this: They are seeing it, even +now, as I intended it should be seen--a work of love, a memorial, an +endeavour to make it right for him. I have cared more for what the +scientific people, Karl's own kind, have said of it, than the artists. +They claim it as their own, say they are going to have it, get it some +way,--_must_ have it. Do you not see how that means the fulfillment of my +desire? + +"Of course you know that it is a picture of Karl. But the critics here +call it less a portrait than the incarnation of an idea. Light and truth +sweeping in upon a human soul--one of them expressed it. But why try to +tell you of that? When you see it you will understand what it is I have +tried to do. And you shall see it soon. After it is exhibited here they +want it in Vienna, and I cannot refuse, for Karl loved Vienna, and then a +short time in London, and then I come with it to America, and to Chicago. +I am bringing it home, Doctor, for even though it find final resting +place in that great temple of science in Paris, I have the feeling, in +taking it to Chicago, that I am bringing it home. And the first day it is +exhibited there I want you and me to go to it together, as Karl would +like that we should. + +"I am so tired that I do not believe I shall ever be quite rested again. +For the last three months I lived with the picture, my heart and mind +knew nothing else. But the day I finished it my strongest feeling was a +regret that it was finished, a yearning to go on with it forever. For +doctor, I painted my heart, my life, everything that I had within myself, +everything I had taken from Karl, into that picture. I am lonely now +without it, for it made my life. + +"It has revived Karl's whole story. They tell it here--oh so lovingly. I +heard one man from the Institute telling it all to a younger man as they +stood before it yesterday. I have moved them to a new sense of Karl's +greatness; it has been my glorious privilege to perpetuate him, make sure +his place, _reveal_ him--for that is what I have sought to do. Was not +life good to me to give me power to do that thing? + +"We shall be together in Chicago very soon--you and Karl and I. For as +the days go on Karl comes closer. I hope, most of all, that the picture +will bring him very close to you." + +That was three months before, and to-day he had this note from her, dated +Chicago:--"Yes, I am here, and the picture is here. The public exhibit +does not open for a few days, but the picture will be hung this morning, +and we may see it this afternoon. I shall be there at three, waiting for +you." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +"AND THERE WAS LIGHT" + +He spent the intervening hours restlessly; the hands of his watch moved +slowly; his duties occupied only a small portion of his mind. + +He was at the Institute at just three, and they directed him where to go. +His heart was beating fast as he walked down the corridor. The hand which +he laid upon the door-knob shook a little. + +He opened the door, and a woman came toward him with outstretched hand. + +It was Ernestine--but the three years had done much. + +Older--greater--a more steady flame--a more conscious power--grief +transmuted to understanding--despair risen to resolution--she had gone a +long way. He looked at her in silence--reading, understanding. It was all +written there--the story of deep thinking and deeper loving, of battles +and victories, and other battles yet to fight, the poise which attends +the victor--yes, she had gone a long way. And as she spoke his name, and +smiled a little, and then could not repress the tears which his presence, +all that it meant, brought, he saw, shining through her tears, that light +of love's own days. + +She turned and walked to the other side of the room, and he knew that she +was taking him to the picture. + +She watched his face as he took it in, and she knew then that she had +done her work. + +For a long time he said nothing, and when at last he turned to her, eyes +dim, voice husky, it was only to say: "I can say--nothing. There are--no +words." + +He turned back to the picture, she standing silent beside him, reading in +his face that with each moment he was coming into more perfect +understanding. + +For she had painted Karl's face as it was just before he went into the +silence. She had caught the look which illumined his face that day on his +death bed when she told him what she had done. She had painted Karl as he +was in that moment of perfect understanding--the joy which was uplift, +the knowledge which was glory. She had perpetuated in her picture the +things which Karl took with him from life. It was Karl in the supreme +moment of his life--the moment of revelation, transfiguration, the moment +which lighted all the years. + +It was triumph which she had perpetuated in the picture. She was saying +to the world--He did not achieve what he set out to achieve, but can you +say he failed when he left the world with a soul like this? + +He saw that it was what she had done with light which made the picture, +from the standpoint of her art, supreme. The critics said that no one had +ever done just that thing with light before--painted light in just that +spirit of loving and understanding it; less light, indeed, than light's +significance. They said that no one before had painted the kind of light +which could make a blind man see. For he was blind--the picture told +that, but it seemed no one had ever had light quite as understandingly as +he had it there. + +"You feel it, doctor?" she asked at last, timidly. "You see it all?" + +He nodded. It seemed so far beyond any word of his. + +But she wanted to talk to him about it. "You see what it has meant to me? +Why I loved it and lived for it? Oh doctor--I wanted to show that he was +greater than all the great things he sought to do! The night this picture +came to me it set my blood on fire, and at no moment since, no matter how +tired or lonely or discouraged--have I lost my love for it--belief in it. +It seems so right. It seems to stand for so many things. They call it a +masterpiece of light--and isn't it fine--great--right, that Karl's +portrait should be a masterpiece of light?" + +For a long time he was lost to it. It was as she said--right. To the +blind man had come the light; to the man of science the light of truth, +and to the human soul, about to set out on another journey, had come the +perfect understanding of what had lighted the way for him here. + +When he turned to her at last she was looking at the picture with such +love in her eyes as he had never seen. Her lips were parted--tremulous; +there were tears upon her cheeks; her whole face quivered with love and +longing. He saw then, in that one glance before he turned away, that time +and death held no sway over such a love as this. + +"I did not mean to," she faltered. "But I have not seen the picture +myself for a long time, and your being here--" + +She broke down there, and he summoned no word with which to answer her +sobs. + +"Dr. Parkman,"--raising a passionate face--"I want you to know that if +this were the greatest picture the world had ever seen--if it were a +thousand times greater than anything the world had ever known--I would +throw it away--obliterate it--gladly--joyously--for just one touch of +Karl's hand!" + +"Yes," he murmured, more to himself than to her, "and if you were not +like that you never could have done it." + +"What it cost!"--he heard her whisper. "What it _cost_!" + +He told her that it had ever been so. That the great things were paid for +like that. That so many of the things which had lived longest and gone +deepest had come from broken hearts and souls tried almost beyond their +power for suffering. He told her that the future would accept this, as it +had the others, without knowing of its cost, that a myriad of broken +hearts had gone into the sum of the world's achievement. + +In the half hour which followed, as they sat there, speaking sometimes of +Karl, more often silent, some things seemed to pass from the man's heart, +other things to come. And as at the last he rose to go, for he felt she +would like a little time alone, he said, and his face and his voice gave +much which the words missed: "Ernestine, you have done more than you +know. For me too--you have made it right." + +She sat a long time before her picture, dreaming of Karl. She whispered +his name, and he seemed to answer with, "Liebchen--brave liebchen--you +have been good to me." + +To her too the hour brought new light. It came to her now that she had +won a victory for them, not because she had painted a great picture, but +because she had brought them back to that world harmony from which they +seemed for a time to have gone. She had won, not through the greatness of +her achievement, but through having made it right with her own soul. The +picture itself was a thing of canvas and paint; it was the spirit out of +which it grew--his spirit and hers--was the thing everlasting. She was +sure that Karl too knew now that it was having the spirit right which +counted. The "perhaps" of his letter was surely answered for him now. + +And out of this closeness to the past there opened to her a little of her +own future--things she would do. For she must work,--theirs a love which +made for work. There was much more to paint, much to show how she and +Karl loved the world, what they held it worth,--and all of it to speak +for their love, glorify, immortalise it. + +She dreamed deeply and tenderly--the past so real to her, Karl, their +love, so great. + +Now she must go. To-morrow many others would come. Artists would come to +pronounce her work good, wonder how she had done this or that. Doctors +and the university men would come, proud to speak of Karl, claim him as +their own. But ah--who would understand the tears and heart's blood out +of which it had come? Who would know? Who could? + +"Karl," she murmured at the last--eyes dim with loving tears--"dear +Karl,"--dwelling with a long tenderness upon the name--"did I indeed +bring you the light?" + + + + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK, THE GLORY OF THE CONQUERED *** + +This file should be named 8664.txt or 8664.zip + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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